(posted by noodle “god i need a ciggie” vague)
Of course I didn’t mention the perm.
See it wasn’t all unremitting bleakness during the mid 80s. On my 17th birthday, my love of all things RAWK!!! led to me getting my hair permed. It caused quite a splash at the 6th Form Dinner-Dance that evening. My mate Paul Conway pointed out that I looked like George Berry:
After a few months I had the top cut, leaving me with that Midlands fashion essential, the Mullet. Unfortunately, this being my teens, my musical tastes were changing rapidly. Having grown out of RAWK!!!, I found meself as probably the only bemulleted fan of The Smiths in history (I’m not counting the States, where the rules are different.)
One Friday night, I was moshing with a couple of Psychobillies during the Alternative half-hour at the Cedar Tree Disco (the only nightlife in my hometown). After we’d finished battering each other stoopid(er) to “Holiday in Cambodia” and “Rock Lobster” they invited me to come and see The Meteors the next time they played in Birmingham. One of them looked me up and down and then, peering out from under his foot-long razor-edged quiff, yelled over Alexander O’Neal “You’ll have to get yourself a proper haircut though mate.”
troubled diva 