'Boys Don't Cry (New Voice)' - The Cure (1986)

"I try and laugh about it,

Hiding the tears in my eyes."

The Eighties in one image. Well, my Eighties. I can’t speak for the striking coal miners or those that fought in the Falklands War. I’m thinking they’d probably choose something less frivolous.

My Sixth Form days would begin and end with this poster of Robert Smith hanging over my bed. My black school folders had this silhouette drawn on them in silver pen. My friend Toni had a Boys Don’t Cry T-shirt she wore one summer day we were walking her dogs over the fuel allotments. It was on badges I found in Kensington Market and postcards bought on the Isle of Wight. I’m surprised I didn’t get it as a tattoo. (Well, not that surprised, actually.)  

And, of course, I’d painstakingly copy that look. Plumes of distressed hair, over-sized suit jackets, high-tops with multiple sets of laces, and a guitar slung nonchalantly over my shoulder (the guitar was one fashion accessory too far, to be honest - especially when out shopping or visiting the dentist). It would be a long time until another sleeve had that impact on me again. Probably ‘Life Is A Rollercoaster’ by Ronan Keating. Ho ho ho.  

'Snake Dance' - The March Violets (1984)

“Pay my price in pearls of wisdom,
Tell me stories of my fame”

For three years at the end of the Eighties, every stitch I wore came from Kensington Market. You could find everything you wanted across its three floors. Well … as long as everything you wanted was kinda gothy or punky. A real rag-tag collection of treasures and people were to be found as you tried to orienteer yourself through the dark, narrow passages between overstuffed stalls. It was like walking into a scene from Blade Runner.

Long-tailed, over-sized Robert Smith-style shirts. Multi-buckled suede ‘winkle-pickers’. Ex-army trench coats. Poorly printed Mary Chain t-shirts. Sisters of Mercy bootlegs. My bags would be bulging. I was never quite brave enough to get my hair cut in the basement barbers or try the food, but you really could have lived there – and many of the more curious looking folk that I saw around me probably did.

Don’t look for it now, as someone decided this delightfully individual London landmark should make way for another hotel about 10 years back. It’s much missed, and has got me thinking about other wonderful places I can never visit again: the Luminaire cinema; the Astoria, the (original) Intrepid Fox. Hmm … more of all those another time.

Spotify linky:
The March Violets – Snake Dance