Following my post earlier...
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 1990.

Proto-PJM is sixteen years old and grappling with teenage angst. Or more likely grappling with himself, frequently. Despite the ever present concerns over ever getting laid or too much masturbation being detrimental to one's health, the soundtrack to proto-PJM's year was beginning to take shape.

January

Almost killed by a falling barn roof during a hurricane strength storm on his way home from school (the very same one which lobotomized Gordon Kaye), PJM wastes no time chain smoking his way through a month of high stakes card games (a whole box of matches was played for and won) instead of revising for his GCSEs.

Some of his cohorts during this time are a bunch of heavy rockers and metallers, with hair and acne to go round. Despite the overwhelming deluge of Metallica, Iron Maiden and for those metallers seeking easy listening; Guns n Roses, PJM seeks musical sanctuary elsewhere, with FPI Project, De La Soul and Electronic.

February

More of the same. PJM is poorly and at home from school one Monday morning watching news footage of an elderly but unbowed future statesman being release from a long jail sentence.

Beats International (Lindy Layton... Ooooh Lindy Layton), Depeche Mode and a smattering of S-Express accompany PJM while deadlines for coursework submission pass by with scant notice. Coursework? By next Tuesday sir. Study was most definitely not a Mantra for a State of Mind.

March

Guru Josh is officially the coolest man ever to be called "Josh'. Snap power their way (see what I did there?) to a UK hit, while PJM bops away to the B52s while he thinks no-one is looking.

Meanwhile, across Britain resentment to the hugely unpopular Poll Tax builds to flashpoint. Brixton is sealed off as the mother of all punch ups ensue, which ultimately spills over into the "second battle of Trafalgar". Two of PJM's comrades are involved in town centre rioting, both claiming an unconscious copper each. Yep, I just saw one of them. It was flying, mate. And oinking.

The verse “She’s gonna step on you again…” becomes a metaphor for the mood of the working classes, sensing a moral victory for the first time in over a decade.

April

The warm spring is a foreboding of a hot, sticky summer. The moody beats of Adamski, the melodies of Jesus Jones (the frontman is now a mountain biking journalist) and the Rebel MC accompany lazy evenings lounging around in grassy green fields, smoking, talking about the future in acts of small rebellion in contrast to the prisoners at Strangeways, tearing the roof down on the six o clock news.

Despite all this, I was carefree and most definitely feeling Real, Real, Real.

May

The first of PJM’s GCSE exams are met with a level of preparedness akin to taking a lino onboard the Titanic. A warm April gave way to a grey and dank May, which did little to dampen my spirits. The trippiness of Primal Scream accompanied me to and from exam halls. I certainly wasn’t fighting it, I was feeling it!

Kicking back post exams consisted of slouching around under trees drinking bottles of cheap cider and smoking from matt-black packs of JPS. I became aware of a new and somewhat sober public mood, yep we were off to play football again…

June

For the first and only time in my memory, the weeks of boredom and sphincter clenching press jingoism that usually accompany England to any football tournament were muted. A new, post soccer violence mood had taken grip of the nation, who better than New Order with World in Motion. Okay, the guys who once brought you Temptation and She’s Lost Control were selling out monumentally and some dumbass thought “Great! Lets get John Barnes to do some more of his rapping!”. Fuck me, I wouldn’t let John Barnes (w)rap my nieces Christmas present.

The long and angst ridden years of repulsion to the female of the species was brought to an abrupt end when a lady appeared on the scene. Any notion of steamy romance being accompanied by Lil Louis French Kissing his way through an allegro beat with a breathy gallic strumpet were wide of the mark though. More tonsil tennis and chaste fumblings in hot, badly ventilated bedrooms. Clearly, Linekar et al were scoring much more than I was.

July

The England dream was over as Gazza paraded through London on a double decker bus wearing rubber tits while the smug Germans go home knowing that it’s their year. The East Germans have something to cheer about too, for it’s goodbye to Trabants and Oost-Marks.

A sudden storm broke the sultry July heat, however, I still wasn’t quite dancing Naked in the Rain. G/f at the time made it clear MC Hammer style – U Can’t Touch This. So I didn’t. Nessun Dorma (or “None Shall Sleep”) I don’t think.

