30 October 1988: She Thinks with Her Chin Up

1. Enya: Orinoco Flow
2. Kylie Minogue: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
3. Milli Vanilli: Girl You Know It's True
4. Yazz: Stand Up for Your Love Rights
5. The Art of Noise featuring Tom Jones: Kiss
6. Whitney Houston: One Moment in Time
7. D Mob featuring Gary Haisman: We Call It Acieed
8. Robert Palmer: She Makes My Day
9. Wee Papa Girl Rappers: Wee Rule
10. Erasure: A Little Respect
11. The Christians: Harvest for the World
12. Bobby McFerrin: Don't Worry Be Happy
13. Kim Wilde: Never Trust a Stranger
14. Royal House: Can You Party
15. Deacon Blue: Real Gone Kid
16. The Beatmasters with P.P. Arnold: Burn It Up
17. Robin Beck: First Time
18. Phil Collins: Groovy Kind of Love
19. Womack & Womack: Teardrops
20. Rick Astley: She Wants to Dance with Me
21. Jason Donovan: Nothing Can Divide Us
22. Inner City: Big Fun
23. Jolly Roger: Acid Man
24. Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: 1-2-3
25. Guns N' Roses: Welcome to the Jungle / Nightrain
26. Tanita Tikaram: Twist in My Sobriety
27. The Jungle Brothers: I'll House You
28. Bryan Ferry: Let's Stick Together '88
29. Kraze: The Party
30. Brother Beyond: He Ain't No Competition
31. Prince: I Wish U Heaven
32. Level 42: Take a Look
33. Sinitta: I Don't Believe in Miracles
34. The Pasadenas: Riding on a Train
35. T'Pau: Secret Garden
36. The Hollies: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
37. U2: Desire
38. Sabrina: All of My (Boy Oh Boy)
39. Chris de Burgh: Missing You
40. Simon Harris: Here Comes That Sound

~~~~~

Sunday marked the end of our nine-day trip to Scotland. That morning we checked out of The Buchan to not a small amount of disappointment; tears began to well up as our cab left for Waverley station. The train from the Scottish capital back to London was equally sad. While I hadn't paid much attention to the scenery on the way up a week earlier, I spent much of the trip glancing out the window and wishing I'd chosen to do so on the way up: as the Scottish Lowlands turned into the north of England and then into the Midlands and down into the London periphery, it became clear I was experiencing all this in reverse aesthetic geographical order. To then return to our cold, uninviting abode in Laindon was just the natural conclusion to one of those dreaded end of vacation days.

We got home and I was able to catch most of the Radio 1 Top 40 rundown with Bruno Brookes. Having had my hopes dashed a week earlier, I was certain that Kylie would dethrone Enya. But, just to finish off a day of disappointment, there was no change in the Top 2. It hardly mattered that I was already beginning to tire of Je ne sais pas pourquoi (I was really starting to get into Robert Palmer's She Makes My Day instead); it was the tune I was backing and I wasn't about to give up.

The Top 3 was rounded out this week by Milli Vanilli's Girl You Know It's True, one of the year's most memorable and infamous hits. It would be two years before revelations that they didn't sing on this and other records came to light but it's interesting looking back now at their early success and trying to foresee what would happen. There was nothing about them that seemed remarkable, they had a catchy but disposable hit and it didn't seem like they'd amount to much afterwards. They wouldn't enjoy another hit for a few months and it was much more middling and derivative. And they seemed like the sort of act that would be destined to be a British - or European - curio. Sometimes a promising group or singer prematurely comes a cropper and sometimes the least likely to succeed manages to go far. Somehow or other, Milli Vanilli ended up being both.

I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework. It may have been the pathetically sad sketch of a sunflower I did for Mrs Templeton's art class ("What lovely paper" was the only nice thing she had to say about it; indeed, the sketchbook I received from our family friend Judy as a going away present was nice but I think it succeeded in making my efforts only look more laughable than they already were; old Templeton seemed offended that I'd deface such a beautiful book with my clumsy attempts at art) or the private creed I had to pen for religious studies (I believe this to be the worst class in the history of the universe). In any case, as I sat the doorbell rang. My dad answered.

"Trick or treat!" a group of three or four kids hollered. Oh yeah, it's Halloween, I thought to myself. (Actually, this part doesn't feel quite right. I'm sure that it hadn't occured to me through most of the day but it feels like I must have thought about it at some point. The hosts of Blue Peter may have brought it up but it wasn't the focal point of the show: according to the BBC TV archives, the late Caron Keating was swimming with sharks that day. Nevertheless, Halloween was an afterthought for us) The last day of October had come and almost completely passed without us noticing. Mayflower didn't mark the occasion by allowing us to dress up (unless, of course, all two thousand of us decided to wear our school uniforms as our costume) and I didn't even think about going out.

Of all the things I missed from back home - my grandparents, having a bedroom to myself, Slurpees, the spectacularly good season the Calgary Flames were having, kindly teachers who weren't constantly pissed off - down at the absolute bottom of the list would have been Halloween. While I liked candy as much as any kid, I hated wandering around asking for it, never possessed any kind of imagination for costumes, resented greedy high school students who felt they still had the right to go trick-or-treating (we had a no going door-to-door after the age of twelve rule in my family) and never liked the miniaturized versions of my favourite chocolate bars. (Seriously, how can they be called 'fun-sized'? I'd have much more fun eating a normal size Mars bar or box of Smarties) It was never as fun as billed and it was never one of those days I looked forward to, unlike the last day of school or Christmas Eve.

"I'm sorry", Dad said regretfully, "We didn't know anyone went out on Halloween here."

"You American?" one boy inquired.

"Yeah", my dad replied as if he was fed up with hearing that question and had become resigned to just going along with it. I looked up from my homework. "Well, actually we're from Canada." Maybe he knew one of us was right about to correct him as to our nationality. He apologised to the kids again then shut the door. He and Mum talked about giving something like 50p to any other urchins who came knocking. None did. It was nice to be in a country with as apathetic an attitude to Halloween as we did.

