![]() There were a couple of other record shops here – JBs was a decent one – and we’d often pop into Virgin on Oxford Street to check out the t-shirts.įrom there, we strolled down across Oxford Street and cut through Soho down to Berwick Street, where three more record shops awaited – Selectadisc, Sister Ray and Reckless. Then we’d head down Hanway Street, past the Blue Posts on the corner, to visit Vinyl Experience, a huge place over a couple of floors which was covered by this fine Beatles mural.Īt some point earlier, it had this fine sign. ![]() I went to Sportspages for years but never actually bought a book there. I’d try and pick up the hard-to-find Cockney Rebel, a one-man Chelsea fanzine that combined football with an idiosyncratic take on pop and film culture. Sportspages sold sports books, but we were only interested in the fanzines, which were scattered over the floor in untidy piles. Usually we headed north up Charing Cross Road to Sportspages. There was a shop south of here on Litchfield Street that sold trendy Brazilian football shirts which we looked at but could never afford. We all read the NME and Melody Maker and Select. This stuff mattered.Īfter a quick nose, we’d slip on to Shaftesbury Avenue and round to Cambridge Circus. Mike had got us into Sonic Youth, Pavement and Teenage Fanclub Scott’s dad had a great selection of Van Morrison, Leonard Cohen, Jackson Browne and Neil Young. ![]() This was the Covent Garden branch of Rough Trade, a pokey den arranged around a metal spiral staircase, with walls covered in graffiti from bands that had played there. This was probably the high point of my life as a style icon.Īfter watching Michael try on clothes, we’d go to Neal’s Yard, where we breezed past the weirdos in the skate shop on our way to the basement. On one treasured occasion, Mike’s brother Pete was so impressed by my red Riot + Lagos t-shirt from Duffer that he borrowed it for a party. If I was feeling bold I’d try on something in Red Or Dead or Duffer of St George on D’Arblay Street. We spent much of this part of the day traipsing after Michael into shops where saleswoman would assure him he looked the ‘dog’s bollocks’ as he pulled on another pair of check flares. We usually went to a few shops on Floral Street and then Neal Street, maybe first visiting the Covent Garden General Store, which was full of entertaining tat. Still, I was convinced enough to buy a pair of suede Kickers on his say so, and nobody took the piss that much. His keen sense of style didn’t always go down well in the suburbs when he wore a pair of Adidas shell tops to school, kids in Nike Air and Adidas Torsion laughed at his protestations that he was the trendy one. Mike had a dapper big brother, Pete, who read The Face and I-D, and so Mike always seemed to know where to go. ![]() If all went to plan, we might be getting a closer view before the day was done.įrom Victoria, we headed for Covent Garden. There are fewer finer sights in life then the glimpse of far-off floodlight. This classic view of the power station from the railway line is soon to disappear as the building is surrounded by steel and glass boxes for the very rich.Ĭrossing the Thames, you could usually make out the floodlights of Craven Cottage and Stamford Bridge if you were quick. The highlight of the train journey came after we passed Clapham Junction and trundled past the hulking mass of Battersea Power Station, which was apparently being turned into a theme park. ![]() We spent most Saturdays going up to London. We called ourselves the triumvirate and were inseparable. Here are me, Scott and Mike trying to be the Ramones. ![]()
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