- Enya: Orinoco Flow
- Kylie Minogue: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
- Whitney Houston: One Moment in Time
- D Mob featuring Gary Haisman: We Call It Acieed
- Erasure: A Little Respect
- Bobby McFerrin: Don't Worry Be Happy
- Wee Papa Girl Rappers: Wee Rule
- The Christians: Harvest for the World
- Kim Wilde: Never Trust a Stranger
- Milli Vanilli: Girl You Know It's True
- Yazz: Stand Up for Your Love Rights
- Womack & Womack: Teardrops
- Rick Astley: She Wants to Dance with Me
- The Beatmasters featuring P.P. Arnold: Burn It Up
- Inner City: Big Fun
- Phil Collins: Groovy Kind of Love
- Royal House: Can You Party
- Robert Palmer: She Makes My Day
- The Art of Noise featuring Tom Jones: Kiss
- Jason Donovan: Nothing Can Divide Us
- Deacon Blue: Real Gone Kid
- The Jungle Brothers: I'll House You
- T'Pau: Secret Garden
- The Pasadenas: Riding on a Train
- Sinitta: I Don't Believe in Miracles
- The Hollies: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
- Sabrina: All of Me (Boy Oh Boy)
- Jolly Roger: Acid Man
- Tanita Tikaram: Twist in My Sobriety
- U2: Desire
- Guns N' Roses: Welcome to the Jungle / Nightrain
- Bananarama: Love, Truth and Honesty
- Pet Shop Boys: Domino Dancing
- Level 42: Take a Look
- Kraze: The Party
- Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: 1-2-3
- Bill Withers: Lovely Day [sunshine mix]
- Heart: Nothin' at All
- Robin Beck: First Time
- 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
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
Paul, Paul, Paul, anybody who has spent anytime doing crossword puzzles would understand the importance of Enya (a four letter "word" with this odd assortment of letters is invaluable to the creator) compared to an "overalled" mechanic posing as a singer (or was it the other way around?). Very good summary of Scotland 1988 with the exception of a number of bright blue morning skies that I recall.
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