Two decades in the capital

In 2011 I wrote this, a post about London life. It reads like one of those Tourist Guide reviews on the web. Unique, decent attractions, good transport links but be prepared to feel lonely and skint. Two-and-a-half stars. Well, 10 years on and I’m still in London and no longer that tourist.

Funnily enough my head began to turn not long after I published that post. I stumbled my way into a job as a TV listings sub editor at the Press Association in Howden, not far from Leeds. I had been unemployed for a long time and although I was applying for jobs regularly – about 15 a week – my confidence was so low that these applications became more like vague punts; waiting for the inevitable thanks but no thanks responses. In the evenings I'd go to an Arab cafe to get away from it all and live on the other side of the world for an hour.

The interview invitation email said that it was advisable to get a taxi from Howden station because it was a 30-minute walk to the office. Fair enough. I reached the station at about 11.30, expecting to find the usual platforms with mini cafes, maybe a mini WH Smiths, stairs with various signs and exits and, er, a taxi rank. 

Howden is a stop on a main line route from King’s Cross St Pancras towards Scotland so not exactly beyond expectations. Instead, nothing. A boarded up café and a slightly disturbing route to the exit by crossing the tracks. I was also the only person to leave at the stop. True, there was a pub, The Barnes and Wallis Inn, but it didn't open until midday. 

It started pissing it down. I began the walk to Howden, which took about 15-20 minutes at a fast pace. Howden is officially a town but couldn't be more village-like if it tried, the most amusing feature being a cafe that closed for lunch. The Press Association was tucked into a corner approaching a main road. The interview went pretty well: a combination of a chat followed by a various subbing tests.

I had booked a ticket for the return train journey that was two hours away so had time to go for a pub meal. Hmmm, I could actually live here, I thought, but to be honest I didn’t really think about the practicalities because my gut feeling was that I wouldn’t get the job – I didn’t finish one of the tests – and despite very encouraging feedback I was right. But two weeks later I got a call from the interviewer as someone had resigned. I was a bit flustered as I’d just come home from another rare interview in London but I said yes. That was as good as it got.

I signed the contract but from that point on it was clear I was being messed around. My first task was to find somewhere to stay. That actually went very well. I visited the area again and despite having narrowed my options to three, I already knew what my first choice was based on the friendly chat I had with the couple who owned the house, and photos of the room. It was in Goole, a 20-minute bus ride to Howden and the job was 9 to 5. What could go wrong? At that point, nothing. However, a few days later I got an email from the company telling me I would be working in a different team so I needed to sign another contract. I was a bit miffed although there was one bonus: it used a shift pattern that totalled a four-day week, and this would give me an extra day to spend with my partner in London at weekends. I sent an email asking if they would book me taxis home for late shifts. Rather than a friendly response I got a stern are-you-having-a-laugh-esque reply with some capitalised words in bold and underline. Charming. In retrospect I should have given them a polite fuck-your-contract then and walked away but I couldn’t; this was a job with a big company and who knows what opportunities could arise. So I reluctantly signed the new contract.

I told my would-be landlady, who was understandably concerned by this, and after some research she found me two late-night taxi services, one of which claimed to be a 24-hour service. I later found out that this service was operated by one person and that he only worked during the night when he had a big job such as taking someone to an airport. Great. The other company was based several miles away and its drivers were unwilling to operate at stupid o’clock for similar reasons. Early mornings were just as bad. I was due to work an early weekend shift, only to find out that the main taxi company in Goole, despite being open, didn’t operate until 9 am, and the first bus service was about an hour away.

In the first 48 hours of the job I found myself having to sign two more contracts: in the first instance my terms had changed; my notice was period had been slashed from one month to one week. Then the guy from HR had a little chuckle, confessing that this contract ran back to front so I needed to sign one more.

I quite liked living there with its slower pace and the chance to say good morning to complete strangers and thanks to the bus driver – thankfully I already knew the etiquette as my early years were spent in the north – but by Friday I couldn’t wait to get out. Work, or the shift system at least, was a hopeless mismatch; I didn’t have a car, couldn’t get one for health reasons, and I wasn’t happy with the lack of support from the powers-that-be on that. I did like the team I worked with, and the team leader was kind enough to give me lifts home when possible, even though he lived in the opposite direction, but ultimately it didn’t work out. Two months later I was practically shoved out of the back door. I felt depressed as I hadn’t done myself justice in the role I had but then again it wasn’t the job I applied for.

Ten years on and I’m living in Stratford, East London, with my partner. We stayed in Cricklewood for another five years, moving up the renting ladder to a one-bedroom flat in a block of 30 that was converted from an old people’s home. It was superbly managed and it was a tough decision to leave but we found ourselves with enough funds to step on to the property ladder. Our main criteria was a home near transport links. We were also targeting trendy newbuild two-bedroom flats but quickly realised that it was almost impossible as they were snapped up at a rate so rapid that any appointment we made was cancelled by the time we’d set foot.

Initially we looked at Watford as I’d lived there but found out that it would be more expensive to travel into London so we inched closer to Harrow, which looked a good bet geographically but was too expensive. We then tried Tottenham, where a new trendy area was rapidly growing not far from Tottenham Hale station, which had some great connections. But like in Harrow, all the properties were being snapped up faster than the proverbial hot cake. We spoke to a newsagent about the area as a whole. "Well, um, it's not as bad as it used to be," he replied. The final nail was a chat with a work colleague, who said, "Ah yes, that's where the London riots started."

Having said that, Stratford's reputation wasn't much better but there was a strange charm about it. The first time we walked through the shopping centre the atmosphere was vibrant. During some evenings after the shops had shut there were random classes or events taking place, including breakdancing and skating. There was a massive beatbox booming and it felt like we had gatecrashed a Run DMC video. Westfield shopping centre had also recently opened and I was initially obsessed about it; seemingly everything I wanted was there, and there was a Food Court providing food ranging from Japanese and Indian to Caribbean and Italian. Oh, and fish and chips as well. Then I remembered I was a thirtysomething bloke who didn't like shopping.

The Olympics had just taken place and suddenly it all made sense. The deciding factor was the transport links, which knocked spots off the vast majority of stations outside central London. Two tube links, various overground routes, national rail services to the south and east and two separate tramlines. It was like the railway equivalent of the Spaghetti junction, only more interesting. Our house was a five-minute walk from a tramline that ran to London International Airport within 20 minutes.

I look at my time in Howden with fondness. Pleasant, friendly people, a more relaxed lifestyle. But ultimately the highlight was a trip to the station every Friday evening. Hundreds of people would be walking together on the road for about a quarter of a mile, then veer into a floodlit car park, leaving me to trudge on in pitch black as street lamps disappeared. After 20 minutes The Barnes and Wallis Inn greeted me, and with two hours to spare I would enjoy a three-course meal. On the train and in first class - booking weeks ahead can be extremely rewarding - plenty of hot chocolate and snacks were served. 

