On 24 January 2020 Pet Shop Boys released their 14th
studio album, Hotspot. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bang on about being a
long-term fan, especially given I did that 20 years ago during my
MA Writing course as part of a collection of stories and poems. A guy reviewed the
collection for the uni paper, Platform, and mocked my contribution with that
sort of Steve Lamacq-esque sneer that people who consider anything beyond
guitars as the devil give. It was something like it being pointless,
“especially as it was about the Pet Shop Boys!” Ha ha, etc. But I recently came
across my piece and he was actually right: it was boring.
One rule about my fandom is that I have to buy whatever it
is on the first day of release, whether a CD single or an album. It used to be
easy. In 1999, for example, I was doing a part-time job in a post room at a
solicitors in Northampton, where I was based at the time. It was 6-10 am so
once I got out I strolled into town, bought the then new album, Nightlife, at
HMV, and drove home. Since then, however, it’s become more and more difficult.
I’m now based in London so you’d think I’d be sorted; even
though HMV had gone bankrupt a few years back, there were still plenty of
stores left. But…
Let me take you back to December 2018. I was at work in
Coulsdon in Surrey and planning to head to Central London afterwards to buy
what was then the latest album by Florence and the Machine for my sister’s
Christmas present. This, however, bounced forwards when I was spotted sniffling
and making a Lemsip in the kitchen and told to go home and rest. The plan
itself wasn’t really affected as I still had to go via central London to get
home anyway. What could go wrong?
In the good old days I had three great options. I could go
to Oxford Street, where there was a massive HMV store – one of the biggest in
the UK – or take a short walk to the Bond Street branch, which was literally
across the road from the underground station that housed both the Central and
Jubilee lines. Equally I could just go straight to Stratford and go to a store
in the Westfield Shopping Centre. On this day it had been reduced to two – the
Stratford branch had recently closed – so I headed to Oxford Street. To my
surprise that one had gone as well. So off to Bond Street and, er, no.
I popped
into a clothes shop and a member of staff said there was another branch about
half a mile away. Sorted. Unfortunately it was a tiny store and stocked every
Florence album apart from the new one. He recommended a bigger branch in Covent
Garden and mentioned the name Fopp. I assumed he meant that Fopp was part of
Covent Garden. I looked at one of those ‘You are here’ maps when I got there
and there was no mention of Fopp in the F section. I looked confused enough for
a member of staff at the station to ask if he could help. I mentioned Fopp and
he gave me instructions. They were very good, to the extent that I walked
straight past it; except I was still inadvertently oblivious to what I was
looking for (hi, U2).
I found myself on Shaftsbury Avenue, near Piccadilly Circus,
and looked at another ‘You are here’ map. Still no Fopp. I was getting
irritated and sweaty. I’m at my worst when I get irritated – you could apply
that to most people of course – but it’s even worse when I know that there is
something obvious that I hadn’t worked out, whether it’s not remembering where
the exit was after a blood test in one of the many hospitals I’ve had to visit
(in fairness I usually laugh that off), or not being able to find something
that I knew I’d filed away sensibly. The worst one was forgetting where the
entrance to Fenchurch Street station was despite using the station several
times. But this was close, particularly given that the instruction contained
that horrible phrase, ‘you can’t miss it’.
Several minutes later and Mr Headless Chicken was still
walking up and down Shaftesbury Avenue. Most people didn’t know what I was on
about but thankfully a guy at a pop-up stall did and pointed me back to where
I’d come from. About a minute later I looked across the road and there it was:
a bloody shop with a trendy sign. Then I found out that the Florence album
hadn’t been released yet. Only kidding.
Forward to 24 January 2020 and off to Fopp from home this
time. I was recovering from more man flu so I was a little groggy, though
probably because I hadn’t been outside for three days. Thankfully I’d done my
homework and Fopp was still in existence. But what time did it close? Was I up
against it? Er, of course not. This is bloody central London and in fact the
store didn’t close until 10pm on a Friday. A 30-minute trip via the Jubilee and
Piccadilly lines later and I arrived at Covent Garden station. I’d forgotten
just how packed it is during rush hour; commuters are advised to use Leicester
Square instead for a reason. The official exit is by lift and the very much
frowned upon alternative is to climb the spiral staircase – 193 steps – with
warning signs about it being the equivalent of climbing five storeys and only
using it an emergency or evacuation. So obviously I chose that option.
I
wouldn’t recommend it but having done the same at Russell Square (an identical
scenario) a couple of times I knew it wouldn’t end in tears. Besides there were
others willing to take it on as well and when that happens it’s actually quite
fun. Some were tourists who seemed to classify it as some sort of London bucket
list achievement and they were laughing and urging one another on with fake
breathing exercises.
I’d forgotten just how amazing this part of London looks
when floodlit on a Friday night in the winter. And of course there’s the
pre-weekend happy atmosphere so I walked into a pub to sample it; well, either
that or because I desperately needed a piss. On to Fopp and I was in and out
within a couple of minutes with Hotspot tucked away in my man bag. I wandered around like
only I can when I deliberate over how to get somewhere or anywhere and returned
home via Holborn on the Central Line. When I got in I placed the CD in the
rack, put my headphones on and listened to the version I’d downloaded earlier.
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