1990, a time I remember only too well… and a time I was not very happy. I had just bought a house for the pricey sum of £32,000. I didn’t haggle, just paid the asking price. Fucking idiot, that’s naivety for you.
Three years later, I was to discover a hole in the roof, and water was being collected by a well-placed bucket in the attic. The surveyor had not picked it up, probably because I paid for the basic survey, which meant the surveyor visited the outside with a pad and paper and said to himself, yeah, it’s fine.
When the wallpaper on the ceiling started sagging, I knew otherwise. It was too late.
The interest rate was 15%, but I could manage coughing up £300 a month on an endowment mortgage I was talked into buying. Scammers were prevalent then, just not so anonymous. The endowment was never going to polish off the debt.
I was in an on-off explosive relationship with a divorcee, 13 years my senior, with two kids; a veritable old lady, albeit a good-looking, shapely one. Then, I was the epitome of shallowness. Too fat, not a chance, average looking, I would need 6 pints before contemplation.
She wasn’t a bad shag, but did grumble when I didn’t wait for her. What, girls… errr old ladies orgasm too? The young ones didn’t seem to care, were ignorant, feigned ignorance, but my cougar did; ridiculous.
… and then there was the music. I bet you want me to go on with my vintage personal life, don’t you? It was only 36 years ago, just yesterday.
The KLF had been around for a while and had a couple of big scores with "3 a.m. Eternal" and "What Time Is Love?" They had my attention, and I was quite into this house music with its piano music with one finger statement that seemed to be everywhere at the time.
It was a 15-minute journey to work by car in 1990, and I tended to listen to the radio then. The alternative was a cassette with your own music, as CD players had not made it past the living room.
‘Last Train to Transcentral’ made me sit up and was instant gratification, something very unusual for me, even then. The energy, the synthesisers, not so much the rap crap, but it was tolerable. Lyrically, it was basic, close to non-existent, the KLF telling us that they were the ‘Justified Ancients of Moo-Moo‘. It’s little wonder the Americans didn’t fall for this nonsensical, ludicrous crap.
I was content with the wall of sound it created, though today it does sound like a relic that sits firmly in the year it was created.
This was a little later than I remember it, but three years later, I was in the same job, which had gotten significantly worse. In 1990, the company I worked for provided free lunches… can you believe that?
Hard times had rolled by, and the canteen had become subsidised, but worse still, the IT department had been moved along sales so we couldn’t arse around any longer and had to look like we were actually working; preposterous.
Snoop Dog entered by ears one day, again on the radio on my way to this depressing job. I am not a rap fan, but there was something there that ticked my boxes. Subsequent tracks of ‘Gin and Juice’ and particularly the Dr Dre track, ‘Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang’ also hit the spot.
Was it that laid-back West Coast sound? I reckon so.
A couple of years earlier, this strange one entered the UK charts and did just enough to gain my attention. I distinctly remember 
A few days later, he must have analysed it and summarily dismissed it as arty crap! ‘The lyrics make no sense', he proclaimed. I didn’t see it that way, and fuck knows what he would make of the lyrical content of the ‘Cocteau Twins’ if he thought this was junk.
Looking at the lyrics here, I wouldn’t call them out to be more gibberish than many other songs.
As for the song itself, it’s not something I listen to now, but takes me back to that time of stagnation, unfulfilment and poking old hole. If only I could have seen what was coming, the internet, the future, the shameless act of dating sites.
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