No matter how tired I felt, once St Pancras welcomed me about three hours later I knew I could switch to autopilot and exploit the many paths that would carry me home.                    

The ones that got away

The Guardian recently compiled a list of the 100 greatest UK number one singles. As a Pet Shop Boys fan I was pleasantly surprised that West End Girls was chosen as the chart-topper but of course it's all circumstantial; had Vienna by Ultravox, Common People by Pulp, God only knows by the Beach Boys, Born slippy by Underword (all number twos), not to mention Blue Monday by New Order (a wonderful record and I think still the best-selling 12-inch record of all time, the list would look very different. Or would it?

I was actually more intrigued by the bottom end and my first thought was, well, we've had a lot of shit number ones, maybe we are dipping into best of the worst territory. But Whigfield? Well, she was the first debut act ever to enter the charts at number one back in 1994 but other than that, er... Craig David, Justin Bieber? Really? In fairness you could argue that it's actually quite a refreshing list - no straight bats, a mixture of classics stretching back to the 1950s flirting with frantic beats post millennium - but I quickly realised that there were some significant omissions, ranging from 'brave' (Britpop) to shameful (in my opinion, obviously).

So here it is: a top 10 of what could have and/or should have been in that top 100. Admittedly it's a difficult criteria to break down. Should I go with 10 songs that people in general would likely go with and say 'oh yeah' or just songs that I particularly like and say 'screw you'. In the end I thought, sod it, just pick 10 songs and see what happens...

10. Olive: You're not alone (1997)

A classic from the eerie drum and bass, trip hop scene in the mid-1990s that spent two weeks at the top. Behind the ravey synth stabs is a touching song about longish distance love. It's been covered many times, the most recent being one of those annoying, 'tear-jerking' versions that appear in an advert or a charity plea (think also Everybody wants to rule the world by Tears for Fears, True faith by New Order, and Rick Astley's Together forever as three examples) to make people think it's the original version. Give me hands in the air every time.

9. Soul II Soul featuring Caron Wheeler: Back to life (1989)

A very weird omission, to the point where I kept having to read the top 100 in case I'd missed it. Quite an influential act, given their unique drum programming that led to commentators and musicians alike calling it 'the Soul II Soul beat' for a while. The perfect transition into the 1990s and a four-week spell at the top. They pulled out of Top of the Pops with this song after the producers insisted that Wheeler had to mime. She refused and that was that.

8. The Beautiful South: A little time (1990)

A difficult choice because people tend to associate the Beautiful South with Song for whoever (another number two hit) so would they remember this one? Well they bloody should...

I've had a slightly awkward relationship with the Beautiful South over the years. Their Carry on up the charts greatest hits album is one of the best collections of songs around but I went off them after seeing them at the Birmingham NEC back in about 1995. The songs were great but Paul Heaton came across as a bit of a twat, smoking on stage, talking smug bullshit and doing some unnecessary vocal gymnastics. Even worse, in the row in front were endless grinning couples swaying left and right and I thought, do I really want to be like them?

Ironically this is a rare song where Heaton isn't involved (other than writing it). He takes a backseat while the other two vocalists, David Hemingway and Breanna Corrigan, duet in a heartbreaker detailing the break-up of a relationship due to non-commitment. The final verse is particularly touching with Corrigan walking away with a 'here's what you could have had' type of narrative. Anger, sadness and defiance in less than three minutes. Just one week at the top. 

7. Shakespeare's Sister: Stay (1992)

 

A shocking omission for this classic and slightly disturbing duet, which sounds like a straightforward love battle but the video suggests it might relate to a life or death situation. The first two gentle verses sung by Marcella Detroit gradually build before being gatecrashed by Siobhan Fahey's explosive entrance in verse three to bring this song fully into life. I first wondered whether it may have been omitted due to its length at number one (8 weeks) and the subsequent listener fatigue factor but Believe by Cher (7 weeks) and Queen's Bohemian rhapsody (14 weeks in total over its two separate releases) were there so no excuses.

6. Simply Red: Fairground (1995)

 

Once upon a time, Simply Red burst out of their coffee table cosiness and made an interesting record, a floorfiller sampling the thumping beats of Give it up by The Goodmen with an ambient soundscape. It's a shame this was more or less a one-off (the other candidate being Sunrise in 2002, which shamelessly but brilliantly sampled I can't go for that by Hall & Oates to create a fresh soulful pop song) because there was potential Everything But The Girl-esque reinvention there. Fairground shot straight in at number one (the first of four weeks) on the day I arrived at the uni digs in Nottingham.  

5. Baddiel, Skinner and the Lightning Seeds: Three lions (1996)

Just a year later Simply Red were at their worst with We're in this together, the 'official' Euro 96 song, so bland that chances are you've forgotten that fact; certainly the song anyway. Thank goodness for Three lions: a rare football song that - unlike most England anthems over the years - reflected the real mentality of most England fans: hope and idealism rather than expectation. 'Three lions on a shirt, Jules Rimet still gleaming, thirty years of hurt, never stopped me dreaming.' Perfect. 

Funnily enough, the two songs in some senses reflected Euro 96. As great as the atmosphere was throughout the country, the football itself was average. No real classic matches and the documentaries relating to the tournament were over-romanticised with what-ifs, if-onlys and whys. There's a poem about that somewhere. Having said that, England's defeat to Germany coincided with the end of the first year at uni so there was a sort of correlation in sadness. The country out of the competition and us students knowing that the campus was no longer ours. 

Of course you might be asking about the equally brilliant World in motion, which was also ignored by the Guardian, but I decided to stick to one football-based song. 

4. Backstreet Boys: I want it that way (1999)

If you are allowed to include Will Young, Justin Bieber, Take That and East 17 (I do like the latter two) in the top 100 then there's no excuse for leaving this song - a guilty pleasure classic - out, to the extent that I had to check whether it actually made number one. It did, albeit for a solitary week. I actually quite liked them in general, with Quit playing games, As long as you love me and Shape of my heart being other, er, favourites. I also remember singing along to Show the meaning of being lonely every day on the way to work (alone in my car obviously). The one problem with the Backstreet Boys was that - a bit like Stock, Aitken and Waterman - the production was very similar on each song, so small doses and all that. 

3. Oasis: Don't look back in anger (1996)

It's always fascinating writing these sorts of blog posts because sometimes you discover stats or information you were unaware of. For example, none of Oasis's eight chart-toppers stayed there for more than one week, which is absurd given that they were probably the biggest band in the world at that point. Chart behaviour had changed by then and there was a rapid turnover in terms of number ones but even so... 

