Punch in the Face

So you don’t expect an ageing, middle-class white woman blogger to start quoting lyrics from a song called Punch in the Face on your blog, but honest to god it’s been that kind of week. I’ll explain, but first a bit of back story.

My husband, who will forever and always be cooler than me (in a middle class white bloke kinda way), listens to Triple J and therefore has a clue about what the young people are listening to, always switches my radio from MAL (Middle-Aged Lady) FM as soon as he gets into my car. This causes extreme whingeing from me, as I love a bit of soft rock, hits of the 80s, big hair glam band kind of action, which is pretty much the antithesis of what you get from a youth radio station. But I have to admit that through a process of unwilling osmosis, I have come to enjoy some of the stuff they play on Triple J, with a particular fondness for Like a Version, which is where they have artists come in and do a live cover of another artist’s song. Sometimes, these are weirdly, yet enjoyably, improbable (like Abby May’s cover of Ginuwine’s Pony), and sometimes they are glorious (like Regina Spektor’s cover of John Lennon’s Real Love).

I’ve come to enjoy Like a Version so much, that I purchased dozens of songs which I sing along to during the 30 minutes each day I get to myself (15 minutes in the car on the way to work and 15 minutes on the way home #mumlyfe). I’ve never heard the original version of many of the songs (see earlier: I’m not cool) so these remade versions are all I know.

One of my favourites is a song called Punch in the Face by Seth Sentry, which The Google tells me remake of a song by Frenzal Rhomb (see earlier: never heard of ’em). I have taken to listening to it most days, it has a cool beat (which has now been rendered entirely uncool by being referred to as cool by someone as uncool as me) and the lyrics are insanely clever. The title might suggest that it’s about physical violence, but it’s actually about metaphorical punches in the head – the shock you sometimes need to give, or to get, to change a way of thinking or to realise that you’ve been taking things for granted.

I feel great, normally I love to complain
About stuff that I hate, science is late and juggling plates
But yo hold up let me cut to the chase, it goes:
Middle class white boy making white noise
With a pint of poison
At the pub with his mates
And we all give shit to people just for something to say
Cause our fun is talking someone’s away but don’t jump on our case
Cause I’m. Sure. the bubble will break
Until It goes pop I’m a make drunken mistakes
So I’m a give you all the tools to go and fuck up your day
And all I ask for, in return is a punch in the face, now hit me

So, my shit week in summary has involved: multiple sessions in the dentist’s chair because my previously excellent teeth have decided to turn against me; my kittens who really are now fully grown cats and therefore arseholes hunting our goldfish with such ferocity that they smashed the entire fishtank at 1am (fish survived, cats too although the jury is still out on them); and finally me having a huge fall at home on Monday night which involved my head making significant contact with the wall such that I saw lights and stars, was ever so very briefly out for the count. I was shaken up, in a lot of pain, and frightened. I cried for a long time, saying over and over to no-one in particular how much it hurt and how shit our new tissues were. When I eventually nodded off to sleep in the wee hours, after Dave had asked my name and the year and who the president is (smartarse), I had horrendous, crazy dreams about cancer and dying and losing people (literally losing them, like a pair of glasses) and assorted mad catastrophes.

I woke yesterday, headachey, sore and solemn. Falling and hitting my head? Well, there’s one massive combination metaphorical and physical punch in the face. I have been coasting for the past couple of months, making assumptions, being lazy, blundering along, having a sharp tongue, not caring enough. Today, my still sore head has reminded me that sometimes, if we are lucky, when we need to be sat on our arse, we will be sat on our arse. And so I was – literally and metaphorically.

Apart from being quite possibly the most poorly structured thing I’ve ever written, I’m not sure what the point of this post is, except maybe a nod to the universe.

Hey universe, I’m hearing you.

Loud and clear.


  1. Why o why do we need to experience pain, often physical before we take time to slow down and be kind to ourselves? Must be the week for shitiness, onward and upward I say. Take care concussion effects can linger and be quite debilitating, even minor ones. The silver lining in the post was the crazy picture I had in my head of the shenanigans going on at your place. I’m sorry but I smiled, in a nice way of course.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Thanks for asking, all good here just a few crazy days at work and a multi day migraine, looking forward to a quiet restful weekend.


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