The Dark Streets

Many years ago I wrote a song called Potatoman, one of my earliest songs, which somehow became locally popular, among some young fellas mainly, and made me feel like a bit of a celeb when I occasionally heard the call “hey, Potatoman” in the streets of Campbeltown.

Occasionally, I hasten to repeat.

Anyway, the song contains super heroes, which always go down well I find. But mainly it was a kind of prayer. The key line being “Please don’t let me end up a bitter man”.

I had become aware at the time of how easy it would be, in my own life, to walk down The Dark Streets of bitterness, and never come back.

I haven’t been called Potatoman for a long time, but still occasionally I find myself poking my head into one of those streets again. They seem to offer the opportunity for vindication, “just” reprisals, and the weird satisfaction of being the martyr.

In reality they are just a bad place to be. They bring suffering, and only suffering, and only to the bitter man, or woman, themselves.

The prayer still stands.