Ok, well, there’s no point in me pretending that I’m able to keep to my mission statement of posting all of the records I bought in the order I bought them.
I’ve realised I’ve missed loads out – often with good reason: I very much doubt (m)any of you would be the slightest bit interested in the glut of Status Quo records I bought as a teenager – so from hereon in, we’ll jump about a bit in this series.
Ok, that’s the admin done.
So. Regular readers will know how much I hate adverts, particularly ones which appropriate songs I love in an effort to try and draw those of us ‘of a certain age’ towards the product advertised. If you’re new here, go to the Categories drop down on the left and click S.S.O.S. (Stop Spoiling Our Songs) and you’ll see what I mean.
Anyway, this means that I’m really happy that the weather has been so terrible here in the UK for the last week. Because I can laugh at the supermarkets trying to flog their wares by way of referencing barbeques we won’t be having, or the cosmetic companies banging on about whether we’re beach ready or not (I’m not, haven’t been for years and I suspect I never will be again).
And when I think this, I have to rein myself in, for I have a record lurking in my collection which shows that I too have fallen foul of the curse that is the British summer.
Now, I know that one of my tag-lines here is that “there’s no such thing as a Guilty Pleasure”, and I firmly believe this. But I also believe that there’s also such a thing as a record which you own from which you derive no pleasure whatsoever.
And this is one of those.
Yes, I own it (I dare not check my box of 7″ singles, for I fear it might still be there).
I hate it.
Because it’s awful.
No, wait! Don’t you look at me like that! I can explain!!!
In 1987, every other night was spent fervently compiling mix-tapes to be played the following day in the sixth form common room. Homework? Schmomework!
Now, I knew that my own musical preference – jingly-jangly indie-schmindie – was not to everyone else’s taste and that my fellow students would indulge me, but only as long as they knew they would hear something they recognised every now and again. Something – I shudder as I write it – from “The Charts”.
And so to avoid the utter ignominy of having a mixtape ejected mid-flow, I bought some chart-bothering crowd pleasers.
Which is why I own(ed) this.
Please don’t judge me.
More (better, I promise) soon.