The times they are (about to be) a’ changing... I think

MY love affair with Bob Dylan has been a long one. And, like all affairs of the heart, was unplanned, then tempestuous, passionate and obsessive, before cooling into the familiar and comfortable.

In my mid-teens – having started out my musical journey with Doctor Hook and The Wurzels – I was a million miles from becoming a Dylanhead and even further from being a Dylan-ologist (they exist).

Back then, music was all rock and roll to me – the heavier and harder the better. I had the dodgy mullet and double denim wardrobe to go with my metal mania and it was not until I became a university student that Dylan first met my inquisitive mind. Metal wasn’t that cool in student-ville and within a few weeks my Maiden, Metallica and DC LPs had gone to the back of the box, and were replaced with ‘Freewheeling’, Blonde on Blonde, and Blood on the Tracks.

I was obsessed – at first with the music and then with the man. Over a couple of years I scoured secondhand record shops for every album. With them ticked off, I searched for bootleg versions, live recordings, box sets. I bought biographies, books, poems, pictures, just about anything he had turned his hand to. Even now I can tell you more about Suze Rotolo (his first girlfriend) than I can about any of the Spice Girls.

My obsession led me to many of his; the poetry of Allen Ginsberg, the music of Woodie Guthrie; the beat poets; the art and culture of the American mid-west and, glory be, to the mighty New York. These days I rarely listen (I overdid it in my 20s) but this week found myself singing The Times They are A Changing –a song now 57 years old – to myself, almost word for word. It’s been my ear worm of the week.

I have spent much of the last few weeks thinking about how much life will change post-corona. That is not the reason for my singing. I spend almost all of my professional life thinking about change. Changing front pages, changing headlines changing teams, changing processes. The modern media is a change industry. I don’t think that’s the reason I’ve been singing either. I’m pretty sure I’ve been reciting the masterful lyrics of Lord Dylan because the times are about to be a changing big time here in the Martin household.

Managing change is a big deal. Most of us don’t like it, and even those of us who are used to it are often more comfortable with routine. We like things just the way they are. The atmosphere of change here is febrile. Mrs Martin has been on special shopping trips, not one, not two, but three. There are new things in the house. There has been planning, organisation and discussion of things that might have to change because of what’s about to change.

Even The Boy has been engaged, and seems more than ready to embrace what is to come. It is the poor dogs who are struggling to deal with it. Considering much of their behaviour is decidedly bone-headed their radars sensing something big is about to happen is incredible. Both are riddled with anxiety. Both have to be dragged out of the door – literally – for our early morning run.

The old dog, who normally sleeps soundly in her bed next to my desk, now lies there with one eye fixed firmly on me in case it happens. The young one, normally playful and easygoing, doesn’t sleep in front of the telly now, just sits in the middle of the floor staring at Mrs Martin. I keep telling them it will be fine. They won’t listen. I’ll let you know what happens.