It's a good song but was always playing in some shape or form during my first year at uni and it drove me bonkers. But post-uni I once sang it, and two other Oasis songs, with a live band that included at least two of my friends in a pub owned by my best mate's family. The first two songs were disastrous, largely because the speaker monitors were facing in the wrong direction so I couldn't hear myself sing and was spending too much time fiddling around with the microphone. The reaction of the crowd was silence. This song, despite being arguably the most difficult, went bizarrely well and actually received some warm applause. We leapt off the stage: leave when you're sort of winning...

2. Ace of Base: All that she wants (1993)

In a top 100 filled with a bias towards pop gems rather than predictable singer-songwriters, the absence of this record, a three-week chart topper that is basically the dictionary definition of 'Europop' with its bouncy synth reggae beats, is another puzzle wrapped inside an enigma, etc. 

I first discovered this song on MTV, which was at that point a European feed, and this and many other songs - What is love by Haddaway and 74-75 by the Connells being two other examples - were out long before the UK release. And this meant I was often bored of them by then. But in the battle of the Swedes (discounting Abba), Whigfield got the nod. Never mind.

1. Madness: House of fun (1982)

To prove I did listen to music before the 1990s, here is the biggest miss of the lot. Regarded as the best 'singles band' by some - despite this song being their only chart-topper (two weeks) - Madness were the sort of band everybody liked in some shape or form, whether the tunes, the wacky videos, or their Top of the Pops performances, my favourite being Our house, which featured a stage setting as a living room. And Madness had a darker side too with songs like Embarrassment, which confronted the issue of mixed race prejudice.

I was only five when House of fun came out and although I'm not going to pretend to analyse it in talking head format, when you are that age and a song called House of fun comes on the radio, you aren't going to ignore it are you, just like I didn't ignore Hit me with your rhythm stick. Weirdo.

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That time has come and gone, my friend

Back in 2004 when I lived in Watford, me and a group of friends went to see The Day After Tomorrow, a US disaster movie about Earth entering a new Ice Age following the neglect of global warming. Great film and all of us were quite giddy by the time we left but hey, that sort of scenario would never happen in our own lifetime would it? Anyway, you can probably guess where this is going…

My previous blog post focused on the hustle and bustle of Central London in a positive manner; barely a month later and we’re experiencing something so eerie, frightening and unprecedented that it’s the sort of thing you wake up to and think, wow, why did I dream that and why didn’t I think it was rubbish and wake up? But you don’t, do you. The only time this has happened – and it’s still vague and probably doesn’t count anyway – is when I had one of those naked in public dreams (yeah I still get those) and at a public gathering I felt so humiliated that I actually remember saying or murmuring, ‘this had better be a bloody dream’.

I guess one of the issues with coronavirus is the ‘not knowing’ aspect and the helplessness of it all. But why did the UK dither for so long? Right at the beginning of 2020 my partner called it; she told me about a disease escalating at a rapid pace in China. She said, how would you feel if we stocked up with food, drink and other essentials, isolate and work from home. What, really? She warned that it would spread to Europe within weeks and yep, she was right. Now, admittedly she is a virologist/bioinformatician, so has good knowledge of how diseases spread but surely there are senior figures who work with the government who would be on top of this.

The problem is, this dithering action reflects the lack of leadership the UK has had over the past decade within the various governments and senior figures and you have to question why plan Bs have been so conspicuous by their absence, and why there is so much complacency. I could provide a timeline from 2010 that would put all parties to shame but I’ve decided not to, except to say that we as a whole are not stupid and predictions can never be safe: see Brexit, coalition governments, tactics that backfire, etc.

On 12 December 2019 it was the company Christmas party in Croydon. It was decent, much better than the previous one despite being at the same venue, with a spicy buffet rather than bowl food. I could have partied all night had it not been for the annoying generic DJ who played hip hop for most of the night when all of us wanted ABBA, The Beatles, anthems from the 1980s and 1990s and basically everything the guy wasn’t playing. Admittedly this is a guess but the average age at the party was somewhere in the region of 35 to 45, for god’s sake.

So at about 10 pm I gave up and took the short walk to East Croydon station. This was, of course, also the day of the General Election. I sat down on the train to London Bridge and checked the exit poll. I sighed and felt completely lost. For the first time ever I hadn’t voted for any of the top three parties for various reasons. The only consolation was that my constituency is one of the safest seats in the country, with the Labour MP securing more than 70% of the vote, so it didn’t really matter.

On the train some youngsters were sitting in front of me. They were Labour campaigners drenched in red and yellow and they looked so upset that I felt like crying myself.

Covid-19 may be the tip of a melting iceberg but for me this country has been in a transitional period for a while. There is anger but with an increasing feeling of unease, reluctant defeat and a desire to escape from it all. Pet Shop Boys songs Into thin air and Dreamland are examples, and when the usually fluffy pop act Saint Etienne write an angry song about moving to another planet, you know there’s a problem.   

Technology is becoming increasingly influential and humanised at a rapid rate. When you go to an airport as big as Heathrow and the gates open via scanning a passport, when you have GP appointments online or on the phone, and when you turn on various lights and equipment using speech rather than flicking a finger, you wonder what will happen next and why. Neil Hannon of Divine Comedy mocks this in a song about an appointment with a psychotherapist being conducted by a robot. Then there’s social media of course, although you could argue that the culture of bitching and yelling has always existed but been kept behind closed brains.

Not that I’m a technophobe of course. As I write there’s a laptop alongside me containing everything I need to work from home, and the web remains an essential tool, especially when you are doing research or fact checking. I wish I’d had that available when I interviewed the sadly deceased Gordon Kaye for a UK Gold TV digital listings project 20 years ago. I asked him a question based on him being best known for ‘Allo Allo’ and he seemed miffed that I didn’t know he was in Coronation Street way before that. And of course there’s the iPhone with the web at my fingertips; also essential for ideas for blogs and poems when I’m on the bog.  

The lockdown, self-isolation issues are horrible but maybe, just maybe, once we can get a grip of this virus, society can get the kick up the backside it needs. No more taking anything for granted for a start, no more complacency and maybe the realisation that we human beings need each other more than we think.

I’m as guilty as anyone. I don’t meet up with my friends and family enough and that’s based on my own complacency. That’s been taken out of my hands for the near future at least, as has football. I just assume that I can watch it or play it when its available but that has frozen, as has Euro 2020. Funnily enough the last time I took a proper journey outside was to a football session: a competitive game but ultimately about 15-20 people from a mailing list playing on a three-quarter-sized astroturf pitch at a school. As I journeyed to and from the game, it had the ring of one of those World War films where a pilot tells his family that he only has one mission left, then he would return home. And then of course…

Usually there is a lot of banter at these football sessions. For example, one week a player got absolutely panned when he mistakenly took his daughter’s trousers as his post-game change of clothes rather than his own. But the changing room was somewhat muted this time, other than post-match analysis of a 9-9 draw in which my team came back from 5-0 and 9-4 down with yours truly scoring a last-gasp equaliser with a belter from 30 yards tap-in from three yards out (sorry, had to mention that). No-one knew when we’d play again, although at least the playing behind closed doors option wouldn't be an issue. It was ‘see you mate’ rather than ‘see you next week’, which was reciprocated.

