50 Ways to Prove I’m Rubbish #5

A couple of months before she and Neil got married last year, Hel told me two things about the impending wedding:

  1. That she was going to break with convention, and give a speech, and
  2. That I was going to be mentioned in it.

The first of these two revelations was no real surprise to me.  The second filled me with dread.

Hel and I had shared a flat together for a few years when I first moved to London, and consequently, she’d seen me at my best, my worst, and more pertinently, in some right old states.

What the hell was Hel going to say?

It prayed on my mind right up until the moment she stood up and delivered her speech, and when the moment came, I sighed a huge sigh of relief.

She related how after her and Neil has first got together, he had called round one Saturday night. Hel expressed her relief that he hadn’t been put off her when he entered the flat and found the two of us, both in our bed wear, tucking into a family size bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken (other brands of fried chicken are available, but they’re not as good), quaffing pints of White Russians and watching the Eurovision Song Contest.

Pints of White Russians were my speciality back then, and I would justify it by advising anyone who arched an eyebrow in my direction that it was simply a laziness thing: making a pint of the stuff just meant I didn’t have to get up and go to the kitchen to make another one as often. Although trips to the toilet remained as frequent, and sometimes I even managed not to fall asleep on the bathroom floor and actually return to the sofa.

Plus, I make really great White Russians when in the pint format. Ask me nicely and I’ll tell you the requisite measures.

I mention this now, because it’s Eurovision night tonight, and frankly I needed another back-story to justify me posting this song for *checks back* what I’m surprised to see is only the third time. And it’s been two years since I last bothered you all with it, so it’s long overdue.

Never has me mentioning a record I love, not despite but because of its glorious cheesiness, to someone ever provoked such a squeal of delight as it did when it first cropped up in a conversation with Hel.

This was the UK’s entry in 1982, the year after The Fizz’s triumphant skirt-ripping appearance. It came seventh, which is absolute travesty – and this was many years before every other country stopped voting for us for other reasons.

I didn’t buy it at the time – hence it’s inclusion here, although I raise it now to demonstrate that it’s not just so-called cool records that I rue failing to allow to bother my pocket money at the time – but it’s one that is guaranteed to put a smile on my face whenever I hear it.

I know it’s not a cool record, but liking music shouldn’t be about just liking the cool stuff, it should be about liking what you like and not being ashamed to admit it, right kids?



Bardo – One Step Further

Right, I’m off to work out where my nearest KFC is and how quickly I can get home after visiting it.

More soon.