~~~~~

young Paul's favourite: Je ne sais pas pourquoi

older Paul's retro pick: Real Gone Kid

23 October 1988: I'll Play You Old 45's That Now Mean Nothing to Me

1. Enya: Orinoco Flow
2. Kylie Minogue: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
3. Whitney Houston: One Moment in Time
4. D Mob featuring Gary Haisman: We Call It Acieed
5. Erasure: A Little Respect
6. Bobby McFerrin: Don't Worry Be Happy
7. Wee Papa Girl Rappers:  Wee Rule
8. The Christians: Harvest for the World
9. Kim Wilde: Never Trust a Stranger
10. Milli Vanilli: Girl You Know It's True
11. Yazz: Stand Up for Your Love Rights
12. Womack & Womack: Teardrops
13. Rick Astley: She Wants to Dance with Me
14. The Beatmasters featuring P.P. Arnold: Burn It Up
15. Inner City: Big Fun
16. Phil Collins: Groovy Kind of Love
17. Royal House: Can You Party
18. Robert Palmer: She Makes My Day
19. The Art of Noise featuring Tom Jones: Kiss
20. Jason Donovan: Nothing Can Divide Us
21. Deacon Blue: Real Gone Kid
22. The Jungle Brothers: I'll House You
23. T'Pau: Secret Garden
24. The Pasadenas: Riding on a Train
25. Sinitta: I Don't Believe in Miracles
26. The Hollies: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
27. Sabrina: All of Me (Boy Oh Boy)
28. Jolly Roger: Acid Man
29. Tanita Tikaram: Twist in My Sobriety
30. U2: Desire
31. Guns N' Roses: Welcome to the Jungle / Nightrain
32. Bananarama: Love, Truth and Honesty
33. Pet Shop Boys: Domino Dancing
34. Level 42: Take a Look
35. Kraze: The Party
36. Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: 1-2-3
37. Bill Withers: Lovely Day [sunshine mix]
38. Heart: Nothin' at All
39. Robin Beck: First Time
40. Hazell Dean: Turn It Into Love

~~~~~

This week establishes my obsession with pop music from which there would be no looking back. The charts were now something to pay attention to, to listen intently to and to care about. I had become fully invested in the Top 40 and it was all because of a chart battle for the number one spot: Kylie vs. Enya.

No, this wasn't Blur-Oasis '95. It didn't garner headlines, wasn't being talked about on school playgrounds and in office break rooms and wasn't forcing the public to choose sides. Looking back at it now, it seems laughable that an Aussie soap star and an Irish new age folk singer would be duking it out for the top spot. The protagonists had nothing negative to say about each other (and even if they did would it have merited media coverage?) and for most people it was just another chart.  But to me this was as big as any rivalry before or since - even if it was all in my mind.

The task of following this chart battle proved to be difficult since we were spending the week in Scotland for halfterm break. This being long before the internet and smart phones, I was accustomed to taking trips with an embargo placed on the rest of my life. (Travel experts often advise people to "take a trip from yourself" a prospect that was much easier accomplished back when travel necessitated putting one's life on hold for a few weeks) Nevertheless, when I finally did discover the news, I was aghast to discover that Enya had come out ahead: how could a sweet, heartfelt, catchy number from the biggest star of the year come in runner up to this turgid and creepy nonsense? It goes without saying I hated Orinoco Flow - and I despised it and loathed it, just to hammer the point home further - but I was certain it would be promptly dethroned, Je ne sais pas pourquoi getting the revenge it so deserved. In the meantime I had Scotland to take me mind off it.

As I mentioned last week, I was immediately taken with Edinburgh - and I wasn't alone; my whole family liked it right from the get go as well. But our memories of that week would never have been so fond had it not been for the bed and breakfast that we checked into that Sunday. Judging a town or city based on one's accommodation is rarely fair and accurate, though the dump I once stayed at in King's Lynn was a pretty reflection on the town itself. Having spent much of my adult travel life staying at rundown, no-frills Southeast Asian guesthouses, I'm well-aware that it's best to spend as much time as possible outside the shitholes of Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta. But The Buchan in Edinburgh is the exception. The rooms were spacious and comfy and it was within walking distance of the centre of Edinburgh - but the real highlight was the spread that greeted us every morning for breakfast. First offered a choice of juice - orange, apple, grapefruit and tomato - and coffee or tea, we were presented with a full English breakfast, as well as a choice of cereal or porridge. In addition, our table was laid out with fruit, yogurt, toast, buns and oatcakes. We happily and greedily stuffed ourselves and ended up skipping lunch every day we were in Scotland.

