Early rehearsals as a 5-piece created an environment where it was clear not everyone was fully committed to the overarching vision of world domination.

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Dream Time

Admittedly, we didn’t have the ability to play whatever we liked, so much as whatever we could play. But still, it was a magical time for me. And soon I discovered the magic didn’t end there, because every time I came to rehearsals with a new song, the joy started all over again, as we would breathe life into what was, until then, nothing more than an embryonic collection of unstructured, jangling ideas in my mind.

I’ve got this idea for a song…

Then Roy, Steve B, Steve C, and Clive would add there own embellishments, things I hadn’t considered, to a riff say, and the song, like a speeded-up time lapse film of a flower in a David Attenborough documentary, would grow and come to life before our very eyes. It was like watching your child walk or talk, for the very first time.

In my head I could hear string arrangements, orchestras, brass sections but that was never going to happen in this band. What I couldn’t imagine was the sheer power, the drive, the energy that was created by five of us, in a room, with rudimentary music gear. It really was the stuff of dreams, something I was completely unprepared for. It didn’t matter that the songs were naff, or the lyrics were naïve and foolish. What mattered is, we played them, at full volume and when it all came together, which it did occasionally, the songs took on a whole new life of there own.

The Pepperpot was demolished when Netteswell was turned into a college.

Equipment

As time went on, we suggested to Steve B he buy his own amp because we thought Roy’s amp was going to get damaged. He agreed but the amp never materialised.  Roy became less and less enamoured towards Steve using his amp and disagreements at rehearsals started very soon afterwards.  Steve didn’t seem overly keen on spending cash at that time, so it was always going to end one way.  But some other issues had manifested themselves in the meantime too.

Pressure Problems

Although Roy and I were not the most prolific fretboard warriors, we had noticed Bernie appeared to be doing little or no practicing at home, between rehearsals. Perhaps he was busy, or tired or whatever, but it was the usual thing in bands, where individuals are working at a different pace to each other, and its then that cracks begin to materialise.

We were, or believed we were, totally immersed in music and the band, and it appeared as if Bernie wasn’t. Or at least, not in the same way us.  So, mistakes, which were plentiful at the outset by all of us, had, over time, been slowly eradicated by all but one member of the band. And, in a band, it becomes very clear, very quickly, when someone isn’t putting in the same amount of effort as everyone else. Then it creates divisions, discord and disharmony and soon that disharmony spills out into disagreements during rehearsals.

Kawasaki Bass Cabinet

Furthermore, Bernie, who had explained he was skint and therefore couldn’t buy an amp at the time, arrived at rehearsals one night on a Kawasaki “Green Meanie” which he’d bought second hand the week before.  This then was the real reason he was skint and couldn’t purchase a bass amp.  Also, in reality the amp was of little consequence now, since buying the bike precluded the need for an amp as now it was impossible for him to transport it.

The Z650 boasted many fine attributes but it didn’t have a jack plug socket for a Bass guitar, which on reflection was clearly an oversight

Identify The Weak Links

After rehearsals had finished, Bernie packed up his bass and left, and the issues began to get another airing.

“You can tell him,” said Roy.

“I’m not telling him,” I replied.

“You have to.  He’s your friend and it was your idea that he join the band in the first place,” countered Roy.

“What’s that got to do with anything?  You’re the one complaining about him using your amp.” I pointed out.

“And I’ve told him to buy his own stuff, but he won’t,” he said.

“Someone has to tell him,” said Steve.

“Well, I’m not telling him he’s out. I asked him to join because we needed a bass player and you lot were happy for me to get him in, so how is it suddenly my job to get rid of him?” I asked.

Confrontation

I couldn’t tell him.  I didn’t know how.  It was a confrontation, and I couldn’t deal with confrontation.  I had to be nice to people otherwise they would reject me, that was my inner mantra, so telling Bernie he was out of the band went against all my principles.  But I was fed up too.  His recalcitrance around buying equipment suggested he had commitment issues and coupled with the lack of practice meant he was holding the rest of us back from reaching the big time!

The ‘Big’ time for us turned out to be playing at The Square (or Square One as it was called) in Harlow. However, this is Coldplay playing there. Other, successful bands to grace the stage (as well as the Pressure Stops) are: – U2, The Libertines, Oasis, Blur & Supergrass.

