what was i thinking (nother pea)
I was 13 years old. It was New Years Day. My folks always went to my Uncles for a party that evening. I loved these occasions, I got to stay up late, talk to my older cousins (which instantly made me feel cool and erudite) and take some records to play.

But this year was to be different. SHE was there. A neighbour's daughter. My Uncle immediately sensed my awkward fascination and kindly introduced me to the warmest most beautiful smile in the universe. I was in love. For hours we talked and laughed, oblivious to the dull grey world around us. She was incredible. A teen Aphrodite. A wildfire had been lit. We had everything in common. Where had she been all my 13 years? It turned out she was 15 (older woman, I could handle that) and a teen model no less who’d been on the cover of magazines! My head was swimming. I felt like I had pulled Heidi Klum. Still trying to impress I was working my way through the few crappy records I had brought, then I pulled out my ace card… Relax by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, oh yes! Now to be fair this requires some backstory...

I had first seen Frankie Goes to Hollywood perform Relax on the Tube earlier that year. I loved it. When the single was first released it didn’t do much but for months I had been championing this track as THE BEST THING EVER RECORDED. This was long before the ensuing controversy and radio ban. As far as I was concerned it was underground, I was a visionary, an auteur. I alone had made them.

She loved it, we bonded even further, I was dizzy, discombobulated. We would be together forever. A love like ours would never ever die. But, eventually she had to leave. Like a gleaming knight I rose to the challenge to walk her (the few hundred yards) to her house. We kissed, the stars shone brighter, angels sang. I took her number and called the following day. We arranged to meet that Saturday at midday, outside the Virgin record store on Renfield Street in Glasgow.

After a few millennia Saturday came. Like most teenagers I was going through a phase of trying to look 'different'. I had planned my outfit days before. To make matter worse this was also the early eighties and styles were, well, a bit shit. To put the tin lid on it, my Mum had also sprung it on me I had to look after my 8 year old sister that day.

Never-the-less I arrived on time. The January sales were in full swing, the street rammed with shoppers. There I stood resolute, proud, erect (yes quite possibly that way too) being jostled by shoppers on that fateful, crisp winter's day. She was 15 minutes late. No worries. Then an hour passed. Still I stood there expectantly, full of hope and joy and dreams of our future.

Now, I don’t know if this proposed mother to be of my children simply stood me up, but looking back, I reckon this is a far more likely scenario…

She got off the bus that stopped right outside the store, took one look at this spotty teen (with bored a 8 year old girl in tow) sporting a wispy bum fluff moustache, a shiny grey suit complete with red leather bow tie and a carnation, yes, a fucking carnation! Then, like any right minded individual quietly slipped back into the crowd and FUCKED RIGHT OFF.

What the fuck was I thinking.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:26, 1 reply)

like we all were at the time...
If Midge Ure can rock it, maybe I can also.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Sat 19 Oct 2013, 2:18, closed)