Well-nourished, we had ample energy to burn and we wasted no time getting familiar with Edinburgh. Prince's St., Holyrood, Edinburgh Castle and a crystal centre were among the many sights we took in, even if my grandpa and I were bitterly disappointed that the Walter Scott Monument that we'd been planning to climb was closed the entire time we were there. (A nice hike up the dead volcano known as Arthur's Seat towards the end of the week made up for that though). Some of our nights - although no doubt not as many as my faulty memory would have me believe - were spent dining at a pub across the street from our B & B. While other members of my family were happy doing the rounds of the menu, I immediately took the bangers, beans and chips to my heart and spurned other offerings.

By mid week we began embarking on some day trips. Glasgow on Tuesday was all right in spite of the rain but the place seemed mired in not being Edinburgh. Though the People's Palace museum was nice enough - even if my eleven-year-old self didn't appreciate it as much as this thirty-nine-year-old would today - the city had a grime and toughness to it that contrasted with the capital's elegance. I found myself judging Glasgow based not on what it was but what it wasn't. (I'm sure I was also siding with the trio of Hearts supporters we witnessed on our first night in Scotland; confronting a busload of Celtic fans, the Edinburgers taunted the Glaswegians, with one pulling down his trousers in order to expose his bare backside - yes, I'm aware this contradicts what I was just saying about Edinburgh's elegance)

The next day we were off to Dundee. It was a nice day, probably the only time we saw blue sky during the entire time we were in Scotland, but I don't recall much about it and I don't even know why we went there in the first place. There was little that was remarkable about it, though we did manage to get a picture of a sign honouring Alexander Graham Bell, the great inventor of the telephone who is somehow claimed to be Scottish, Canadian and American.

And then, finally, we were off to Oban. A port town on the west of Scotland, it would be our gateway to the other Calgary. I'd always known that my hometown was named after a Scottish town - though I always figured it must be larger than a hamlet - and now it appeared to be our chance to see it for ourselves. I can't say whether this was an actual plan of my parents and/or grandparents or something I'd just imagined to myself at some point on what was to be a very long day, though I have no other idea why we were heading there. In any event, plans real or imagined were thwarted by rail delays. Long, painful delays. We stood on a platform on the outskirts of Glasgow and watched a train approach before it halted not a hundred meters from where we stood. And it stayed there. And stayed there. By now the morning had all been eaten up by our journey from Edinburgh and our train to Oban seemed intent on using up the entire afternoon. It finally did crawl to our platform and then it took its time getting to our destination. By the time we got to Oban we had just an hour until our train back, which gave us just enough time to consume a bland dinner and take a quick look at the bay. "Calgary's that way," pointed Grandma Ella in the direction of pure darkness. It hardly mattered anymore. 

The train back was free of the stresses of earlier and I began to chat. A lot. I talked to my sister, to my mum, to my dad, to my grandma and to my grandpa. I scarcely noticed that they were all tuning me out. Having enough of his loudmouth, mile-a-minute grandson, Grandpa Bill challenged me to contest to see who could keep quiet the longest. I took him up on it and spent the remainder of our journey in silence. (One of my parents snapped a terrific photo of the two of us in the middle of our contest, he looking at me with a smirk, me sporting one of those forced, lips-pressed smiles that never look genuine)

The day trips were well and truly out of our system and it was back to what we all loved, Edinburgh. We had to make the most of the rest of our time in the capital, to enjoy those vast Buchan breakfasts, to take in as much of this grand old city, to make the absolute most of it - a lesson, perhaps, from our nightmare trip to Oban - and finish things off with some bangers, beans and chips at the basement pub. Yeah, Edinburgh was all right.

~~~~~
young Paul's favourite: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
older Paul's retro pick: Real Gone Kid

The Lost in Laindon SAQ: I...I...I'm Wondering Why

We're now a few posts in and it occurs to me that I never provided much of an introduction to this blog. A couple of people have asked me questions about it so I thought I'd provide this handy SAQ - Seldomly Asked Questions. Other pages have FAQ's but I had to settle for a different adverb of frequency since I haven't been asked all that many questions.

What is Lost in Laindon?