The Square, Harlow – Wikipedia

Stealth Bomber

The rehearsals descended into farce; Bernie continued to refuse to spend any money on equipment; Roy got more agitated; I got fed up with the constant mistakes.  The differences between us became huge; we were all serious about the band, whereas Bernie appeared to treat it as a knock about.  I was cornered and the others were waiting for me to tell him.  I’d known Bernie since we were in the infants together, from the age of 5 and I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t even tell him the truth.

Then, one day I hit upon a brilliant idea.  It was a simple plan, but the best plans were often simple and elegant by design.  I pitched it to the others.  They agreed with it.  It was a way for Bernie to leave the band without telling him.

Happier times. (L-R) Gibbo, Me, Jonathan Clarke, Bernie (Brixham ’77)

At the end of the next rehearsal, at which the arguing had been upped a little further, we were packing up our stuff and I piped up out of the blue, “You know what lads?  I’m getting a bit fed up with this.  All this arguing, all the mistakes, all the moaning.  I started this band to have some fun but these rehearsals are not anymore, not for me at least. So, I don’t know about you lot, but I don’t really want to do it. Not like this.”

Pressure Play

Everyone stopped packing away and looked at each other.  It had begun, the first direct attempt at voicing unhappiness and disillusionment. What I was saying was true, I was frustrated, I just couldn’t bare the thought of voicing my frustration directly at Bernie. There was silence for a moment, then Roy chipped in, “So, you’re just going to leave then eh? Knock it on the head?”

Me: “No, not exactly.  I don’t know how you lot feel but it’s not much fun is it?”

Roy: “No, you’re right.  I’m not really enjoying it either to be honest.  Coulson?”

Steve C: “Well I used to enjoy it, but it wouldn’t bother me if we packed it in.  At least I wouldn’t have to lug all this stuff on the bus anymore,” he said indicating the pile of gear in front of him.

Clive: “Same here. My Dad’s always moaning about putting my drums in his car.”

For reasons unknown, Clive’s dad couldn’t fit his kit into his Austin Maxi

Getting The Message

This went on for a while as we all pitched in the reasons why we were going to pack it all in or not, as the case may be.  Nobody mentioned Bernie specifically as an issue, although mistakes at rehearsals, and lack of equipment and practicing did get an airing, in a way that was fairly clear i.e. we all needed to practice between rehearsals, not at rehearsals.  I half-hoped Bernie would get the message, but sadly he didn’t.  

I wanted him to own up to not practicing enough, to using rehearsals for practice time, to not buying his own gear and to having greater priorities outside of the band.  If he had, we would have continued.  But he didn’t, he just shrugged and said, “So that’s it then.  We’re just going to give up?”

Me: “Looks like it.”

Roy: “Yep.”

Bernie: “Well I guess I’ll see you guys around.”

Clarkie, Gibbo, Dartz, Me, Ray “Peter Pask “Piperton”, Bernie (Brixham ’77)

Mk I

Steve “Bernie” Byrne picked up his guitar and left.  The Pressure Stops Mk I was no more. We all continued to pack up and didn’t say anything until we went outside.  By then Bernie was gone and we looked at each other.

Steve Coulson said, “So what happens now?”

“Let’s leave it a few weeks, then we can reform and start rehearsals again.  But now we need to find a bass player,” I said.

Mk1 soon became Mk 2 which soon became Mk 1 again

“Why don’t one of you two do it?” asked Steve.  Roy and I both turned our lips up at the thought of having to downgrade from six strings to four, but it made perfect sense.  “You do it,” Roy said to me.  “You do it!” I said back.  Steve interjected.  “If I’m honest Roy, Lee is a better guitarist than you, so you should go on Bass.” It was a low bar but I took heart that I was better at guitar than somebody.

Suddenly we were a four-piece again, as we had been when writing Shirts at Roy’s house a few months previously. The difference now was we all had a specific role in the band and we all knew what we had to do. It didn’t mean we did it, or could do it but at least we knew what we were supposed to do, and that’s half the battle. Isn’t it?

NEXT – PART 9 – TRAIN IN VAIN

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Between us we wrote the song (Nice) Shirts, and then rehearsals began (briefly) in my dad’s garage.

