» Teenage Crushes - Part Two

Shirley Manson from Garbage
Ah Shirley Manson, the flame haired Scottish songstress from briefly popular mid-nineties band Garbage.

'tis the summer of '96 or possibly '97 - the details are a little vague. I'm stood in line outside of the prestigious* music venue that is the Newport centre quaffing cans of Kestrel with my mates and little do I know that I am about about to experience one of the most profoundly erotic moments of my young life - needless to say, I was, it has to be said, rather sheltered in that respect. Subsisting almost entirely on a musical diet of Korn, Entombed and the like it was perhaps odd to find me clad in an oversized machinehead t-shirt with a group of similarly attired mates queuing for a Garbage concert, but it almost certainly had something to do with seeing the spafftastic Shriley Manson up-close.


Eventually, the line began to move and we hastily nailed the remainder of our lukewarm less-than-premium lagers from their somewhat rusty cans and made our way into the cavernous arena. For reasons unknown the support act were the Crystal Method. This did not sit well with us, but soon enough they buggered off and it was time for the main attraction. We shouldered our way to the front in that self-centred manner entirely bereft of consideration that only teenagers can manage (years later at the Reading festival I nearly started a fight with a bunch of young 'uns for doing just that, but that's not really relevant here).

The concert gets underway and she strides out onto the stage. Shirley Manson wearing a tiny, tiny red dress and proper 'fuck me boots'. Stood a mere ten feet from the stage and a gyrating Scotswoman I was in a randy teenage heaven for the next hour or so - my feverish, but at the time rather limited imagination running wild. I still maintain to this day that I got a look at her knickers at one stage. I hobbled out of there hunched awkwardly in a pathetic attempt to mask the raging stonk on that I had. We then spent an hour lurking round the back in the hope of getting a glimpse of her and if we were truly lucky an autograph. Alas, we were to be disappointed and the closest I ever got to her was the promotional material for the concert.

Probably still would.

*completely shit.
(Wed 11th Nov 2009, 14:10, More)

» Teenage Crushes - Part Two

Buffy the Vampire Layer
Kids today have it easy with their always on broadband and their internet pornography. Back in the late-ish nineties I was stuck with my parents dial-up connection that took half an hour to load the bloody beeb homepage. Essentially useless for looking at any sort of proper smut and thus we had to resort to using our imaginations; desperately trying to picture the female cast of Buffy in the buff whilst frantically tugging away. Luckily I've a vivd imagination. Oh yeah - that bird from Sliders as well. Hmm, I think that was about when Konnie Huq started on Blue Peter as well. My sister made me watch it. Not that I was complaining.

Massively jealous of anyone who had fit teachers - ours were almost all total fucking boilers - though I've developed a weird retrospective thing for one of them. I think I was too naive to appreciate her ample charms at the time.
(Thu 5th Nov 2009, 11:55, More)

» Rubbish Towns

Another nomination for Luton
Ah, Luton a pestilent, foaming boil of a town that clings to the perpetual traffic jam otherwise known as the M1.

I feel that I should provide some context here by qualifying my choice - I spent my formative years with Newport as the nearest large town to us and thus is was the scene of all my youthful binge drinking and suchlike. Newport is a place that gets slagged off by people from Coventry. Think about that for a moment and bear in mind this very salient fact while I use my severely limited writing ability to try and paint you a picture that conveys even the merest hint of the horrors that lie in wait for you should you end up living in Luton.

Through a combination of laziness, apathy and naievety (well, laziness to be honest) I decided to go to Luton and do a computer science degree, figuring that by attending a crap uni I could do the absolute minimum of actual work, focusing instead on the vital activity of drinking and still stroll away from there with a degree. I was almost right. It soon became apparent that I had a grave miscalculation, because Luton is miserable shitpit where the only possible escape from the relentless assault of negativity and depression that the place inspires is to be found in drink and drugs. Quite aside from being a concrete monstrosity dominated by the sort of 60s town planning and architectural features that result in grotty Arndale shopping centres, concrete tower block, enormous piss filled multi-story car parks all thrown together with the sort of care and attention to usual associate with ADHD raddled children trying to use lego it was a town ravaged by poverty (tahnks Vauxhall!) and racial tension. Never before or since I have lived somewhere where there was such an atmosphere of simmering resentment, and despair. The resultant violent crime statistics told their own story, as did the bi-annual gang fight that always seemed to break out outside one the towns two large nightclubs. If you imagine the levels of chav-dom, crime and general scumminess inherent in whatever you chosen shite-town is and multiply it a few times then you'll come close to beginning to understand the putrid boil that is Luton.

The place should be nuked from space, it's ashes gathered up and fired into the sun and entire area cordoned off for several centuries. The sole redeeming feature of the place was a curry house called Meahs - but even that isn't enough to save it.
(Wed 4th Nov 2009, 14:24, More)