For some reason, my dad and my bro took to notifying me that, hey, Take That are reforming for a reunion tour … well, of course I knew that already. But it just goes to show how nutty I was as a kid, though not as nutty as this (I’m suspecting) fellow ’79-er, who has bravely come out with her TT stories (TT!). My favourite (well, you had to have one) was none other than Robbie Williams (b. 13 February 1974, Stoke-on-Trent, ha! I still remember, eeks.), and I can recall the single wimpy tear that rolled down a cheek when I read in The New Paper (TNP!) that he’d left the (boy) band. My mom was moved to call me a silly girl (or was it a stupid girl?). Well, the stuff Take That dished out can still really lift ’em wings, no fakery there, no matter how much of that was really going around at the time (all revealed in a recent tell-all docu, wonder if it’d be screened here eh?). In the music, and in the performance, in the sheer jubilance, lives their memory; actually a far cry from the piddling puddles of watery jingles that succeeding figures in the same genre churn out. Will always remember them with fondness and perk up considerably when they do their thing on the radio. Erm, just wish the five to be happy with their lives, y’know, at least that much. Cheers to a dusty nugget from the past!