It is a blog devoted to the the year my family and I spent in England and my thoughts about the music scene at the time. I post every Sunday. It was a very important year for me: it got me into travel, music and not wanting to live my life just like everyone else. It also gave me my weakness for greasy English food and a soft spot for dreary British towns. I became something of an Anglophile as a result, something which I've never completely been able to vanquish from my system.

Where is Laindon?

Laindon is an area of the town of Basildon in Essex, just east of London. It used to be its own separate town or municipality before it got swallowed up by Basildon. I seem to recall that we usually thought of ourselves as living in Laindon rather than Basildon and I wonder if it was because it softened the blow of being stuck in such a place.

Why is it called Lost in Laindon?

Pretty much because I couldn't think of anything better. I wracked my brain trying to come up with a clever name, preferably one which referenced a line from a song that was popular but I came up with nothing. Lost in Laindon was always the working title so it basically won by default. It refers to the day after we arrived when we decided to take a walk around the neighbourhood and couldn't find our way home for the longest time. I was going to write about the experience in one of the first posts but didn't bother; it was a bit too much of a guess-you-had-to-be-there anecdote - and this blog has more than enough of those as it is. 

What do the titles of each entry refer to?

Each post begins with the date from twenty-eight years ago and a line from a song that happened to be on the charts that same week. I was hoping that readers would try to guess each entry's lyric but so far everyone has demurred. I guessing that either the lyrics are too obscure, people aren't interested or because there have been problems with the comments section but you'd have to ask them. You know, assuming they answer you.

I like to think that each title bears some connection to its accompanying blog entry but really only in some cases. More often than not it's whatever lyric I could think of that sounded okay or happens to have a funny connotation. Either that or it's a line that's too stupid not to use for this blog.

When will this blog end?

My stars, I've only just begun and you're already wondering when it will be finished. Well, I'm planning to wrap it up in August, 2017. There will likely be a few follow-up entries just to finish it off but the end is already in sight. I imagine that recreating the year I spent in England will go a whole lot faster than living the year I spent in England.

What's all that stuff in the background image?
It's all stuff I acquired and managed to hang on to from that year. Just prior to setting this blog up I took a picture of it all on my coffee table. You may not be able to see everything but this is the list in full:

• three cassettes: Kylie by Kylie Minogue, Paradise by Inner City and Now That's What I Call Music 13
• three CD's: The Greatest Hits Collection by Bananarama, When the World Knows Your Name by Deacon Blue and Introspective by Pet Shop Boys (I must admit these are a bit of a cheat since I wouldn't own my first CD - which happened to be Auberge by Chris Rea, which I chose over The KLF's The White Room for some reason - until two years after we came back from the UK; still, I did have these albums at the time on tape which I later ended up buying in the different format so I think they're close enough)
• Tottenham Hotspur and Norwich City football scarves
• a frisbee from Jersey in the Channel Islands
• the Smarties mug I got for Easter
• my class picture
• the Mayflower badge that had been stitched on my school blazer ("that bit of wool on your tit," as Malcolm McDowell's character Mick so memorably described it in the unforgettable film If....)

Where did you go to school?

I went to Mayflower Comprehensive in Billercay. I believe it is now known as Mayflower High School. I was a first year student but that, too, has been changed to year six or year seven. I daresay those aren't the only changes that have taken place since. I imagine there's been a complete turnover of the faculty and, judging by the menu I saw on their webpage, it looks like a slice of pizza with chips and an iced bun is no longer a meal option. Pity.

Why did you spend a year in England?

My dad applied for a teacher's exchange which was accepted. In effect, he swapped jobs, houses and cars with a British teacher. (Kind of like that turd of a movie The Holiday only with a far less comfy and attractive place to live - but without Jack Black around so it wasn't all bad) Trouble was, she got our reasonably-sized house and we got her, well, more fun-sized dwelling. Still, our tiny abode gave us ample reason to get out and visit as much of the country as possible.

Why do you post the Top 40 with each entry?
Basically it just seemed like a nice way to commence each entry. I briefly considered using just the Top 10 but I knew it didn't provide the whole picture. I've always liked the lower ends of the charts and its been cool to rediscover those depths over the past several weeks. It probably goes back to the CBC radio show Finkleman's 45s in which the ever-dyspeptic host Danny Finkleman would introduce a no.34 from March, 1962 by The Cookies. If I'm ever asked to host a Saturday night radio show I'll guarantee that chart bottom-feeders will be the backbone of my playlist.

Where do you get the Top 40 listings from?
While I go have a pretty good memory for trivia and uselessness, it would be a struggle to tell you exactly which single happened to reach no.23 on the third week in February (we'll have to wait and see but it had better be something good). No, I rely on the internet for all my '88 chart info. I'd share the links I've been using but (a) they aren't all that difficult to find (particularly considering that I managed to find them) and (b) I'd rather not spoil the surprise. You know, the surprise of revealing a chart that was already announced twenty-eight years ago.

So, that's about all I can come up with. If you happen to have another questions you'd like to ask then feel free to post in the comments section below. Any other seldom asked questions that occur to me will be added to a re-post of this at some point in the future.

