A secret Life.

I have a confession to make.

I am a Kate Bush Fan.

There. I've said it. Exposed myself. You can leave now if you want. The door's over there, the one with the Kate Bush poster on it. Yes, I know she's dressed as a lion and it is a bit kinky, but just see yourself out.

It is a social embarrassment, having people suddenly pointing at you saying "look, a Kate Bush Fan" and whirling both their arms around their heads screeching "It's Me Cathy" (the poor deluded people don't realise that it is only one arm for Wuthering Heights, both arms is Wow.) Way back at the end of the 70s and early 80s I sneakily liked to watch this strange woman in leotards doing cartwheels, roller skating and patting her backside, all done to rather catchy pop. However being a young lad at school I had to hide this strange quirk of mine, instead discussing the relative merits of the current in favour rock band (Rainbow! Motörhead! Asia! yikes!).

At university I discovered the delights of prog-rock and soon Kate was forgotten. After all when you have songs of 10 minutes and longer, lyrics about lawnmowers, aqualungs and amoebas, sung by blokes standing on one leg or dressed as a flower, who needs pop. Pop was to be avoided at all costs. Nasty little tunes with boring beats. Yuk.

However in 1987 I was suddenly reminded of her existence. Pangs of nostalgia and the horrible thought that I couldn't remember what Wuthering Heights actually sounded like forced me to venture into the local record shop. I walked in and right in front of me was a stand covered in Kate. Kate in the sale. A sign! Her lips seemed to be saying "you know you want me - buy me, buy me now!” I was weak, I couldn't resist.

Trouble is, I now had to buy Kate, this meant interaction with a sales bloke behind the counter. People might see me buying this! And I thought buying my first condoms was bad. I walked past the stand, grabbing a Kate cassette, hoping no one would notice. Then straight to the Brian Eno section to buy something that hopefully would save me some embarrassment. I waited until there was no queue and went to the counter. Just then half the customers in the shop decided that it was about time they too should go to the counter. People behind me! What if they saw what I was buying? I pushed the two cassettes across the counter with the Eno on top of the Kate. The assistant tapped in the price for the Eno and then held the Kate cassette high above his head and shouted to some other bloke at the back of the store, "HOW MUCH IS THE KATE BUSH".

A shocked silence descended.

Well it seemed that way. I had a feeling that everyone had turned in horror and was staring at me. I thought I should turn and say it wasn't for me, it was for a friend. But that would mean I had a friend who liked Kate Bush, and that would be just as bad. This assistant was rubbing my face in it. Why wave the offending article so everyone could see it, why bellow so loudly so that not only the entire shop, but people outside would know what I was buying? They would all be lingering outside the store, waiting to see what sort of person would venture in public to buy Kate Bush albums.

After an eternity that lasted a good second, the price was yelled back, money was exchanged and I got my rather red face out of there and started to hoof it home. After 5 minutes I realised that the plastic bag was mainly transparent and Kate's face was in full view. Argh! Quick wrap it up, walk faster, get home.

Back in my bed-sit with a really good mug of tea to calm myself down, I slipped the cassette into my tape deck, and with a last check to make sure everyone else was out of the house, I pressed play. . . .

A few minutes later I was blubbing. Feelings that had lay dormant for years had been stirred. She was back. It was good. Kate was to be my new musical love.

Soon I found I wasn't alone. There were others like me. I started meeting other fans, usually in secret locations like Top Withins on Haworth Moor where only sheep and deluded hikers go. A chance to be a Kate Fan and talk to like minded people about Her, without people rounding us up and chasing us out of town. I started wearing Kate Bush T-shirts in public, no doubt shocking a few people, but soon found that most people don't really care.

It's been 20 years now. Kate fans seem to be generally accepted these days. After all we may be a bit shy about admitting our love for the red-lipped warbling banshee, but underneath we are normal people, almost. Just don't say things like "It's been a long time since her last album hasn't it" or "Do you always wear leg warmers in Summer?" or "Tori Amos is great!" and Kate Fans usually remain calm.

