The Tom Jones factor
I can't remember liking Tom Jones when I was a child. My mum did with a passion. I have vivid memories of her nearly swooning as she watched him on our black and white television. There he was: the man himself. Dressed in an over-frilly shirt, he gyrated and sweated in front of a female audience. Occasionally, he'd stop and mop his brow with a pair of undies thrown by an over-zealous fan.
So it was that I was brought up on a diet of his songs, which meant that somewhere along the line I subconsciously absorbed the lyrics to all his hits. The consequence is I can belt out Delia with the best, sing What's New Pussycat backwards and vocalise a particularly impressive, yet slightly out-of-tune rendition of Green, Green Grass Of Home.
It's not something I boasted about in my early adult years but needless to say it has come in handy at the occasional night-out at a karaoke bar. And somewhere over the years that familiarity has grown to respect and even admiration, so that today I can stand up and say loud and proud: 'It's true. I actually like Tom Jones.'
The strangest thing about all this is that now as parent, I can see the same process happening in my own household: my children already subconsciously absorbing my musical tastes.
It's great. It means I can play the soundtrack from Grease, the best of Adam Ant and Duran Duran, and other 1970s and 80s icons in the car and get no complaints.