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Copy From Others

I had been listening to the album “Love Bites” by The Buzzcocks but I’d also heard the Joe Jackson single “Is she really going out with him?” which later featured on his first album “Look Sharp”.  Although Joe wasn’t a punk, he had some wonderful songs and had borrowed from the sound of the time to produce an excellent debut album.  It was full of jangly, choppy guitar and off-beat reggae rhythms.  I liked the melodies and that’s what I tried to capture when I wrote ‘Lover Next Door’.  I say capture, I mean copy. 

His album was a big influence on me as it was all about unrequited love. And it felt as if he was able to tap into my mind, read my thoughts and spew them out as tight, punchy pop songs, as I wanted to. 

I really wanted these shoes at the time

Happy Loving Couples Next Door Get Back

But he had “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” and I had “Lover Next Door”.  They didn’t compare whatsoever, but I had no idea how to write a song, let alone craft one.  Listening back to the album Look Sharp! I can hear a number of things.  If I listen to “Happy Loving Couples” I hear the talking section, at around 1:58, an idea I had shamelessly dropped straight into “Lover Next Door”. 

Official Joe Jackson Website

Joe Jackson would never get his head around the Love Island generation

It now seems clear to me though; this idea originally came from “Get Back” by The Beatles.  At 2:39, Paul McCartney starts to talk about “Sweet Loretta Martin”, getting back home to her mum and her high-heeled shoes and her low-necked sweater.”  Compare that to Joe Jackson and his take, “Happy loving couples, in matching white polo-neck sweaters.”  Might as well gone the whole way and finished off with “Get back home Loretta!”

Oooh Oooh – She’s a lover next door!

Write About What You Know

We used Roy’s sister’s house for rehearsals, to practice songs and for writing too.  One such number became known as “Shirts” and was written by all of us sitting in Roy’s sister’s front room.  Again, I had a little chord progression and a melody which seemed to fit together well. We all then chipped in with lyrics and wrote a song about Roy’s shirt. 

Shirts ended up on the “Other Side” of Crash Wanderer – all recorded in glorious “Pressure Stereo” although you wouldn’t know it

Roy remembers how the idea for the song came about.

That’s a nice shirt, Roy! (Takeley – ’00)

Shirts

The song was known as “Nice Shirts” to begin with. The chorus was:

“Do you wear nice shirts?“

“Course we wear nice shirts!”

We recorded it as the B side to our first single a year later.  It featured the now legendary (to me) D, A, G, A chord progression. I was convinced it had worked so well on the previous song there was little reason to change a winning formula, other than sounding somewhat repetitive.  But it didn’t automatically work and although I did end up reusing chord changes I liked, for Shirts I ended up dropping a B minor into the middle because the melody I had come up with necessitated it. 

Thunderbirds Are Go!

Shoehorn

When I put the lyrics together with the melody I was hearing in my mind, and fused that with the chord progression, I suddenly discovered it didn’t fit together properly. Somewhat alarmed, I started trying to sing the melody with the chords but struggled because I couldn’t easily re-pitch my voice.  So, I changed the key instead and dropped it down a semi-tone from D to D flat (Db).  That didn’t work either. So I dropped it down another semi-tone to C major and bang, it all sounded lovely.  It was a rudimentary ‘around-the-houses’ approach to song writing and I never asked Steve if he could sing it in this key, it just sounded right so that’s what we did.

Garage Land

In the meantime, we began using my garage again for rehearsals . It went well until the neighbours started to complain about the racket on a Saturday afternoon. It was decided we’d have to find a proper rehearsals space.  What we found was the Pepperpot. It was a small, round building with lots of tiny round windows in the roof which sat opposite the sixth form block in the grounds of Netteswell School.

Rock ‘N’ Roll High School

Because it was on school grounds and a long way from any houses, we could make as much noise as we liked, and we did.  Initially rehearsals were once a week, on Monday’s.  The first rehearsal there was on 26th March 1979 and we practiced the songs, Success Story, Lover Next Door, Crash Wanderer and Eighteen. At the time we were still called Short Talk although I’d offered up the name R.G. Bargy & The Jostlers. But we were too serious for knockabout names.

The roof of the Pepperpot, resembling an alien spacecraft rather than a classroom. The building to the rear is the 6th Form block, where I played The Pistols God Save The Queen at full volume in May ’77.

