Cocktails and Records

The Charlatans
The Only One I Know

When I was 17 I had a Saturday job in a record shop. It was the local branch of a typical high street chain and I fitted in like a fish out of water.

Like all stories, I suppose there are two sides:

Mine
I was probably the best Saturday girl they ever had. I tried to encourage diversity in our customers music tastes and the kind of cultured environment that thrived in superior record stores in Melbourne and Sydney.* I strived to educate the punters, not to mention my colleagues, with repeated plays of choice cuts by Queen (Innuendo!), Pink Floyd, The Clash, The Charlatans, The Stone Roses and EMF.

Theirs
I was probably the worst Saturday girl they ever had. I shamelessly encouraged spotty boys to hang around at the end of the counter listening to records they would never buy and wasted too much time chatting when I should have been filing things away. I repeatedly removed perfectly fine records by the likes of 2Unlimited, Roxette, Jimmy Barnes and INXS from the shop stereo and threatened to empty the store with my tiresome music taste.

This song takes me right back to those heady days. Those heady days before they told me not to bother coming back to work after my holidays.

‘The Only One I Know’, The Charlatans, 1991

*Like Au Go Go, Gas Light (RIP) and Red Eye for those who know Melbourne and Sydney.

BTLP warned that this site - www.ladybirdprints.com - had a touch of the Proustian rush about it, but how could I have forgotten how fabulous the illustrations were too? And how much the four year old me liked the look of that toy shop…

So here are some of my favourite images of 70s Peter, Jane and the ever-faithful Pat the dog from 1a: Play with us.

Work’s a nuisance at the best of times, but it has been more irritating than usual recently. This is because it is starting to make me feel old. You see, I have been working with some younger colleagues on a writing project for our organisation. And to put it bluntly, although they can formulate sentences, their grammar and punctuation are woeful. I find myself tutting over their work and wondering how they got through the education system with their impoverished use of commas. Most dangerously, the phrase ‘I would never have got away with not knowing this in my day’ has crept into my mind. I’m not nearly old enough to be thinking this way.

Or perhaps I am.

Because it was with a slight pang that I read in the Guardian obituaries on the weekend that Douglas Keen has passed away. Mr Keen was the Editorial Director of Ladybird books and the man who commissioned educationalist William Murray to put together the Ladybird Key Words Reading Scheme, otherwise known as the Peter and Jane books. 

I learnt to read with Peter and Jane in the 70s. Mum and Dad dutifully bought the entire series and went through them with me every evening. I remember enjoying them and innocently allowing the aspirational middle class Englishness that the series has been criticised for wash over me. Having said that, I only discovered recently that I actually grew up with a revised 70s version - in the original 60s series Peter and Jane quaffed sweets and Jane clutched a doll, but in the 70s they enjoyed apples and Jane was the proud owner of a pair of rollerskates.

So here’s to you Douglas Keen for helping me learn to read. Even if the thought of Peter and Jane, like certain young people’s command of the comma, does make me feel unnecessarily old.

It is Mickey Mouse’s 80th birthday today.

Now I was never a huge fan of Mickey. He’s always been just a bit too much of a goody-two-shoes for my taste. Donald Duck was always my favourite in the ‘Disney family’. If there was anyone who could be relied on to completely screw up everything and respond in the most extreme and stupidly funny way possible it was Donald. Mickey is just too reliable, predictable and dull. Watching a Mickey Mouse cartoon is kind of like what it would be like watching a cartoon about me. i.e. boring.

Still I have a soft spot for Mickey, mainly because for me he symbolises a mystical mid-century America that I’ve long been entranced with. I grew up watching repeats of Disney cartoons from the 40s and 50s and fell in love with that land of neat template houses, wirelesses playing Rosemary Clooney, big beautifully polished cars, cheeky talking squirrels and domestic bliss. Everything was neat, orderly and nice in Disney cartoons.

Some might say this was just unrealistic and dull, but I loved this mythical world of mid-period Disney. That’s my Mickey Mouse and my Disney. I find most Disney cartoons since 1970’s The Aristocats insipid and sickly (except for Toy Story). Nothing compares to childhood illusions, eh?

‘Sunset drive-in, Amarillo, Texas, 1974,’ by Stephen Shore

To celebrate the credit crunch, I have indulged  myself and bought a copy of American photographer Stephen Shore’s ’seminal’ work Uncommon Places, a book I have been lusting after for years. The book was originally published in 1982 and collects together the colour photography Shore took on his road trips across the States in the 70s.