Now it’s about patience. Football doesn’t matter, it’s all about helping one another to survive, worshipping the NHS for the incredible work that doctors and nurses are doing to save lives while risking their own, and praying that scientific research and testing makes enough of a breakthrough to gradually restore relatively normal day-to-day life soon. Oh, and it would allow me to get a bloody haircut.

          

            

  

The journey to Hotspot

On 24 January 2020 Pet Shop Boys released their 14^th 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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Has rhyme had its time?

Some of you browsing this may know that in the past year I've set up another blog known as What if I... dedicated solely to poetry. I did this after stumbling upon a notebook containing many of my poems from my MA writing course that I'd taken during my early 20s.

I suddenly had a burst of ideas for new poems. Why did that happen? At first I thought it was totally bizarre, largely because I hadn't written a poem in two decades, but I realised when I started browsing them that I wasn't 'him' anymore. Back then I was an angst-ridden sod and the poems reflected that. So as I gradually moved on, subconsciously at least I abandoned poetry because I associated it with vulnerability and ran out of ideas. I'd dismissed the idea that poetry doesn't have to be depressing or personal all the time. Not that I'd flicked a switch and suddenly turned into a happy chappie of course but my mindset had at least become more balanced.

So I thought to myself, could I write poems based on the new 'me'?

I don't do politics but I've always had a theory that in a tense political environment, where society is horribly divided over issues like Brexit, non-elected prime ministers, lies and Trump, an air of real tension and cynicism boils over and ripens creativity. It's often been said that the 1980s was a horrible decade for politics but a brilliant one for art, with anger, cynicism and satire triggering a fruitful world for the likes of pop music, film, TV and literature.

Three decades on and my enemy was Southern Rail, which had become a satirist's dream, albeit a nightmare for commuters like me. Constant delays, cancellations, staff problems, the wrong kind of sun, sneaky massaging of statistics and several strikes. One day I was checking the timetable at the end of a day at work and several trains had been cancelled for no apparent reason. 'You Southern bastards,' I ranted. Then I chuckled to myself as I suddenly pictured an infuriated northerner shouting it as if it was a football match between Leeds United and Chelsea. I instantly had the ingredients for a poem, based on the temporary death of geographical prejudice. I actually published Southern bastards here because I wasn't sure if it was a one-off or not.

I mentioned to a couple of people at work, when asked about what I had studied at uni, that I'd done an MA in writing, which had included writing poetry. To my surprise they were genuinely interested and one colleague liked the idea of people writing a poem each and during a sunny day have a picnic where people would read their poem. At the time of writing this hasn't happened yet but it made me sit up and wonder if I could still do it. Challenge accepted.

You might be wondering what all this has to do with the title. Well, here's why. The other day I was tentatively googling poetry readings and competitions. I wanted to know what was out there. As you'll have seen, the poems I've published so far on What if I... are all rhyming ones, as are those in the pipeline. You can imagine my surprise when I learned that rhyming poetry in some quarters is frowned upon these days. Indeed, some poetry judges apparently openly advise entrants not to submit rhyming poetry.

I was totally baffled. Forgive me for being somewhat naive but isn't rhyming a huge asset in poetry? Not to mention its rich history and tradition in the poetry canon. Admittedly I'm a borderline fraud when it comes to poetry; my knowledge of famous poets is pretty poor, to the extent that when I was working on Deleting happiness I remember questioning whether I was ripping off 'that Stop the clocks poem'. Thankfully I wasn't. In fact I was closer to ripping off Ruby by Kaiser Chiefs.

I even went as far as looking at the dictionary definition. "Literary work in which the expressions of feelings and ideas is given intensity by the use of distinctive style and rhythm." Pretty much what I expected. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not dismissing free verse, especially as it has also existed for centuries; in fact I'm quite jealous of people who can write poetry that way. And funnily enough, when looking back at my work in 1999, I noticed that I was using free verse quite a bit but my vague recollection is that those poems resulted from stream-of-consciousness exercises and were a bit messy as a result. My rhyming ones were better and some have aged fairly well although now I would class them as the equivalent of pop music demos; they needed extra production and that may yet happen.

The problem I have with free verse is it can easily stray into 'what does this actually mean' territory - the equivalent of some abstract and conceptual art - and a clever poet can exploit this. On the MA course part of our assessment involved teaming up with a colleague and analysing their work. One of the class wrote more or less exclusively in free verse. She was teamed with a pretty unpopular and objectionable bloke and in his assessment he allegedly described her poetry as pretentious rubbish.

The argument poetry judges apparently provide is that rhyme is overly restrictive and forced, and is likely to lead to cliched filler. But isn't that the challenge? To overcome those hurdles? Some believe restriction is a good thing. Father Ted and IT Crowd writer Graham Linehan said that the success of those shows was partly down to putting restrictions on its characters; for example deciding Fathers Ted, Dougal and Jack wouldn't actually conduct any services, and likewise Moss and Roy wouldn't be fixing computers; so the focus would be on the characters themselves and exploring their quirks to create plots.
 
I revisited my school days. Philip Larkin: did his poems rhyme? Yes. Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen: did their poems rhyme? Yes. Shakespeare: did his poems rhyme? Largely yes. Rudyard Kipling's If : did that rhyme? Yes. Are these still on the national curriculum? At the time of writing I believe so. Which begs two questions: what on earth has happened, and why can't modern rhyming poetry be celebrated as well? Even 'Poet Laureate' sort of rhymes.

Pop music has arguably had the biggest influence because the elite doesn't do popular, and over the years lines have become blurred. I love pop but song lyrics tend to prioritise catchiness over substance, particularly in rap music, which displays the sorts of rhythmic patterns that many poems do even if the lyrics are somewhat disposable. I don't have a problem with that but when Shaun Ryder of Happy Mondays and Black Grape fame was described by the now deceased Factory Records boss Tony Wilson as the best poet since Yeats, it was difficult not to snigger. Even Ryder thought it was bollocks.

Then again, when you read works by Benjamin Zephaniah, whose Rastafarian award-winning street poetry and its phonetics are playful and just about as accessible as it gets, perhaps there is a happy medium. But will he break his way into 'the canon'? Probably only when he is dead. The tutors on my MA course didn't particularly rate him.