August

“I’m Free!” I was able to proclaim in chorus with the Soup Dragons. My somewhat demure and naively sweet g/f proved as clingy as a North Sea limpet, her proposal of marriage dampened my sixteen year old ardour rapidly. Might sound harsh, but at that age to settle down and for her to be The Only One I Know would be disastrous.

Saddam Hussein in a bid to make Hitler look like a second grade amateur turned his conquest toward the tiny emirate of Kuwait. Another barking dictator was fighting a rearguard action as pressure in the House of Commons mounted on Margaret Thatcher to move sideways after the Poll Tax debacle.

One summer morning I opened a brown envelope, bearing the bad news of my exam results. Shit, I’d practically come bottom in the whole world. What a Killer.

I’d hooked up with another lady at a party but something didn’t quite gel right for me, so unlike Betty Boo I wasn’t Doin’ the Do, perhaps quite rightly so.

September

Starting college was the beginning of a new and slightly more serious era. Carefree days of frivolity were slipping away almost imperceptibly but my music tastes began to take a comparative turn too. I don’t recall there being much in the news, except for some Liberian bloke being executed.

Growing tired of my anticlimactic college lovelife (like an England match, all buildup but a lacklustre show on the field) I began to ask What Time is Love? A Suicide Blonde caught my eye (dyed by her own hand), but the party invites kept on a-flowing. Saturday nights would reward with a Fascinating Rhythm or two.

October

I took A Little Time and gradually the college grades I needed started to come my way. At last I think I had begun to realise that I should stop being The Joker and make an effort. I’d previously found study to be So Hard.

Politically, the landscape of Europe had changed once again. Germany had reunified and Mikhail Gorbachev wins a Nobel prize.

November

Ding dong the witch is dead, driven away crying from number 10. It was almost Unbelievable. PJM was sat in a history class when he heard the news and to a man every individual in the room cheered. Except one, who cradled his head in his arms and sobbed. He was the only person in the room to react with any semblance of Sadness.

December

The final dying embers of a Crazy year to remember for the rest of my life, with momentous happenings in both my personal life and in the history books. “Are You Dreaming?” I really Had The Time of My Life.

Xmas parties were spent collecting hugs and kisses from every International Bright Young Thing I could find. I was clearly revelling in it.

Britain and France became All Together Now several hundreds of feet below the English Channel as the first segment of the channel tunnel met in the middle.

What?
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 8 Feb 2008, 1:17, 9 replies)

Woo!
A great reply to a crap question. PJM saves the week!

1990 seems so long ago now :-(
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 8 Feb 2008, 8:52, closed)

*Ponders*
In 1990 I was 25, and my hedonistic phase was just starting and you've just bought it all back for me in a rush of euphoria.

I thank you from the heart of my bottom.
( girlinthehole, Fri 8 Feb 2008, 9:49, closed)

And yay
have a clicky PJM
( Trollman, Fri 8 Feb 2008, 10:15, closed)

Hmmm... fond memories
I was 23 that year. I remember JPS with distase though - we used to call them John Slayer Poisons (think that was nicked from Not the 9 o'clock News). Having since been replaced in status by Lambert&Butler as "single mother tabs" i.e. the cheapest brand who's packet approximately co-ordinates with the mis-matched tracksuit items. B&H would go better with their earrings from Argos & pasty crumbs but they cost a bit more.

And Gorbachev, bless him, what a honey. I named a dog after him. (Also named a hamster Enoch, after Mr Powell.) I'm clicking this because it's funny and clever, although not very rude ;o)
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 8 Feb 2008, 10:18, closed)

Just brilliant...

And way better than this QOTW deserves.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 8 Feb 2008, 11:26, closed)

ah
desert island mix tapes.
(haberman is singing in the changes, Fri 8 Feb 2008, 11:58, closed)

Oh dear god
I was an undergrad....I could have corrupted you!
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sat 9 Feb 2008, 0:27, closed)

I really liked....
...the way you used titles from songs throughout. I think I got most of them.....but then I was 16/17 in '90 and that was such a long time ago
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Sat 9 Feb 2008, 4:44, closed)

What a year
1990, seems like only yesterday. I remember it well, it smelt of hope and change.
(middleofnowhere, Sat 9 Feb 2008, 12:57, closed)