My
name is Mick and I am an old fart.
When
I was a teenager it seemed half the country was on strike. I
remember a bill-board at the time declaring “Britain Isn't
Working”, and this appeared to be true. Industries were closing
down at an alarming rate. The 3 day working week with it's
associated power-cuts each night was still a recent memory. It was
the 70's, and it was depressing.
If
you were “different” there were things called bashings. These
were happily dished out by gangs of knuckle-dragging morons.
Gay-bashing and Pakki-bashing seemed to be especially popular -
almost as popular as the comedians on the TV who were getting paid
for telling us jokes about their “darkie” mates (usually named
“Chalkie” or something equally hilarious). Oh how we didn't
laugh.
Corruptness
was everywhere. Millions were unemployed. If you got something new
you paid for it “on the weekly”.
There
was also the odd explosion as well. Beatings, bills and bombs.
Bleak.
And
we had a bloody outside toilet.
This
is the bit where I tell you we all gave up and surrendered to a drab
inevitable future.
But...
Some
damned individuals had planted a new rose, and we smelled it while we
witnessed the rotten sneer. A man called Joe and some of his friends
asked if we were taking over or taking orders. We were soon in a
different kitchen with another music, and Weller had a thousand
things to say to us.
It
was truly a new wave of music, and it was everywhere. Even animals
got in on the act, from Norvegicus rats to Parisian ants.
We
trampled in gardens new, made in Hong Kong, and we roared along with
Ian who was from Essex (in case you couldn't tell).
We
met other girls – one from another planet and one in the
neighbourhood – and, like tin soldiers, we got stiff and skidded
into the valley.
We
forgot our lives, and in doing so we began to fully live our lives.
There were no more heroes.
Except
maybe Geno... Oh Geno.
Like
Dickens nearly said: It was the worst and best of times. Darkness
and light, the winter of despair followed by the spring of hope.
Music
gave me hope. And still does.
My
name is Mick and I am an old fart.