There's also Roger McGough, whose amusing yet quite reflective poetry usually has a playful rhyme scheme. I went to one of his readings during my early 20s and loved it. He's hugely popular and yet some critics are uncomfortable with his 'fun' and accessible style of poems. I would loved to have studied him at school let alone on my MA but I don't think he has been universally respected enough to be part of the educational canon; which is a shame because some of his works are targeted at children. He said in a recent interview that children are natural poets because they make the sort of off-the-wall observations that poems thrive on. Adults suck the creative side out of them by using rational thought.

I was dangerously close to doing Drama at A-Level rather than English Literature. In induction week the teacher posed the tantalising question: 'What is theatre?' and it prompted a good discussion. But I got talked out of it.

So what is poetry? Are rhyming poems now just considered song lyrics without a chorus? I checked mine again. The closest to that scenario is Gate 22, which is the first poem I wrote specifically for the poetry blog. I gave it a rhythmic feel as I thought a mini rap battle would be fun and without sounding overly smug I think I could write a catchy chorus quite easily. I like it as it is for now, though, especially as it took a long time for everything to come together.

Ultimately, I guess that like everything in life, poetry has evolved and become more expansive. After the 2012 London Olympics, with its spectacular opening and closing ceremonies, Sebastian Coe said that the key was not to compete and make it better, but to do something different. There's nothing wrong with taking poetry to other places but it shouldn't be to the detriment of its 'traditional' form as far as I'm concerned. Unlike bloody Christmas records, the poetry canon should at least be left ajar.

What I've learned is that in my poems I can be playful but I don't have to be 'me' every time. And when I look back at my efforts from two decades ago, that's probably for the best.

Read my poetry here                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       


                 

40 memorable songs part three: Don't let the walls cave in on you

Welcome to the third and final part of my 40 memorable songs blog post. After graduating from uni I stayed on for another couple of years to do a Masters in writing. I had to pay £5,000 and raised it by taking out a Career Development Loan. I remember freaking out when I realised I would be 30 by the time the final payment was made. Gasp.

The course couldn’t have come at a better time because I was at an angst-ridden point in my life; uni had gone and as great Nottingham was, job-wise there was very little around so most people had returned home and nights out mostly consisted of me and a dancefloor; usually 80s night at The Rig, a bar underneath Nottingham's Rock City, where it was only £1 to get in on certain nights. It didn't help that I was hopelessly in love with someone I'd met during the summer but was out of bounds. But actually it was brilliant because my moody state made for some great writing. I feel very lucky because even when I’m down I can inject enough humour usually makes the text believable.

Having said that, musically my tastes did make a notable shift. It was partly down to leaving Radio 1 behind. As the new millennium arrived the station effectively dumped most of my favourite artists because they were considered too old/no longer relevant, etc. Even to this day I'm very open-minded about music but everything about Radio 1 took a nosedive: its playlists became narrower, I never really took to the garage scene, and, worse, the new chavved up DJs were laughably fake. 

Trouble was, I couldn't really find a definitive alternative. Radio 2, despite hoovering up several of the acts dumped by Radio 1, was still too middle of the road, but then again didn't have any advert breaks, which annoyed me too much to listen to local radio, and that was going the same way as Radio 1 anyway. I ended up listening to XFM for a while but got irritated by its Britpop-esque snobbiness. Yes, OK, you play 'decent' music but when you playlist a Sugababes record and say, 'That was Richard X [the producer] there, versus the Sugababes with 'Freak like me'" you know it's not the station for you. Come on, play some 'cheesy' stuff occasionally and don't be ashamed; it'll do you good.

Whatever, gone were the party anthems and suddenly I found myself listening to more and more downbeat singer-songwriters. Perhaps it was linked to the poems I was writing but melancholy music seemed somewhat appropriate, albeit on a subconscious basis.

27 David Gray - Please forgive me

I listened to David Gray's debut album, White Ladder, incessantly. I could have been boring and chosen Babylon but it's become ubiquitous over the years so I've opted for this instead, the opening track and also a single. A touching but angst-ridden love song.

28 Tom McRae - Bloodless 

I discovered Tom McRae at, of all places, a Dido concert, where he was the support act. Usually the support somewhat washes over me but this guy was different. His songs were eerie but strangely memorable and the sound was particularly intriguing as he had an electric violinist on stage to complement his more familiar acoustic guitar. His voice also had a unique twist; it took me ages to think of a comparison and the best I could do was Feargal Sharkey with a softer tone.

When I saw McRae's name on the annual Mercury Music Prize sample album, his eponymous debut, I had a listen and knew I had to buy it immediately. He's not had any commercial success, which isn't that surprising given the somewhat dark nature of his songs, but I actually quite liked that because he became a sort of secret artist that only I and a cult following knew about. I saw him in concert on a few occasions and he was always superb, although one Observer reviewer mocked the atmosphere. "It's quiet. It's too quiet," he wrote. Part of me agreed with that but ultimately he was playing in smallish, intimate venues with an audience who wanted to listen rather than bounce around near the stage.

29 Black Box Recorder - The facts of life

So now I was a man and had to fend for myself. Well, not really. I just took the easy route like others did and returned to rent-free life at home in Northampton. I also had the benefit of a car for the first time and a rewarding - albeit badly paid - job at a mental hospital. But I was depressed by my lack of a love life and it got the better of me sometimes.

This song, though, was and is a good snapshot of my personality in general. I should have hated the lyrics because they had a sort of 'I told you so' feel about them but I smiled when I heard them. It's easier said than done and it's true.

30 Flaming Lips - Yoshimi battles the pink robots

In late 2000 I found myself accepting a job in London. I love living in London now but, like for many people, it felt a daunting prospect at the time for someone who had mainly lived in modest-sized towns. Luckily, a good friend from Northampton was living in Watford and as it was a popular commuter belt it seemed a decent option, especially as it was also close to the M1 and M25. So I lived there for six eventful years. Quite a few tales to tell and as there's material for a future blog I'll leave it at that for a while.

Anyway, a work colleague liked Flaming Lips and when I told him how much I loved this song he gave me a copy of the album of the same name and I instantly loved it; full of quirky pop songs with strong hooks. For a while I thought at least half of the songs were KLF-esque nonsense lyrically but then I read an interview with singer Wayne Coyne, who said the album was a reflection of how precarious our existence is.

I felt a bit embarrassed when I listened to the album again. In this particular song the pink robots represented cancer and the sufferer was trying to beat it. I just assumed Yoshimi, a Japanese girl with a black belt in karate, was a random cartoon character based on the band's popularity in Japan. To be honest I almost wish I hadn't read the interview because I find the album quite difficult to listen to nowadays.

