I Got Rhythm (just as soon as I find my earphones)

As I was setting off for a 13k run the other day (YES! 13k! I appear to have my stamina back again - but more of that good news another time), I was struck by an unsettling and potentially unanswerable question - namely, which light-fingered little sod has nicked my earphones?
I like my earphones. I pay a lot of money for them, in the probably baseless hope that they will last longer if they're more expensive. They have a little case they live in, which sits on my desk. Or rather, in this instance, appears to have been removed from my desk by person or persons unknown.
The upshot is that I faced the prospect of an hour-plus run with no music. This I find difficult. I have a special "running" playlist on my phone that helps take my mind off the aches and strains of pounding the pavements and stops me checking my Garmin every five seconds to see how much distance I have or have not covered.
It's a bit of an esoteric playlist. Other runners seem to have ones featuring some banging grime from Stormzy, house/hip-hop mashups, and the odd classic up-tempo funk number. Mine's mostly late 70s/early 80s new wave. It's fair to say my musical tastes have not advanced greatly from my 15th birthday onwards.

There is some newer stuff on there. One of my particular favourites is Vampire Weekend's A-Punk, which never fails to make my feet pick up the pace. The only trouble with it is it only lasts 2 minutes. I used to be able to time a 5k run to last almost the whole of VW's debut album, with the final sprint to the tune of their barnstorming gig closer Walcott. I run a bit too fast to do that these days. 
There's also a few from indie rockers The Vaccines on there, a couple from The Killers, and a whole swathe from my favourite punky-folk musician Frank Turner, most of whose songs are about coping with pain and anguish, which seems somewhat appropriate to listen to while running.
But the great majority of entries on my playlist are from the three or four years I still regard as the golden age of pop music, or at least the golden age of jumping about to three or four lads whacking the knackers out of three chords and a basic one-two drum beat. The Clash, The Jam, The Undertones and Blondie are all heavily featured. In addition to that, there is a heavy preponderance of 2-Tone and ska, which will surprise no-one who knows me. Ranking Full Stop by The Beat, for example, always manages to lift me up when my spirits are sagging somewhere about the seventh mile.

But my all-time favourite, the one that picks me up and drives me forward with new energy and verve is Show Me, the 1981 soul classic by scruffy Brummie scamps Dexys Midnight Runners. It's a song that hits the ground not just running but sprinting, the sax and the horn sections cracking into a furious feet-tapping pace from the opening bar before lead singer Kevin Rowland launches into a plaintive rant about the whereabouts of the wild boys of his childhood, topping it off with a heartfelt chorus calling for a return to the spirit and energy and adventure of youth. And I can't help feeling that's exactly what I need as I force my tired, creaking joints through another interminable kilometre.
Anyway, the Mystery Of The Missing Earphones has been solved. It turns out they were still in the bag I'd put them in a couple of days before on my way to work. I plug them into the phone, press play (and yay, it's Sally MacLennane by The Pogues up next), and away we go.