This image of the already rundown looking ‘Sunset drive-in’ in early 70s Amarillo set me off on a bit of a reverie. I’d almost forgotten that such a thing as a drive-in ever existed.

We had a drive-in in the town where I grew up and my parents took us there every now and again. Although I’ve long forgotten the films, I clearly remember the excitement of the huge, huge screen, the novelty of sitting in the car and the fact that you could wander around between the darkened cars during the boring bits. If you were lucky you could see couples kissing. [Errghh... yuck] I also remember being disappointed that we were never served popcorn by glamorous girls on rollerskates.

The drive-in’s glory days were long over by the time of our visits in the early 80s and in retrospect, I’m suprised that it didn’t close earlier. When the drive-in finally did shut in the mid-80s I remember going past the desolate grounds and feeling sorry for it and its abandoned cinema dreams. Wonder what’s there now.

As much as I love this country, I have to admit that Britain has let me down on occasion. One of the things I’ve found particularly disappointing is the quite frankly boring ideas that pass for pop compilation titles and covers. I know they do as it says on the tin, but Now That’s What I Call Music 1 - eternity, Top of the Pops, The Hits, Hits, Hits Scene etc. etc. just don’t cut it.

Let me show you how it’s done, Australian style, with some favourites from my personal collection.

Ripper ‘76

This was the second in a series of Ripper albums on Polystar with similarly themed covers. I think we can guess why these might have been popular…

Cocktails’ choice cuts:

1. Howzat - Sherbert
2. Right Back Where we Started From - Maxine Nightingale
3. Late Last Night - Split Enz
4. I Like It Both Ways - Supernaut
5. Convoy - C.W. McCall

Bullseye

Another Polystar favourite, this time from 1979, containing some corking tracks - none of which are even remotely related to darts.

Cocktails’ choice cuts:

1. Hot Summer Nights - Night
2. Let’s Go - The Cars
3. Get Used It - Roger Voudouris
4. Halfway Hotel - Voyager
5. Are ‘Friends’ Electric - Tubeway Army
6. He’s the Greatest Dancer - Sister Sledge
7. Sunburn - Graham Gouldman

Bacon and Eggs: The Album

Similarly, if there is any correlation between the songs below and fried breakfasts, I’ve yet to find it.

Cocktails’ choice cuts:

1. Knock on Wood - Amii Stewart
2. Chiquitita - ABBA
3. Shooting Star - Dollar
4. Lost in Love - Air Supply
5. On the Inside - Lynne Hamilton

Thru the Roof ‘83

This was one of the first records I ever bought with my own money. It was pink, had a top song about skipping and a strangely feminine sounding bloke on it called Mike Oldfield singing a song about a shadow - perfect for an 8 year old.

Cocktails’ choice cuts:

1. Moonlight Shadow - Mike Oldfield
2. Maxine - Sharon O’Neill
3. Double Dutch - Malcolm McLaren
4. Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’- Michael Jackson

1984 Shakin’

This mid-80s crayon cover art belies a great album of Australian pop gems (and Cliff Richard).

Cocktails’ choice cuts:

1. Pseudo Echo - Listening
2. Daryl Hall & John Oates - Say It Isn’t So
3. Kids in the Kitchen - Change in Mood
4. Pat Benatar - Love is a Battlefield
5. QED  - Everywhere I go
6. Hoodoo Gurus - My Girl

With thanks to the K-Tel blog for the images

We found ourselves in the Berkshire town of Beaconsfield this weekend. We were there to visit Bekonscot, a model village built by a bored London accountant in 1929 to entertain his friends. The folly started off as a few houses in his garden but wound up as a series of 6 inter-connected model villages over 1½ acres.

By some strange co-incidence we discovered whilst there that Beaconsfield was noneother than the home of Enid Blyton. And what a perfect coupling. Like Enid Blyton, Bekonscot Model Village seeks to ‘depict an idealised view of life in the 1930s’ - in other words the kind of England where the people who voted for Enid Blyton as their favourite author might aspire to live.

The England where:

1. Everyone lives in thatched roof cottages (even if they are fire prone)



2. Happy families pose by their Aston Martins



3. Fox hunting is fine way to spend a weekend



4. Evangelical missionaries can be found converting the villagers



5. Morris dancers are given free reign in the traffic-less town square

To be fair though, Bekonscot Model Village does have a colliery - its tucked away in the corner on the way out, just past the cable car…

I’m sorry to be getting all angsty this past week, but what is wrong with this country at the moment?