31 REM - Leaving New York 

I'd always liked REM but lyrically a lot of their songs had a 'what does this actually mean' element. So for me this was the band's finest moment; a really moving song with powerful and thought-provoking lyrics. "It's easier to leave than to be left behind" is up there with my favourites because I can't work out whether I agree with it or not. 

Obviously each individual is different and objectively leaving is probably the better option but because I'm too loyal for my own good - in the job I mentioned above I stayed until the bitter end despite knowing the company wouldn't last - it's a tough call. Leaving could potentially lead to regret and that's not healthy. Then again, life can bite you on the arse and I've learned you should never take anything for granted. 

32 Youssou N'Dour featuring Neneh Cherry - 7 seconds 

Karaoke changed everything. Absolutely everything. I'd always liked karaoke but in the past it had always been a one-off event; a sixth-form social night or a birthday bash at a pub, for example. Unbeknown to me, though, London was packed full of weekly karaoke nights at pubs and bars, with fellow karaoke obsessives. I got a tip-off from a family friend who found out I liked karaoke. She worked in a bar next to Piccadilly Circus tube and told me there was a karaoke night there every Monday.

Callaghan's was a truly wonderful place and seeing it close after the lease of the building expired at the end of 2007 was gut-wrenching. It was the sort of place where you could go alone and no-one would bat an eyelid, and suddenly my guard disappeared and my real outgoing personality emerged. My mongrel accent, previously mocked by several people at school, attracted a lot of "you are sooooo English" attention from foreign women. Having a floppy fringe helped because I could exploit it to impersonate Hugh Grant. I met some fantastic people there, including my partner.

Some of you may have noticed that I've abandoned listing the year after the title and this song is just one of a few on here that doesn't match the particular period so I thought it was pointless. I've included 7 seconds, a hit back in 1994, as it remains to this day my favourite ever karaoke performance at Callaghan's. 

One of the regulars, a local singer and actress, said it was one of her favourite songs and was frustrated she couldn't sing it. "Er, I'll do it with you," I said. She thought I was joking. "Look, it's listed here, right at the back of the book." She replied, "But none of the male parts are sung in English." I said, "So? I love this song and know it well enough to blag it."

So up on stage we went and it was truly brilliant. The Senegalese first verse was a tough hurdle but when the lyrics are displayed on the monitor it's always a safety net. I knew I had to raise my game for the chorus and it really worked; our voices really complemented one another. The French verse was slightly easier as I could speak it a little so pronunciation wasn't a problem. But there is a rapid burst towards the end of the verse and I found myself singing tongue-tied gobbledegook for a couple of seconds. I got a round of applause from a growing audience, which increased with the final word, 'changer'. Then came smiles and on-stage chemistry; fuck the screen, we knew what we were doing. It was a proper duet. Admittedly there was still the 'miiiiiillion voiceeeeeeeeeeees' bit left but I did OK.

Of course, there's always a chance I was actually crap but there's no footage available. But I'm very confident our duet was better than this, a hilarious musical car crash.

33 Sivan Shavit - Kartis tisa 

So as I mentioned above, I met my partner at Callaghan's in September 2005. Initially we both thought it would be just a summer romance as she had to return to her native Israel to complete her studies in November. But we soon found out it was more than that, especially when we started doing 'coupley' things like arguing all the time creating our own phrases, inventing new words and laughing at in-jokes that popped up. We unofficially split up when she left the UK but kept in constant touch during evenings via Messenger, with the shared experience of listening to Galgalatz, an Israeli radio station, while we were chatting.

The station was great, playing contemporary chart music, and that of course included Israeli artists as well. This song was one of my favourites, a classic singer-songwriter tune with an irresistible chorus. 'Kartis tisa' is Hebrew for flight ticket. I bought one in February 2006 for a week's visit...

34 Metropolin - Bli lomar milah (Without saying a word)

After a blissful seven days in Israel, including a spell in the southern holiday resort of Eilat, where the average temperature was 35 degrees but tempered by the sea breeze, I found myself back at Heathrow shivering at 4 degrees in the pouring rain. 

The flight was emotional. At Tel Aviv airport my other half bought me the debut album by Metropolin - another act I discovered on Galgalatz - and it was very hard to listen to on the plane as I was in tears. But at the same time it kept me occupied. Bli lomar milah was the final track on the album; a depressing duet about a man walking out on a woman without saying a word. Thankfully I didn't follow suit and against the odds we maintained a long-distance relationship. A happy ending.

35 Alex Winston - Choice notes

Good grief, I need a break so let's talk about music. In the late noughties the industry took a turn for the better with the beginning of the download era. To reflect the growing popularity of downloads, the UK chart decided to allow download sales and suddenly the charts became interesting again as chart behaviour returned to its traditional past and some records charted low but gained momentum and climbed to their peak on merit.

It also meant more and more music from various eras were available at cheap prices and you could source songs and download them any time. Obscure songs from TV adverts became very fruitful because you could google 'what's that song from the x advert' and instantly find out who the artist was and go from there. I did it with this song, 'that one from the Hyundai ix20 advert'.       

36 Savage Garden - To the moon and back

Aaaaaargh, good god no! In fairness I had to include this because it shaped a whole blog post. So click here to open a new window and learn more. Come on, you know you want to.

37 Basement Jaxx - Where's your head at?

      

At the age of 32 I was diagnosed with a brain tumour after collapsing with a seizure in a bar after a karaoke performance. The diagnosis took a hell of a long time - in hospital they just assumed I'd fainted - but thankfully my other half was more persistent than me and persuaded the hospital doctor to refer me for a CT scan after I suffered another major seizure during my sleep. The scan revealed an abnormality and a subsequent MRI confirmed there was a tumour.

Worse was to follow when a surgeon decided it was too dangerous to remove despite another doctor having predicted it would be possible. Clutching at straws, the good news was that firstly the tumour was stable; and secondly it was a rare brain tumour that could be treated. Half-yearly MRI scans for several years showed no growth but in 2013 there was a development when a new scan revealed an abnormal flow of blood around the tumour and my neurologist went into semi-panic mode, suddenly wondering if the original diagnosis had been correct. So in October I had a biopsy and thankfully he had made the right call.

During the recovery period I was bored and based on my best Northampton mate's idea to concoct an imaginary playlist based on my condition - Spinning around by Kylie and Fall at your feet by Crowded House being examples - I thought of others and Where's your head at? was the obvious stand-out. A tiny part of my brain had been examined; thankfully my sense of humour wasn't stolen. Top tune and one of my favourite ever videos.

38 Chvrches - The down side of me

In 2015 I was very down and quite angry. I had assumed the blood flow issue was no longer a major concern. My neurologist had feared it was a sign the tumour was waking up, yet for whatever reason my MRI scans stopped and I had to request another because things just weren't right. The frequency of my seizures - only minor ones now thanks to medication - had shot up; it had been between 5 and 10 a month, but it became nearer 20 and sometimes more than once per day. Sure enough the tumour was now malignant and, to put it politely, I was staggered by the complacency of it all. Three weeks later and I was handed over to an oncologist who wanted me to start radiotherapy and chemo as soon as possible.