16 October 1988: I Really Mean That Much to You?

1. Whitney Houston: One Moment in Time
2. Bobby McFerrin: Don't Worry Be Happy
3. D Mob featuring Gary Haisman: We Call It Acieed
4. Erasure: A Little Respect
5. Enya: Orinoco Flow
6. Wee Papa Girl Rappers: Wee Rule
7. Kim Wilde: Never Trust a Stranger
8. Rick Astley: She Wants to Dance with Me
9. The Christians: Harvest for the World
10. Womack & Womack: Teardrops
11. Kylie Minogue: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
12. Jason Donovan: Nothing Can Divide Us
13. Phil Collins: Groovy Kind of Love
14. The Hollies: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
15. The Beatmasters featuring P.P. Arnold: Burn It Up
16. Inner City: Big Fun
17. U2: Desire
18. T'Pau: Secret Garden
19. The Pasadenas: Riding on a Train
20. Milli Vanilli: Girl You Know It's True
21. Pet Shop Boys: Domino Dancing
22. Sinitta: I Don't Believe in Miracles
23. Bananarama: Love, Truth and Honesty
24. Bill Withers: Lovely Day [sunshine mix]
25. Sabrina: All of Me (Boy Oh Boy)
26. Alexander O'Neal: Fake '88
27. Hazell Dean: Turn It Into Love
28. Duran Duran: I Don't Want Your Love
29. Deacon Blue: Real Gone Kid
30. Royal House: Can You Party
31. Luther Vandross: Any Love
32. The Jungle Brothers: I'll House You
33. The Proclaimers: I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)
34. Yello: The Race
35. Julian Cope: Charlotte Anne
36. Tanita Tikaram: Twist in My Sobriety
37. Jolly Roger: Acid Man
38. Robert Palmer: She Makes My Day
39. Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: Anything for You
40. Bon Jovi: Bad Medicine

~~~~~

There's no accounting for taste.

These words have been uttered over the years by my dad on countless occasions. I always inferred a certain amount of derision in this comment, particularly the way he'd say it. And there is something about it that makes you feel your own (bad) taste is being apologized for and dismissed at the same time. It's impossible to imagine anyone with objectively impeccable taste - assuming such a thing is even possible - receiving a similar brush off, even though it's just as logical and fair to do so. There's no accounting for bad taste and just as much for good taste.

Which brings us to this week's new entries. To me, they represent a veritable wealth of riches: Kylie Minogue's charmingly sweet Je ne sais pas pourquoi was a big favourite of mine at the time and I stand by it to this day; Deacon Blue's Real Gone Kid is just as thrilling as it was twenty-eight years ago, all yodels, stadium rock melancholy and drunken Scots wisdom; Royal House's Can You Party is an addictive tour-de-force of sampling (though considerably undermined by the nearly identical I'll House You by The Jungle Brothers); and, finally, Robert Palmer's She Makes My Day, another big fave from way back when, is a sauve, sophisticated number that serves as a helpful reminder of what an underrated vocalist he was. Yet I don't suppose many will agree: I would fully expect most to scratch their heads at all four of these selections. I could try to hammer the point home by saying, oh, that Je ne sais pas pourquoi still brings back memories of religiously following its chart progress (more on that in the next week or two) or that Real Gone Kid is the single biggest reason I love pop music or that Can You Party was great as background music but became astonishing when I finally began to listen to it properly or that She Makes My Day was the song I always aspired in vain to sing along with but there's no point. There's no accounting for taste, so why even bother? (Even if I just spent a lengthy paragraph trying to do exactly that)

The middle of October brought our first visitors over from Canada. Having said farewell to them at Calgary International Airport just under two months earlier, it was beyond surreal to have Grandma Ella and Grandpa Bill paying us a visit in Laindon.

While we were all excited to have them join us for a few weeks, no one was happier than my Mum. With my Dad, sister and me at school all week, Mum was left alone in our dreary and increasingly chilly house. Having a smaller place to live doubtless meant having a smaller place to clean which must have only perpetuated the aimlessness. She did sign up for a class on tracing her family history - which resulted in her being taken under the wing of Sherry, a kind and lovely woman who will likely crop up in this blog again at some point - but Mum's daily life was still supplied with an over abundance of alone time. Thus, when her parents-in-law showed up she was delighted. Now she could head out and show them around and they wasted no time by visiting London the day after they arrived. That first week I didn't see them a whole lot but Mum was with them practically the entire time.

Happily the first midterm break of the year was upon us. Having a week off from school in the middle of October was a new experience for me but a welcome one. While my friends were to spend the break playing on their computers or watching the lunchtime episode of Neighbours (and doubtless catching the 5.35 repeat for good measure), we'd be heading up to Scotland for our first big trip.

Spurning the view of London becoming Greater London becoming the midlands becoming northern England becoming Scotland in favour of our Smash Hits magazines (with a stroll to the first class train car to say hi to Grandma and Grandpa thrown in), it came as quite a shock to be greeted by Edinburgh. London at that point still seemed sleazy (or, more accurately, I was still disgusted by its sleaze rather than attracted to it) while the Scottish capital felt friendly and inviting. Probably romanticizing our Scots heritage a bit too much, I later claimed that it felt very familiar; in truth, I was just happy to be in such a beautiful city. It was a place I fell in love with immediately and I must have reckoned it was to be a big part of my future. I haven't been back since.

Showing up at our hotel, we were promptly informed that we only had two rooms waiting for us rather than the three Grandpa Bill had booked. In all the time I knew him I never saw him so furious. The hotel eventually sent us to another establishment, one of those large, anonymous hotels on the outskirts of town that draws in package tourists. For my part, I couldn't have been happier: the room I share with my sister had a nice, big TV and I raided their supply of instant coffee packets. Having been introduced to the supposedly lovely whipped with extra sugar machine coffee at school by a classmate, I was keen to take up consuming cups of joe though without any concern for quality. Our hotel's stock of Café Hag was much appreciated, even if I managed to spill much of it on my sheets. Dad, on the other hand, wasn't too pleased and he set about finding us somewhere else to stay the next night. He wanted someplace more centrally located and better value. The appeal of Café Hag was lost on him: yeah, there's no accounting for taste.

