Having just spent the past month taking the piss out of my friends for getting The White Stripes album for Christmas, hearing this little anecdote of indie-pop mastery has left me somewhat in a dilemma.

I took to hating Hotel Yorba like a fraggle to a cave. The moment I’d heard it, a great lump of despise-goo grew inside my stomach, waiting, living, breeding and growling at me in a “don’t you subject me to that rubbish you evil wench” kind of way at the very mention of the name “The White Stripes”. But somehow, that despise-goo doesn’t seem to mind this song. In fact, it seems to quite like it.

You don’t know just how hard I’ve tried not to like this song, or just to forget it’s very existence, but I cant. I simply can’t do it. The very minute those multicoloured Lego cubes adorn my TV screen, a sudden feeling of elation shoots through my body and I feel the need to do silly things like jump up and down on my sofa and dance around my poor, unsuspecting company.

It’s the simple tune; it’s the uncomplicated, happy lyrics; it’s the raw, spikey guitarline; it’s the hint of glam-rock that’s injected into the song via the voice of lead singer, Jack White and it’s the aaahhh-ahhhh-aahhh bits. I can see I’m going to have to be very careful not to over-play this one!

White Stripes… You’ve done good. Your mother will be proud.