'Ant Rap' - Adam And The Ants (1981)

“All things lively must be used.”

Going to the dentist after school. Nothing worse. “Slight over-exaggeration perhaps, Michael?” Nope. You’ve already had to endure hours of double Science, orienteering (is that really a thing outside school?) in the driving rain, and an assembly about the dangers of climbing electrical pylons. And now you have to be picked up straight from end-of-day registration to go get your annual dental check-up. Which means you’re going to miss Danger Mouse, Dramarama and Blue Peter - and today they’re making a TARDIS out of a shoe box. And it will never be repeated as no-one has bothered inventing video recorders or the Internet yet. Argh!       

Oh, and guess what? To prolong the torture, you’ll be kept waiting in the stuffy, windowless dentist’s reception room for an age. (An ‘age’ being more than three minutes in any young kid’s mind, of course.) And the TV in there is always broken, so no chance of seeing that TARDIS get built. Instead you can listen to the intermittent sound of drills and screaming. While watching a goldfish being victimised by a toddler throwing faux-Lego bricks in its tank. 

So far, all pretty much the norm. But today, on this late Tuesday afternoon in the early ‘80s, a new dimension of horror awaits. Oh, yes. For today I’m not (finally) being called to the dentist’s room. Today I’m being led down a new corridor. To a new door. That opens up to reveal giant steps down in to a darkened basement (you didn’t expect it to be a well-lit basement, did you?). This can’t be right. Hey, stop shoving. Ok, I’m going. Down. Down.

What’s this? Why is Worzel Gummidge here? This is most odd. And somewhat terrifying. Why is my dentist secreting a life-sized model of Jon Pertwee dressed as ITV’s Saturday evening scarecrow superstar? And can we put some proper lights on instead of this weird red glow?

To this day, I do not know the link between good dental hygiene and that chamber of fear. Was this some UK-wide Government initiative or the machinations of a lone dental practitioner with a love for anthropomorphic farm-based characters? Was tatty old Worzel meant to represent a state of decay that would shock you in to brushing your teeth more? Or was he meant to be a welcoming face for children? I would have gone for Metal Mickey instead. 

I do know that I spent half an hour scared witless while chewing some tablets that turned my mouth red. And that Worzel came back to haunt my sleep that night. And the night after. And, to be honest, he’ll probably be coming back tonight after this.   

'Ants Invasion' - Adam And The Ants (1980)

"10.35 and I hope I’ve made the right decision.

Heart is beating;

I’m alive,

But I don’t call this living."

"Don’t go in the bamboo!" These were the chilling words of warning I’d hear endless times as a kid. From my parents. From my teachers. Everyone seemed spooked by bamboo. These days it’s all pubescent vampires and post-apocalyptic zombies. Back in the Seventies it was giant grass.

There were tales. Told by flickering candlelight on cruel October nights. Well, some of them. Others were told under the flickering school hall strip lights in morning assembly. Of children being shredded alive by running through the bamboo patch on the school playing field. "Hold it there! What?!" Yes, exactly. I’m not sure who the school thought they were fooling with this. How come these grisly deaths by menacing perennial evergreens never appeared in the local paper? And why didn’t they just chop the bamboo patch down? I’m pretty sure our Head Master was cribbing his assembly notes from a Stephen King book.

And then there was the Bamboo Man. Who lived in the woods near our house. Apparently. "Stay away from the Bamboo Man!" "Is he made of bamboo then?" "Er, no. He lives in the bamboo." "Well, the name needs some work." Of course, the tales of a Bamboo Man just made you want to play in the woods even more. Would we see him? What did he eat? Did he steal those Micronauts I hid in the silver birch last week?

It would seem Bamboo Man was only visible to adults though, as none of us kids ever spotted him. Despite continually throwing rocks and assorted masonry in to the bamboo to flush him out. Kids, eh?

Three decades later though, I hear he’s still dwelling there. Well, that’s what my eleven-year-old nephew has been told. Surely this must be Son Of Bamboo Man by now though? And why is all this bamboo still around? Is someone panda farming in the area? Don’t people own scythes anymore?

  

Spotify linky:

Adam & The Ants – Ants Invasion

P.S. It's always a delight when I open an album sleeve and some forgotten treasure spills out. Today it was this 12-page catalogue...

‘Prince Charming’ – Adam And The Ants (1981)

"Ridicule is nothing to be scared of."

So, we seem to have a dancing theme emerging in these recent posts. Which reminds me of the only moves I’ve ever mastered: the Prince Charming. Oh, yes, no-one dances the Prince Charming quite like me.

Ok, so it only involves striding forward very slowly, whilst crossing your arms above your head and then lowering them. But if only it was that simple. It’s actually all in how you possess the character. How the nobility, regency and ardour of the Prince Charming flows through you. Any ten-year-old knows that.

I also realised these skills needed to be passed down through the family, so I quickly tutored my younger sister. We’d then leap up from the sofas to dance round the room every time the video was played on the telly. Which was an awful lot in 1981.

To this day, my arms still instinctively lock in position every time I hear those familiar drums pounding. Which is a tad embarrassing when I’m in the queue at the chippy.

     

P.S. Shortly after this video was released, I was rather chuffed to meet the wonderful fairy godmother Diana Dors when she opened my school's summer fête. I didn't show her my Prince Charming.