I became reclusive and avoided get-togethers with friends as I had nothing positive to say and didn't want to bring the mood down. I felt a bit guilty about that because I was open with my work colleagues about the situation but I had to be as my working hours became erratic. Six weeks of energy-sapping radiotherapy and three rounds of torturous chemo later I desperately needed a song to lift my spirits and drag me back out of my shell. This was it; an uplifting and touching gospel ballad that described my state of mind perfectly.

39 Keren Ann - Not going anywhere

A really beautiful stripped-down song and I often listen to it when I'm in a reflective mood. Its melancholy nature hits the spot and lyrically it's intriguing because on first listen I just assumed it was a love song. Part of me still thinks it is but the overwhelming theme appears to be loneliness and the resignation that people and life in general move on. Talking of which...

40 Take That - Never forget

    

A very special song that becomes more and more poignant the older you get. At university we had a weekly student night at the campus called Shipwrecked, where drinks were cheap and everyone got, well, shipwrecked. It became tradition for the DJ to play Never forget as the final song of the night. Everyone remaining on the dancefloor would get into a circle, arms round shoulders and then break to fling them in the air when the 'neeeeeeever' line came in.

At my bestie's wedding a few years ago I was about to collect my stuff and leave as we were nearing the end but she shouted, "Kris, Kris, come back!". I heard the intro to the song and we recreated the student circle for the first time in about 15 years. Quite a moving moment. We were still so young and we hoped for more.

Part one: 1976 - 1990: 4am in the morning

Part two: 1991 - 1997: By the fountain down the road

          

40 memorable songs part two, 1991-1997: By the fountain down the road

Welcome to part two of a three-part blog listing 40 memorable songs to mark my 40th birthday in November 2016. This part covers my teenage years and the world of university.

So, into the 90s and a real topsy-turvy decade, both for myself and for music. I made some great friends but there were occasions where I didn’t fit in; school was a nightmare at times and even with football as a means of escapism – one season I banged in 27 goals for Bective Wanderers – I still felt a bit of an outsider, especially when I was picked for the Northampton league’s representative squad. I was treated with suspicion by cliquey players and borderline bullied. University was a much-needed intervention, even if some of it was a waste of time.

As for music, there was a hell of a lot of great stuff around but gradually the record industry started to take it too seriously: firstly by announcing that pop music was dead and we now had to categorise everything – rock, hip hop, Europop, Britpop, trip hop, progressive house, paraplegic trance, etc, as well as girl power – and secondly, later in the decade, manipulating the charts by selling new releases at low prices and raising them the following week. As such, every artist’s release date was a calculated process and almost every number one was a new entry, many staying at the top for only one week. Basically the industry sucked the fun out of the charts and totally devalued the chart-topper.

14 KLF – 3am Eternal (1991) 

With this following Manchild and Street Tuff at numbers 12 and 13, I’ve just noticed there’s a rap theme developing, which is odd as I don’t think I’ve ever actively explored hip hop and have had no desire to. Not that this is an out-and-out rap record anyway; it was the lush melodies and synth bleeps that ultimately drew me in. The ‘Ancients of Mu Mu’ were geniuses. They created songs with bonkers lyrics worthy of a novelty act but crafted with the sort of killer hooks associated with the best artists around.

This record coincided with the start of the Gulf War when naughty Saddam invaded Kuwait. Because it jeopardised the oil industry in the West, the UK and US decided to join in (er, allegedly). If you think political correctness is a relatively new phenomenon, you’re wrong. Back during that period, music was censored and 3am eternal’s intro – a round of gunfire – had to be removed from the radio edit.

15 Massive (Attack) – Unfinished sympathy (1991)

Poor Massive Attack. The Bristolians also fell victim to music censorship and were forced to remove ‘Attack’ from their name during the war period. This is an amazing record with its lush strings and addictive drum patterns. Another favourite lyric of mine too: “The curiousness of your potential kiss has got my mind and body aching.”

In a term of Drama at school we constructed a play in which two gangs tried to negotiate a deal after a series of violent attacks. “It’s a snapshot of the Gulf War, isn’t it?” I casually mentioned. “I think you realised that a while ago, Kristian,” was the response. I was flattered.

16 Billy Bragg – Sexuality (1991)

“Just because you’re gay, I won’t turn you away.” Er, good. In all seriousness, I’ve always wondered what homosexuals thought of this song at the time; even back then I was sniggering at the simplicity and almost patronising naivety of it all. And for every great line, such as “safe sex doesn’t mean no sex it just means use your imagination”, you get, “I look like Robert de Niro, I drive a Mitsubishi Zero”. Was he watching Whose Line Is It Anyway at the time? Musically, though, it’s an amazing record with Kirsty MacColl on backing vocals, ex-Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr strumming, and Phill Jupitus directing a laugh-a-minute video.

17 Electronic – Idiot country (1991)

The opening track on my favourite ever album. I could pretend to be smug and mention the link to Sexuality because Johnny Marr is the one of the duo in Electronic; the other being Bernard Sumner from New Order. But I’ll admit it: I stumbled across the link at the last minute as I didn’t realise Marr was involved on Sexuality. I should have done as I remember at the time thinking that the jangly guitar on Idiot country sounded identical to the one providing the intro on the former. With Sumner yelling the rock-driven verses then singing the chorus over waves of synth strings, it’s the perfect template of the album. Two guys in a studio layering synths and guitars, playing around with basslines and melodies, dragging them out but never for too long because they continually changed direction. 

My best mate and I played the album to death and had a juvenile tradition of looping the line “And if I drove a faster car, I’d drive it bloody well” on track four, The patience of a saint, sung rather oddly by occasional collaborator, Neil Tennant of Pet Shop Boys. I still listen to the album now and then during painful commutes via Southern Rail. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an album with a more triumphant intro and outro than this one.

As you’ll have noticed, 1991 was quite a fruitful year musically for me although it will also be remembered for a 16-week stint at number one for Bryan Adams. I mention it because it was quite surreal; it covered the summer holiday period at school. When you leave one school year behind you expect to return to the next with an all-new chart to discuss. Instead we returned bemused by the fact that Adams was still at the top and Right Said Fred were still at number 2 for an eighth week with I’m too sexy.

18 Haddaway – What is love? (1993)

Europop began to dominate the charts but curiously we in the UK were always the last to hear it – unless you had MTV. Back then MTV was solely a European feed for UK viewers and it was fantastic; VJs with phat Euro accents playing the latest hits, several of which would not be getting a UK release for a few months. All that she wants by Ace of Base was one big example, and this was another. A Finnish visitor said, “I’m sick of this bloody song”. It had only just charted here. Top tune and the album wasn't bad either.

