...plays this song at the same time every day, afternoon tea time, when the ladies have a little time to dream of a naughty six-thirty mug of skinny latte at Starbucks with George Clooney or Bill Ward.
To dream of coffee whilst drinking tea.
Does the DJ listen to the records he plays? Is he dreaming of an extra-marital assignment with our office Mrs Jones, you know, the one with RSI, HRT, and a golf-obsessed husband?
Or is he re-reading those notes he made all those years ago, the notes that keep him on the straight-and-narrow-deejaying track and stop him mutilating the Heart studio and its hundred CDs, the notes that tell him it's only a job, it is not a prison and he's getting paid damn good money for such little effort and thank his lucky stars he's not nine to fiving for a living?
Me, me and Mrs, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones got a thing going on We both know that it's wrong But it's much too strong to let it cool down now