It's 1990 and I'm raving...
The Birmingham Six. Poll Tax Riots. Sinead O'Connor. Saddam Hussein. John Major. Twin Peaks. Timmy Mallet.

But it wasn't all bad. On the flipside, we had The Happy Mondays, The Mary Whitehouse Experience, Thatcher resigned, the hottest summer on record and proto-PJM had just turned sweet sixteen. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 1990...

By this age myself and most of my peers were busily finding our feet and adopting (or in many cases being adopted by) our subcultures as part of establishing our identity. Previously basin-cut, acne-ridden teenagers began to adorn themselves with distressed denim, patches proclaiming alliegence to various thrash metal bands and long greasy hair. Others purchased baggy board shorts and spent the spring learning to Olly.

Blessed with the kind of balance that makes a Parkinsons afflicted Bambi on roller skates look graceful and an ideological difference with my Metallica loving, clearasil prescribed peers meant I trod a different path.

Yep. I embraced the mainstream in an act of rebellion.

Sixteen year old me was a sight to behold. From underneath the turnups of my baggy Pepe jeans peeked the white tips of a pair of Adidas trainers. My torso was clothed by a selection of psychedelic paisley hooded tops and my jet black curls were gelled high atop my head with a single kiss curl dangling down toward my face. My parents must have been so proud of their youngest son, monosybillic and shuffling around like Bez's geeky brother with half the sense of rhythm.

I had chosen my subculture. I was a dyed in the wool, hardcore raver, despite the fact that I'd never been to one in my life and had an attitude toward recreational pharmaceuticals akin to Richard Brunstrom's grasp of sanity.

My walkman bleeped and warbled to the rhythms of Guru Josh, Adamski, New Order and 808 State amongst others.

"I only ever listen to real, hardcore rave" bragged Craig, argueably gobbiest of my peers

"What's on your walkman then?" I replied

"Blackbox"

The closest young PJM actually came to raving is when he was spotted mowing the lawn sans hooded top while listening to Primal Scream, before going indoors to rub some Vicks on his chest in a vain attempt to ward off a summer cold.


[edit - look, I know this QOTW is lame, so I'll resort to nostalgia and smut if I have to]
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 7 Feb 2008, 16:51, 1 reply)

vicks for a summer cold
funny funny stuff!
have a click
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Sat 9 Feb 2008, 3:29, closed)