Tina Turner once sang "What's love got to do, got to do with it? What's love but a second hand emotion?"
Second hand emotion?!? What's all that about then? She only sings it because she thinks it rhymes with broken, which it doesn't. You remember, "Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"?
Who needs a heart? Obviously biology isn't one of Tina's strongest subjects.
Songs about love are an absolute minefield. Climie Fisher's "Love Changes Everything" is a classic example. It's rubbish. The Beatles are one of the few bands who ever managed to pull it off. "Love, love me do, you know I love you, I'll always be true, so ple-e-e-ease, love me, do." Awesome.
The word love is bandied about far too much in my opinion, unlike the word bandied. The problem with love is definition. From nothing in tennis to commitment and an intense feeling of deep affection (there's a group of words you've probably never seen together before), love encompasses a whole trough of meanings. However, if there's a bandwagon to be jumped on you'll probably find me bounding with the best of them. Because although the meaning of love has been dissipated throughout the years, it's quite often the best word that springs to mind. Things I love include such diverse items as beef and onion pasties.
Never let it be disputed that the organ of love is the nose. Yes, nose. The sense of smell is one of the body's most underrated. The memories that a smell conjures up unlocks a plethora of past loves. Not only the smell of a loved one but also, perhaps, the smell of trees and freshly cut grass. That first kiss. Petrol. A milky cup of sweet coffee. Days at the allotment with your Dad, unscrewing the top of the flask on a cold Winter's afternoon. I used to love that. I mean I really used to love that.
Little shoes. Have you seen them? I love them too. They're so tiny and cute with their tiny laces and cute uppers. The little foot that fits inside with its cute toes. I digress.
Money can buy you beef and onion pasties and petrol and little shoes, but money can't buy you love. Money and love aren't mutually exclusive, but if you can't get something for love or money then you're buggered.
Love, undefined, boggles the mind. It's whatever, whenever and wherever you want it to be:
Love is not a piece of food
Love can sometimes be quite rude
Love is fire that burns like coal
Love: an anagram for vole
If music be the food of love then mine's a symphonic gateau with philharmonic cream.
Second hand emotion?!? What's all that about then? She only sings it because she thinks it rhymes with broken, which it doesn't. You remember, "Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"?
Who needs a heart? Obviously biology isn't one of Tina's strongest subjects.
Songs about love are an absolute minefield. Climie Fisher's "Love Changes Everything" is a classic example. It's rubbish. The Beatles are one of the few bands who ever managed to pull it off. "Love, love me do, you know I love you, I'll always be true, so ple-e-e-ease, love me, do." Awesome.
The word love is bandied about far too much in my opinion, unlike the word bandied. The problem with love is definition. From nothing in tennis to commitment and an intense feeling of deep affection (there's a group of words you've probably never seen together before), love encompasses a whole trough of meanings. However, if there's a bandwagon to be jumped on you'll probably find me bounding with the best of them. Because although the meaning of love has been dissipated throughout the years, it's quite often the best word that springs to mind. Things I love include such diverse items as beef and onion pasties.
Never let it be disputed that the organ of love is the nose. Yes, nose. The sense of smell is one of the body's most underrated. The memories that a smell conjures up unlocks a plethora of past loves. Not only the smell of a loved one but also, perhaps, the smell of trees and freshly cut grass. That first kiss. Petrol. A milky cup of sweet coffee. Days at the allotment with your Dad, unscrewing the top of the flask on a cold Winter's afternoon. I used to love that. I mean I really used to love that.
Little shoes. Have you seen them? I love them too. They're so tiny and cute with their tiny laces and cute uppers. The little foot that fits inside with its cute toes. I digress.
Money can buy you beef and onion pasties and petrol and little shoes, but money can't buy you love. Money and love aren't mutually exclusive, but if you can't get something for love or money then you're buggered.
Love, undefined, boggles the mind. It's whatever, whenever and wherever you want it to be:
Love is not a piece of food
Love can sometimes be quite rude
Love is fire that burns like coal
Love: an anagram for vole
If music be the food of love then mine's a symphonic gateau with philharmonic cream.
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