Much is made of the staggeringly repetitive music that small children listen to. Don't get me wrong, I grew up a raver, so staggeringly repetitive music is totally fine with me. But a child's capacity to listen to a song again and again and again and again and again and again is enough to put even the most coked up 20 year old in huge pants to shame and enough to give you, the parent, a case of the complete howling fantods. Even when they take to something new and, you think, untouchable it only takes a day for them to destroy it utterly. Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band has pretty much been ruined for me forever by one small child with just enough height to reach the buttons on the CD player.
But when they aren't destroying your music children have music of their own. And one of the producers of this music is Justine Clarke. Now Justine sings about perfectly normal things: ducks getting lost, dancing dinosaurs, being happy and knowing it and then clapping about it. But, well, just look at her. Look! Do you know who she looks like? She looks exactly like the first girl you ever kissed. It was raining and you could smell her wet school jumper and she tasted exactly like Vegemite sandwich. But then her dad was there and everyone knew he was a drunk and he was yelling and you ran for it but then you got stuck in a bush and then he had to help you out of the bush and he _was_ drunk but really pretty nice and he offered you a drink and you said "No thanks" and he said "Why?" and you said "Because I'm 8" and he implied that he thought an 8 year old who couldn't handle a little afternoon scotch was a bit queer in his book. You know? Exactly like her. Exactly.
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