It was only earlier this week that I was bemoaning the fact that nearly half of the British population allegedly believe that the BBC isn’t good value for money. Now I discover that the nation’s favourite author is Enid Blyton.

Now, I’ve nothing against Enid Blyton. I devoured her books when I was a child and there will always be a very firm place in my heart for the faraway tree, the wishing chair, Mr Meddle, Mr Pink Whistle, the naughtiest girl in the school, Julian, Dick and Anne, George and Timmy the dog et. al.

Enid taught me all about the mysterious ‘English’ world of ginger beer, school monitors, lacrosse, conkers, bluebell woods, secret passwords and hidden passageways, wobbling blancmanges, sugar mice, moors, mists and marshes and outsmarting smugglers  - but I would never say that she was my favourite author.

Although I loved her imagination and her alternate world where fairies bake ‘pop biscuits’ and children are always right, even as a child I knew that Enid’s stories were simplistic, repetitive and churned out at a rate of knots.

Citing Enid Blyton (or indeed Roald Dahl and JK Rowling, second and third on the list respectively) as your favourite author when you’re over the age of 12 is more than just longing wistfully for some nostalgic past that never existed, it’s a refusal to engage with adult issues full stop. Surely the people who voted for her don’t still read about the adventures of the Secret Seven with a torch under the blankets? Haven’t they moved on?

On the positive side, it’s nice that people don’t have to pretend that they love Chaucer or Shakespeare; they can unashamedly state that their favourite author is the woman behind the ghastly Noddy…

Rant over. Normal service (i.e. boring anecdotes about public transport etc.) will resume next week.

After a meeting there this afternoon, I happened to find myself wandering around the collections of the Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green, East London.

I was only amongst the exhibitions for about half an hour, but then again, I think I could only actually take 30 minutes. Talk about instant nostalgia. There, trapped behind glass display panels were various remnants from the childhoods of myself, my family and my friends.

• Strawberry Shortcake dolls (in their orginal boxes!)
• Those sets of slides you used to get with pictures of Star Wars characters etc.
• Crayola crayon caddies
• proper train sets
• Smurfs
• Fisher price Little People
• Slinkys
• Barbie, Ken and Sindy
• Pound puppies
• Spirographs
• Holly Hobbie mini cooking sets
• Hot Wheels race tracks

etc. etc.

Of course memories came flooding back, but they were kept in check by the fact that they were in a museum - I’m not nearly old enough to have my childhood toys in a museum!

Even more disturbingly, what I really found myself missing from the exhibition was Fuzzy Felt. We had the farmyard set, and I just can’t explain this, but it kept me amused for hours. Yes, sticking bits of felt in the shape of animals, barns and fences on to a flocked board…

How boring can you get?

For reasons still only known to them, my parents hardly ever let me watch TV when I was a small child. However, despite their aversion to nasty American cartoons I was still allowed to watch Sesame Street. Thank God - how I loved Sesame Street!

It didn’t bother me that Cookie Monster encouraged gluttony and binge eating of sugary snacks, that Super Grover’s stunts defied health and safety regulations or that some people thought that Ernie and Bert living together was a tad suspect. No, I loved the diverse mix of people and muppets who populated the show and attempted to teach me about ‘co-operation’ and ’sharing’.

But for me, the best thing about Sesame Street was the music. Disguising education in the form of a funky tune worked a treat on me, and some have stayed with me forever. Here are two of my favourites.

‘Days of the Week’ from My Name is Roosevelt Franklin, 1971/1974

I’ve had this LP in my collection for as long as I can remember and it is still one of the funkiest records I own. Roosevelt Franklin was one of the few Black American muppets on Sesame Street between 1970 and 1975, but was apparently dumped for being too feisty/naughty and setting a bad example to children. Here though, he sets a good example by singing about, um, the days of the week: ‘I go to school five days a week, ‘cos I get five times smarter that way’.

‘Days of the Week’ from My Name is Roosevelt Franklin (2.56 MB)

‘Pinball Number Count’, around 1976/77

This supremely funky tune was recorded especially by the Pointer Sisters to accompany a scarily pychedelic animation. For more (lots more) info check the muppet wiki.