~~~~~
young Paul's favourite: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
older Paul's retro pick: Real Gone Kid

9 October 1988: We've Been Broken Down to the Lowest Turn

1. Whitney Houston: One Moment in Time
2. U2: Desire
3. Bobby McFerrin: Don't Worry Be Happy
4. Womack & Womack: Teardrops
5. The Hollies: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
6. Rick Astley: She Wants to Dance with Me
7. Erasure: A Little Respect
8. Wee Papa Girl Rappers: Wee Rule
9. Jason Donovan: Nothing Can Divide Us
10. Phil Collins: Groovy Kind of Love
11. Inner City: Big Fun
12. Pet Shop Boys: Domino Dancing
13. The Pasadenas: Riding on a Train
14. Bill Withers: Lovely Day [sunshine mix]
15. Kim Wilde: Never Trust a Stranger
16. The Beatmasters featuring P.P. Arnold: Burn It Up
17. Alexander O'Neal: Fake '88
18. Duran Duran: I Don't Want Your Love
19. T'Pau: Secret Garden
20. D Mob featuring Gary Haisman: We Call It Acieed
21. The Christians: Harvest for the World
22. Hazell Dean: Turn It Into Love
23. Bananarama: Love, Truth and Honesty
24. The Proclaimers: I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)
25. Sinitta: I Don't Believe in Miracles
26. Yello: The Race
27. Bon Jovi: Bad Medicine
28. Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: Anything for You
29. Enya: Orinoco Flow
30. Yazz & The Plastic Population: The Only Way Is Up
31. Sabrina: All of Me (Boy Oh Boy)
32. Salt 'n' Pepa: Shake Your Thang (It's Your Thing)
33. Bros: I Quit
34. Bomb the Bass: Megablast / Don't Make Me Wait
35. Julian Cope: Charlotte Anne
36. Luther Vandross: Any Love
37. Spear of Destiny: So in Love with You
38. The Commodores: Easy
39. Brother Beyond: The Harder I Try
40. Milli Vanilli: Girl You Know It's True

~~~~~

Five years after our year in England ended I was back for a visit. Not a whole lot had changed. The neighbourhoods looked very much the same, the pubs were basically identical, Mayflower looked very much as I'd left it, the London Underground had some newer, flashier cars but was still as crowded and as rickety as ever. Only two things seemed much different: everything was a lot more expensive - although it wasn't as if  prices were especially reasonable to begin with - and Essex had become a dirty word.

We might have seen this coming, mind you. For every charmingly quaint village in the north of the county - Snape Maltings, Finchingfield, Saffron Walden, Dedham - with their picturesque parish churches and village greens and centuries old cream tea shops, there were sad, go nowhere London feeder towns in the south - and no place was more nowhere than Basildon. Though we tended to refer to ourselves as living in Laindon and this held wherever we were in Essex, the farther we got from the southeast the more we began to say we were from Basildon. (If this Laindon-Basildon situation is confusing then consider the following: (a) you're not wrong and (b) Laindon was a town that was swallowed up by the Basildon New Town; it was more than simply a community but not quite a town in its own right - or that's how I understood it to be) But this New Town horror show - so perfectly summed up by The Style Council in their 1985 hit Come to Milton Keynes - almost seemed to be our little secret, one that failed to make others blush. Family friends The Torbetts and The Dicks paid us visits and had nothing but good things to say about where we lived - though they admitted much later that they were just trying to be polite. As our year was beginning to wind its way down, I began to get to know a few kids that lived nearby and they, too, didn't seem to dislike the area. If Essex was the butt of everyone's jokes then everyone was doing a great job of delicately keeping these gags from our sensitive ears.

It's likely, however, that the county became an eighties laughingstock only in retrospect. Essex and its New Town/London satellite city mentality represented Britain in that decade of Mrs Thatcher, The Sun and football hooligans; only with New Labour and Britpop and Cool Britannia and all that malarkey did it become something decidedly unsavoury. But there's the rub: we all knew perfectly well how Basildon was drab and awful, how Southend was sad and clinging to a former glory (that probably wasn't even all that glorious), how Braintree was trashy  and a bit sinister, how Brentwood was so utterly unmemorable and without merit: it just wasn't official. The stand up comedians still had Mrs Thatcher and Edwina Currie to deal with; cracks about girls called Sharon and the fathers of their children would have to wait.

