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I remember Nik Kershaw's work from the last time round.
Me and Steve Strange and Boy George and Midge Ure used to do heroin in the toilets of the Blitz club, and talk about all kinds of things, I suppose (they thought I was 'dead camp' like Mrs Slocombe from 'Are You Being Served', even though I was only about fifty at the time,) and Kershaw's name was one that would often crop up. He was accused of 'being a sell-out' and 'not really meaning it.' By these paragon of sincerity. Later, I would take cocaine with Bob Geldof, which is a memory I will carry to my grave. I mean he talks a lot normally, so ...
They were terrible times, the Eighties, so not to revisit them really, Trips, in terms of what you're listening to. I think the closest I ever got to suicide was at a disco when the DJ was playing the Eurythmics.
It, Kershaw, Kim Wilde, that sort of thing, is music that was designed to depress, and not in a good way either.
Hope you're feeling a bit better now though. |
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