News of Sarah Harding’s death from breast cancer, aged just 39, appears to have hit harder than many people expected it to, but perhaps there’s a simple reason for that.
Perhaps it’s because Sarah Harding embodied everything life – and pop – is supposed to be. From afar (those who knew her personally would of course know best, and I can only speak in humble tribute as a casual observer) she came across as the type of girl who, if you were to bump into her at a party, would immediately give you a hug and tell you a devilishly dirty joke when nobody was listening.
The kind of woman you’d be drawn to, like a magnet, because some people in a crowd are like that – some people are radiators or life buoys; the kind of people you want to be around,.
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