Having spent the previous day in Colchester, a day which has largely been consigned to memory's compost heap, we again headed up that way on the 9th to attend a Medieval Experience just across the border in Linton, Cambridgeshire. Much like our trip to Brighton a couple weeks earlier, this was highlighted by meeting some fellow exchangees. Kelly and Andy were from California and they were so nice and fun to be around that they probably gave my sister and me a completely false impression of the many obnoxious and/or annoying American kids we'd encounter in the months to come. While the kids in Brighton were a handy source for trading aren't-we-hard-done-by sob stories, the easygoing Kelly and the happy-go-lucky Andy were a welcome antidote to the self-pity that I was certainly delving into from time to time. Being at a Medieval Experience, it was nice to have other kids to make us less self-conscious about getting all decked out in Arthurian dress - and with Andy and I each getting replica swords to complete our kit we automatically had each other to duel with. (For the next day or so I fancied myself a potential fencer, an ambition which was quickly shelved in the missed-opportunities-and-that's-fine-by-me file) As with the Brighton crew, however, our friendship with Andy and Kelly proved all too infrequent: it would be quite some time later before we met up again.

As we were hitting it off with Andy and Kelly, my parents were getting to know John and Debbie. I wasn't to know it then but they, along with their sweet little daughter Aimee, were the exchange family we would see the most over our year in England - and, indeed, I would have the pleasure of meeting them subsequently, most recently at the wedding party my parents threw for me and my wife. We'll get into more about them in the weeks and months ahead.

The Medieval Experience itself was a hoot and not just because Andy and I had the chance to catch up on our duelling chops. Never an especially well-mannered and tidy eater, I was more than happy to be informed that we'd be dining with our hands. I can't say just how authentic the whole thing was but this was an era just prior to the Nineties travel boom and such considerations were not of much importance. I'm sure the organizers and performers were trying their best to be as accurate as possible but it didn't particularly matter to those of us experiencing it; we weren't there with guidebook in hand, tips from online research and fellow travellers floating around in our minds, making sure that the jousting display was as authentic as humanly possible. It all looked very impressive and very well organized.  

Then again, we weren't aware of Essex girl jokes: what did rubes like us know anyway?

young Paul's favourite: Domino Dancing
older Paul's retro pick: Burn It Up

2 October 1988: It's Not Simply a Question of Getting Hot but a Matter of How Much Heat You Can Take!

1. U2: Desire
2. The Hollies: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
3. Whitney Houston: One Moment in Time
4. Womack & Womack: Teardrops
5. Phil Collins: Groovy Kind of Love
6. Jason Donovan: Nothing Can Divide Us
7. Rick Astley: She Wants to Dance with Me
8. Bill Withers: Lovely Day [sunshine mix]
9. Pet Shop Boys: Domino Dancing
10. Inner City: Big Fun
11. Bobby McFerrin: Don't Worry Be Happy
12. Erasure: A Little Respect
13. The Pasadenas: Riding on a Train
14. Duran Duran: I Don't Want Your Love
15. The Proclaimers: I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)
16. Alexander O'Neal: Fake '88
17. Wee Papa Girl Rappers: Wee Rule
18. Yello: The Race
19. Bon Jovi: Bad Medicine
20. Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: Anything for You
21. Hazell Dean: Turn It Into Love
22. T'Pau: Secret Garden
23. Yazz & The Plastic Population: The Only Way Is Up
24. Bros: I Quit
25. Bananarama: Love, Truth and Honesty
26. The Commodores: Easy
27. Sinitta: I Don't Believe in Miracles
28. Salt 'n' Pepa: Shake Your Thang (It's Your Thing)
29. Bomb the Bass: Megablast / Don't Make Me Wait
30. Brother Beyond: The Harder I Try
31. Jane Wiedlin: Rush Hour
32. Kim Wilde: Never Trust a Stranger
33. Transvision Vamp: Revolution Baby
34. Coldcut featuring Junior Reid: Stop This Crazy Thing
35. The Beatmasters featuring P.P. Arnold: Burn It Up
36. Spear of Destiny: So in Love with You
37. Julian Cope: Charlotte Anne
38. Sabrina: All of Me (Boy Oh Boy)
39. Marc Almond: Tears Run Rings
40. Michael Jackson: Another Part of Me

