The year was 1978 and i was a somewhat shy and retiring fifteen year old with an entire galaxy of spots whilst she was a wonderfully enigmatic beauty of nineteen with a breathtaking and hypnotic talent that would not only enslave the boy but would also hold the fully-grown man captive for many years to come.

Oh, how fresh the memory of that striking first impression seems to me even at a distance of thirty long and tiring years...her looks, her voice, her very being and persona: she intoxicated me, transported my spirit to strange new realms and i became utterly smitten.

As i heard the ethereal and haunting voice of Cathy calling for her Heathcliffe, i knew instincitvely that it was i she meant.

I longed to go Cloudbusting with her, to go Running Up That Hill together in fits of giggles and shared affection, willing prey to The Hounds Of Love but most of all, i wanted her to know me as The Man With The Child In His Eyes.

But sadly, we were never destined to be together, it seems, for i am no closer to capturing her in my 46th year than i was in my distant and dream-filled youth, Kate has eternally remained a fleeting glimpse of what heaven may hold, an enchanting will-o'-the-wisp that beguiles but forever eludes the grasp of my feeble reality.

This week saw her reach fifty and she yet holds a ghostly spell over me as potent as in those lost days of yore; i closed my eyes and blew her a silent, birthday kiss of devotion and sighed as i finally resigned myself to worshipping my darling Kate from afar.
kate-bush