19 Lightning Seeds – Lucky you (1994)

Very underrated act who probably suffered from being too poppy in a world that was about to become invaded by wanky chinstrokers. True, there was Three lions, and the fantastic The life of Riley has made a comeback on Match of the Day’s Goal of the Month, but Ian Broudie’s music as a whole has deserved more attention. The album Jollification was packed with potential hit singles, so much so that a stomper with Alison Moyet, My best day, and bouncy singalong Feeling lazy, which would have gone top 5 for Madness had it been released in the 80s, weren’t released. Shockingly, Lucky you only made number 43 initially but was re-released a year later after the album gained some momentum. It then charted at a more respectable 15.

20 Dubstar – Stars (1995)

I remember dozing in bed as all good teenagers do when they should be revising for A-Levels. Then on the radio came a breakbeat intro into a sea of mournful synth strings. I was now wide awake because I instantly knew I was listening to something special. A bit like Unfinished sympathy but without the grooves. Then came Sarah Blackwood’s vocals; the sort – a bit like Tracy Thorn from Everything But The Girl – that divide people. Are they dull and monotonous, or darkly romantic and moving? You can probably guess which side I’m on.

Amazingly the follow-up single, Not so manic now, was also outstanding and both would be in my top 10 singles of the 1990s if I was pinned down and forced to come up with something definitive. Which I probably wouldn’t. Stars, like Lucky you above, had two bites of the cherry, scraping the top 40 in 1994 first time around and then, after Not so manic now was strategically released in the first week of 1995 to make number 17, charted at 15 following the album Disgraceful’s release.

The great thing about writing blogs like this is it provides the perfect excuse to reunite with records such as these. I listened to Disgraceful on a commute home recently and it still sounds fantastic.

21 Saint Etienne – He’s on the phone (1995)

Some lazy journalists compared Dubstar with Saint Etienne simply because they had a female singer (and called Sarah too, in this case Cracknell) and a largely electronic sound and male songwriters. But they were hugely different. Saint Etienne were mostly considered a bubblegum pop act and if this single was bubblegum it would be the Everlasting Gobstopper. It’s one of the finest singles I’ve ever bought because not only does it contain this track, the three b-sides are magnificent chilled-out ballads. So when I went out clubbing in the first year of uni I used to listen to He’s on the phone beforehand and then the other three as I wound down afterwards. Unless I’d pulled of course. Which wasn’t often. The single is perhaps a snapshot of their little-known diversity and Smash the system, a double CD collection of singles, album tracks and b-sides is up there with the best compilations I’ve heard. Hugely underrated.

22 Pulp – Disco 2000 (1995)

So yes I was now at uni, Nottingham Trent, and immersed in the world of Britpop. As a genre it was OK, nothing more, and although there were a lot of great songs out there – The trucks don't work – by The Verve, for example, I found it disturbing to see how many people were banging on about the genre and how it was ‘real music’, etc. The continual masturbation over Oasis was even worse. What’s the story… was a good album but there was a period when it was almost as though music history had been deleted and the only two records left were Wonderwall and Don’t look back in anger.

Pulp, however, were a band from that era that did interest me. Different Class was an amazing album full of quirky songs that had a Britpop sound but with extra personality. Jarvis Cocker fascinated me; there were times when I thought he was simply a satirical character but others when he was a genius, taking a step back and thinking, this is all a load of bollocks, isn’t it? Famously, of course, he invaded the stage at the Brit Awards when Michael Jackson pretended to be Jesus during a performance of Earth song and more or less farted in his face.

Disco 2000 hit the spot because it worked on so many levels. It was a rousing pop anthem but one full of sadness, yet the narrative's wit kept the song upbeat enough for the chorus and its hope for reunion to feel special. Not many artists are capable of achieving that balance in such a moving manner. And of course, the older you get, the more poignant the lyrics become.

23 Crescendo – Are you out there? (1995)

From the sublime to the spooky. Just before we broke for Christmas I heard this, a weird dance record – thumping beats, strings and a choir – played in the early hours on Radio 1. I really liked it so I bought it but I had no idea what was in store. The single version was good, the extended mix amazing and there was a third version lasting 20 minutes that was mind-blowing; I realised the single version had basically chopped about three-quarters of a masterpiece. There was an intro so tentative it sounded like the volume was at the wrong level, a vocal, a gradual build-up from a choir to the main melody, and after 10 minutes it exploded into a battle between the dancefloor and the orchestra pit.

I think this is the only record Crescendo ever released. Just a shame it wasn’t released at Easter; then I could make a joke about putting all their eggs into one basket. Snigger.

24 Faithless – Insomnia (1996)

The other week I was making my way to work when some geezer drove past me at breakneck speed with this blaring out of his car stereo. Forget cutting-edge house, he was listening to this, one of the most iconic dance records ever made. Over 20 years on and Insomnia still sounds as fresh as ever. Even wanky ‘real music’ Britpop fans would hit the dancefloor when this came on at the Black Orchid in Nottingham all those years ago.

25 Bon Jovi – Living on a prayer

The Black Orchid (as it was named back in 1995-96) was one of many bars that had student nights during the first year. When it filled up to near maximum levels, the DJ would play a string of pop classics with massive singalong choruses. It was nearly the same order every week – Tainted love, Karma chameleon, Take on me, I wanna be (500 miles), etc – but it was good fun. And it would carry on; there’d be Summer of 69, Sweet child of mine, and then this.

My best mate from school was at the same uni but on a different campus and he introduced me to one of his flatmates, a sweet Lancashire lass whose first words were: “D’ya like Bon Jorvi?” I’d found my best mate from uni. I wasn’t going to include this originally but on New Year’s Eve I was abroad watching a live band and they started playing Living on a prayer. My plan was to dance like a twat to the song and send her the video to say an early happy new year as we were two hours ahead but it didn’t work. Probably a good thing.

26 Divine Comedy – Something for the weekend (1996)

 

A bit like Jarvis Cocker, frontman Neil Hannon had – and still has – the quirky personality and raised eyebrow that made Divine Comedy stand out from the regular Britpop trend. The band are best known for the cheeky National Express but their output has been consistently great over the years. Many will recognise Hannon’s voice from Father Ted’s unused Eurovision version of My lovely horse, and he also wrote the theme tunes for that show and the IT Crowd.

Something for the weekend was a very clever record; not a love song, more a humorous twist on the art of seduction using a tale of a mysterious woodshed central to a cunning scam. 

Part three, 2000-2016: 'Don't let the walls cave in on you' 

Part one, 1976-1990: '4am in the morning'