~~~~~

One of the nice side effects of this blog is that it gives me an excuse to take a look at the charts' nether regions. Obviously the less than coveted spots in the 31 to 40 range are typically a mix of once big hits desperately trying to cling on to a last gasp of relevance, new arrivals destined for an anywhere from massive - Top 5 or Top 10 - to sizable - somewhere around no.27 - hit and  those misfit strays that are probably lucky just to crack the Top 40. This week there are two singles of that sort, both from the British indie scene. In at the fourth to last spot is Julian Cope's Charlotte Anne. Erstwhiler of Scouse neo-psychedelic post-punks The Teardrop Explodes, I've always considered Cope to be a spiritual love-child of Arthur Lee and Iggy Pop. Possessing a deep baritone mixed with overly enunciated vocal mannerisms that were big in the indie world of the time (much like Ian McCulloch and Peter Murphy), Cope's unique persona fails to lend much to Charlotte Anne. It's a pleasant enough song but one that feels as if he's treading water.

And then coming in one spot higher is Spear of Destiny. If a great big "Who?" is your response then you're not alone, I was similarly stumped. Beyond simple ignorance, you may also feel baffled by their utterly horrible name. Evoking Arthurian England, the Bible, and Dungeons & Dragons, their quasi-mystical moniker is all-too appropriate in a song like So in Love with You with its goth rock atmospherics, stadium rock leanings and a vocalist who seems to think he's in a heavy metal band. Upon my first listen last week I had it dismissed as just metal nonsense but in fact it seems to borrow the genre's most lamentable tendencies (vocal histrionics, hackneyed imagery) while spurning what can occasionally make it enjoyable (excitement, menace). I'd like to think that So in Love with You just hasn't aged well but something tells me it sounded much the same back in '88.

(The charts' almost brazen randomness is also something to behold: coming up right behing Spear of Destiny and Julian Cope is the buxom Italian pop star Sabrina. Could there be anything more stark than the contrast of a pair of indie darlings next to a silly pop songstress? Notably she didn't qualify for the above discussion as her number All of Me was destined for a longer chart life)


Making the best of things, Chimney Pot was leading us through yet another run out the clock discussion. Our I.P. teacher (who we also happened to have for Geography on Mondays, at least for the time being), Chimney Pot must have been far more frustrated by our classroom's lack of computers than we were. My first term at Mayflower was already a month old and the information was as yet unprocessed: there was still no sign of computers. Another Thursday, another idle fourth period. (Of course it never occured to me that every class was having the same experience; I guess I figured we were special)

Old Chimney Pot was telling us about the special school-wide walk we'd be doing the next day. Ostensibly to raise money to repair the school bus, we were to walk (or run, if we so desired) around our school grounds as much as possible with each lap helping to raise the necessary funds. There would be no classes and we had permission to spurn our school uniforms for the day. Chimney Pot then mentioned something that happened at the previous year's walk.

"What," I chimed in, "they have to fix the bus every year?" My classmates laughed. For a split second I thought they were chuckling at my stupidity but then one girl complimented me on my wit. What they didn't know was that I wasn't joking - and I still haven't the faintest idea what was so funny about my remark in the first place. 

But this anecdote now makes me think that something was amiss. The bus - in reality a mini bus that couldn't have sat more than ten - was something I noticed on a regular basis in its place near the staff parking lot. And I noticed it a lot: it was never not in its customary spot. Still, it failed to dawn on me as to why this neglected, seemingly useless vehicle was reason for classes to be cancelled for a day in order to have a fundraising walk. Meanwhile the the naked, computerless cubicles in our I.P. classroom might have given away that there were real priorities to be dealt with. So, was the walk just a cover for funding educational necessities? Was the Mayflower establishment so embarrassed about budget shortfalls that they conjured up a story about repairing the bus in order to save some face? Or was everyone in on this to begin with and I, a dope to end all dopes, am only just waking up to the reality? Is that what made my remark in I.P. class so funny?

(Sorry if this all sounds like a massive conspiracy theory. Perhaps I've had Ben Johnson on the brain ever since last week's entry; as a matter of fact I just reread Richard Moore's The Dirtiest Race in History, an excellent account of the affair which goes into lots of detail about Johnson's claims that he as sabotaged, including the infamous Mystery Man who allegedly slipped something in his post-race beer. In any event, I quite like the idea of one blog entry influencing the next: perhaps I can keep this going)

But with all due respect to Julian Cope and the Mayflower bus, this week's most significant moment occured at a pub in Oxford. Our day trip to the great university town - though not to everyone - was for my parents' sixteenth anniversary and, while my memories of the Ashmolean Museum have been resigned to, well, the ashes of history, it was marked with our first Sunday roast. While we never did find even halfway decent fish & chips in our travels that year, I have always had a fondness for English food and this is its likely beginning. Bash British cuisine all you want but Sunday roasts, full English breakfasts, iced buns and Yorkie bars were my jam. And they still are.

~~~~~
young Paul's favourite: Domino Dancing
older Paul's retro pick: Burn It Up