So go on, say "Wow" a few times. You may get to like it.

Autogeddon

A couple of weeks ago I drive happily into a Tesco garage, fill up, and within 1 second of driving out of the forecourt the car starts stuttering and juddering. The part of my brain that likes to store useful information away, but in the wrong box, suddenly pulled out the sheet of paper that read "Tesco have been selling dodgy fuel! It's been in the news for weeks you dolt!". The part of my brain that likes to swear sprung into action . . . .

My poor car crawled around for a couple of days until I booked it into a garage. I called Tesco and they confirmed that that garage on that day did have the demon fuel. Oh dear.

Time passes . . . .

My car is fixed! Trouble is, the garage have found that the ignition coil was playing up, there was a faulty spark plug lead and an oil leak. Nothing to do with fuel whatsoever.
Oh and my brakes disks were as thin as a supermodel in a car-crusher, and the suspension was like a kangeroo on e-numbers. And would you like this bill for £500?

Just my luck to have a car that will run on the nastiest fuel, but decides to go pop seconds after filling up with the stuff.

Mutant Chocolate Eaters

T. and I received our regular box of chocolates from those nice chocy people at Hotel Chocolat . However upon opening the box we found a disaster awaiting. Several chocolates had melted and flowed over most of the rest of the box. Wait a mess! Luckily a phone call later means another box is on its way. I did ask what I should do with the melted box and they told me to throw it in the bin.

What! Throw away chocolate!

We have been picking out mutant lumps of chocolate all afternoon in a "guess what centre this used to be" kind of way. Yum.

Albums Reunited

Due to a tank of dodgy fuel, my car is out of action. Luckily the in-laws have lent me their car so I can still get to work (no public transport, unless I want to take all day to get there). It has a cassette player which has forced me to dig out all those old cassettes of mine, with recordings of all my old vinyl. I haven't heard some of this stuff for years! Brian Eno's "Another Green World", Gryphon's "Red Queen to Gryphon Three", Quiet Sun's "Mainstream", International Harvester's "Sov Got Rose Marie". All great albums that have been hidden away for years. I do now notice how ancient some of it sounds though, those squeeky synth sounds and muffled studio recording (although that might be down to the age of my tapes!). Within a few minutes though I forget that and just indulge in those early 70s sounds.
I find the same happens with the 80s. Nasty sounding synth squeals to begin with, then 10 minutes later, I'm just enjoying some great music.

All this nostalgia is making me itch to dig out my hamster driven turntable from the loft. I am slowly buying old vinyl albums on new shiny CDs, but you can't beat a big cover, two sides and a bit of dust. I used to know what the track titles were, but now it's just "track 4 is great".

I feel old. Bah!

New Old Albums

Speaking of Claire Hamill, I was rather pleased to get a couple of her old albums on CD from Japan. They are miniature versions of the original LP sleeves, even down to the insert found in Abracadabra. So cute!
In the same post, and from the same era ('74/75) I also got Steve Hackett's "Voyage of The Acolyte", and I had to laugh at seeing the bonus track "Shadow Of the Hierophant (extended version)" being 17 minutes long. Someone must have thought that 11 minutes just wasn't long enough; let's make a long progrock classic even longer (and having heard it, I don't see the point - the original is just the right length but has an unnecessary fade-out (UFO), the extended version just drags on and still has the UFO. I was expecting some sort of proper conclusion that didn't fit on the original vinyl LP).
Yes, I hate UFOs. Why not end a track properly! It is like being at a great party, then someone ties you to a chair and slowly moves the party down the street leaving you stuck behind. Grrr.
(Note that I don't condemn all fade-outs, just the unnecessary ones!)
I shall attempt to review these albums shortly (all favourites for 20 years, that makes me feel old.)