I remember watching Shocker on a VHS all-nighter with my cousin Gav. Watching the basketball-induced head explosion in Deadly Friendwith my jaw hanging open. And Scream. God, how I remember watching that, in a packed cinema absolutely fizzing with tension. Watching and wondering just how one guy could get so good at this.
Despite being yet one more Rolling Stones book in a sea of Rolling Stones books, 'Rollaresque' is definitely a one-off.
Growing up, my Dad didn't read to me at bedtime. Instead, he did something far better. He used to make up stories. Freestyle. Freestyle! And I took this completely for granted.
Looking back at all the old photos on display reminded me how simple life was back then, and just how different my own school experience is from that of my children. It's inspired me to compile a little list of things that *actually* happened at my primary school in the 1980's - that would never be allowed today, or if they were, I suspect would be severely frowned upon....
I'm a little bit sad there isn't a bit more photographic evidence of my late teens and early 20s as I was four stone lighter and often went out without a bra on without them flapping around my knees. But I am glad that no one will ever get to witness the time I was was left stood crushed in New Street Station, dumped, weeping under the departures board. Braless and thin.
Albini has a long history as a vehement critic of the music industry. His seminal 1993 essay Stereolab a gentle poke, attacks the industry's coercion of bands into believing they must sign opaque contracts at all costs
All that said; even though you couldn't pay me to do it all over again; and even though I'd rather pick my own eyeballs out with a garden trowel than go through childbirth again - lately, I've noticed the odd seemingly broody feeling wash over me from time to time. WHAT?? No seriously, WHAT?
This trend, which appears to be gaining traction quite rapidly, is a push back in time to the past, a few decades ago. A push for 'retro' products. Walking around in London nowadays, looking in shop windows, I see more and more products whose designs are clearly inspired by the designs of the past; and capturing in some way the essence of those past products. Retro radios, retro cars such as the Mini Cooper, retro kitchen equipment... and now I am able to understand why a retro version of my own ZX Spectrum computer design appears to be attracting interest like wildfire.
Becoming a grown up adult means moving to a new area of the world, to prove that it isn't where you live that is causing your lack of success. It's a chance to show everyone you grew up with that you're better than them, because you have ambition: ambition to go and fail in an area with higher rent prices.
Hearing the completed versions of Too Many Broken Hearts and Especially For You in particular, were moments in my professional life that I will never forget, the door was wide open and I was at the centre of this incredible moment in time. You just knew that something magical was happening. It was very exciting. Only when I realise now that these are distant memories, do I appreciate how lucky I was. The great thing about this tour is, I can re-live those feelings and share it with the fans who were there with me.
On and on I burrowed through the various strata of dead high street favourites, a Russian Doll of memories. And although these bags looked empty, each one, in fact, contained a recollection, evoked a tiny story, a forgotten feeling.
Slowly, the dark sky is gently rinsed by hints of blue. Dark blue, light blue, lighter... And gold wash. So emerges the silhouettes of pink coloured clouds, rejoicing at the dawn of a new day.
Through it all, Anne Kirkbride remained one of the Street's most robust pillars - the youngest of that generation of stars who gave their whole working life to a TV soap, came into people's homes three times a week, entertained them and, in return, earned a place in our collective affection denied much bigger screen stars.
I think it's normal to feel a bit weird at this time of year. We build up Christmas to such a fever pitch of twee imagination and rose-tinted memories that it can end up feel disappointing and miserable. Sometimes, surrounded by a barrage of Good Will to All Men and Joy to the World and Christmas Cheer, we feel lost and alone, longing for a feeling we can't find anymore.
The smell of one-sided toast with melted butter - it was always done on just one side under the grill, crisp and melty. Tea for the grown-ups, milk for us. Sitting by the fire that my grandmother had set when she got up at half six, as she did every morning.
Oh we're a funny breed, I think as I exit the cafe, white headphones in ears and head bowed low to play battle against the early autumn wind, already anticipating my next solo coffee shop excursion.