My Dad would give me a lift with my amp and guitar and would pick me up afterwards.  Very rock ‘n’ roll.  Clive’s Dad used to bring him and his drums to rehearsals.  Roy and Steve, who had the furthest to travel, used to come on the bus with their amps, microphone and guitar.

Every week, Roy and Steve would lug their gear across the dual carriageway, hoping they wouldn’t get run over or arrested

Bernie

I asked Steve “Bernie” Byrne to play bass and he agreed.  He spent twenty-five quid on an old, battered bass guitar, and then plugged it into Roy’s Flame guitar amp.  That worked for a while, but the speakers weren’t going to last long with both the bass and guitar going through them at full volume.

The Man in Black – Steve “Bernie” Byrne and me (Austria ’76)

But for me everything about those early rehearsals was wonderful. To begin with. Imagine that. In a room with all your mates, you’re eighteen, you’ve got all this music equipment between you. And you can play whatever you like, at whatever volume you like. And to begin with, we did.

NEXT – PART 8 – INCENDIARY DEVICE

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Early song writing attempts were poor (i.e. Lover Next Door poor), but nobody seemed to mind that much.

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Blakdale

When I asked Roy more recently why he wanted to join a band his response was unequivocal.

Audition Them While They Audition You

A week or two later, we agreed to meet at Roy’s sister’s house since they would be out for the day.  Clive agreed to come along too. He brought his drumsticks to do paradiddles¹ on the furniture and I brought my EKO acoustic. 

Sometimes good inspiration was hard to come by (Torquay ’81)

We knocked about the two songs Roy had serenaded me with and I asked him about all the other songs he had.

“There’s no others.  That’s all I have,” he replied.

“But you were going on about your songs like you had loads of them,” I said incredulously. 

“I don’t think so,” he laughed.  “You decided that.”

I shook my head.  He was probably right.  “So,” he said, turning to me.  “What have you got?”

“Well, I’ve got this one I’ve been messing about with recently.  It’s called “Lover Next Door.””

Lover Next Door?

Quite why nobody told me Lover Next Door was the shittiest song title anyone has ever dreamt up, I have no idea.²

Harlow Town Station – It was here where the drummer from Howard Like explained why Lover Next Door wasn’t quite up to scratch (see Note 2, above).

Play It

All they said was, “Well come on then.  Play it.”

I was less enthusiastic now I was in the spotlight, so I shrugged shyly and said (just as any true artiste would) “But it’s not finished.  The song’s not ready yet.” I’d come up with it while Clive and me had been practicing in my dad’s garage but didn’t finish it until January ’79, so this was very early take on it. Lyrics always took me a long time to write, so it was probably that which delayed its completion.

The Pressure Stops – “It’s your fault!” Roy, Me, Steve, Clive (Bradford ’79)

Agg

“Well play us what you have got then,” said Roy.  “Come on Aggis,” said Clive. Aggis, or Agg, I should point out was a nickname I’d picked up in primary school and it had stuck. A friend, Vincent Croft, used to pronounce my surname “Aggums”, which eventually became “Aggis”.

Early rehearsals – music gear was at a premium (Wales ’79)

Pressure Pivot

Anyway, I was here now and all the years of trying to start a band, play guitar and sing my own songs had all come to rest on this point. On this very moment.  This was pivotal, my whole performing career hinged on what happened next. But now the moment I had so fervently been waiting for, for so long, had finally arrived I didn’t relish it one bit.

Clive – special foot adapters meant he could only walk in circles (Bradford ’79)

No one had heard my songs before, except my younger sister Sarah, and she didn’t count.  I was about to bare my soul to complete strangers (well strange at least) and I discovered I wasn’t so enamoured or confident about my a.) guitar b.) singing or c.) my song-writing ability.  I took a moment to calm myself and started to play a choppy chord progression in D.  It was 4/4 time with two beats on each chord:- D, A, G, A then it repeated for the verse, and the chorus was a turnaround on the chords with four beats on each:- G, A, D, D.  I started singing the chorus, “Ooh, ooh she a lover next door, ooh, ooh you know what that’s for.” Good grief.

Hardcore 70’s Rap

I stopped and said,  “Then it stops dead at the end of the chorus and Clive comes in on drums with the bass and snare to kick it into the verse.  There’s a talking bit too, like a bridge (MCing or rapping didn’t exist in Essex, or perhaps anywhere, then), where I play a G and A like this with a palm muting thing, Steve would talk over it and the drums start low and build up until we go back into the chorus.” 

The Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” wouldn’t be released for another 12 months, so we were way ahead of the curve³

I started to play and sing the next verse, stopped, explained the next section and, because the nerves had kicked in, I began to talk for England.  “So, the drum pattern is like this, the bass goes like that, the vocals shift up on the second chorus and the guitar drops down to a chunky rhythm and it builds to the ending, like this…” 

I stopped talking and playing, and looked up.  Everyone was sitting and staring at me.

“What?” I asked, grinning at them nervously.

When it came to playing my songs, I wasn’t so relaxed (Spain ’80)

Silence

Silence ensued, and they continued staring.

“That’s a fucking excellent pop song,” Roy said punctuating the atmosphere.  The others agreed.  I’d passed the audition to my own band!  “Play it again,” they said.

So I did, and they joined in on the ‘ooh oohs’ in the chorus.  “That’s an inspired chord progression Agg,” said Roy.  “What’s it called again?” he asked. “Lover Next Door,” I replied. He nodded silently and the moment was gone. What was inspiring was the positive response I got to my first attempt at writing a song. 

Well, it wasn’t my very first, because that was the equally dreadfully titled, “Smoking Can Damage Your Health.” It was a story of a girl who goes to a nightclub and meets a man who later kills her, because he didn’t like her smoking.  A bit of an extreme response to lighting up a Benson & Hedges I’d say. Thankfully, the song was never completed.

Seemed like the ideal inspiration for a song

Sarah

My younger sister Sarah liked it though, she used to sing it to her friends when they came to the house and they’d all bop along like they’d heard it on Top of the Pops.

It seems quite possible that right from the start, I was on the outside looking in, instead of the other way round (Harlow Park ’79)

This is where I disagree with Roy. My lyrics were simplistic nonsense with little or no originality. One of my favourite lyrics of ours was this, which I’d forgotten about until I recently:-

And that was one of Roy’s.

Fully Formed Rubbish

“So, you’ve arranged the song then?” asked Steve.  “Yeah, sort of,” I replied.  “Well, I’ve got the drum beat and the bass line and I’ve put it together with the chords and the melody for the verses, chorus, Middle 8 and an Intro and that.  So pretty much.”

Steve worked hard to overcome his natural shyness (Wales ’79)

I did all of that naturally with songs because I could hear it all in my head.  It was just there, waiting to be used.  I sort of assumed everyone did that but later discovered that wasn’t the case.  I mean the song was rubbish, let’s not pretend otherwise, but it came as fully formed rubbish. 

Later though, Roy would tire of me explaining how the bassline should be played and suddenly he wasn’t so much of a kindred spirit anymore, but more of a pain in the backside (but I still love him to bits).  But that’s one of the untold joys of being in a band and one of the many things that stops you from getting a bit too full of yourself.

Roy (with no head), Me, Steve, Cob, Clive (Bradford ’79)

Late For The Train

Not that any of this would’ve stopped me. Because I was on a one way ticket to stardom. I didn’t actually possess the ticket, or know how long it would take to get there. But I didn’t let that deter me. I’d worry about the detail as and when it was necessary.

But, to get to your destination, it’s imperative everyone on the journey is pulling in the same direction, and as I soon discovered, that didn’t automatically happen by right. And Roy was correct, it was about finding the right people, but I didn’t know that. And 45 years later, I’m still looking.

NEXT – PART 7 – ANOTHER GIRL, ANOTHER PLANET

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A chance meeting with Roy, an old schoolfriend, meant forming a band was suddenly a possibility.

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Olive

In the meantime, and despite being slung out a month before, I had again started to spend my evenings at The Hare.  I met Roy “Eggy” Phillips there one night.  We had known each other since primary school and my first memory of him was seeing him spit in the playground when he was ten and getting a telling off from one of the teachers for it.  I was horrified by this ruffian at the time, but this was exactly the type of attitude needed to be in a successful punk band.

Me & Clive – much like Woodstock in ’69, food was scarce (Knebworth ’78)

Another schoolfriend Clive “Olive” Richardson had bought a drum kit recently (mainly because I think I had coerced him into doing so) and the two of us had started rehearsing in my dad’s garage at the end of the garden. 

Lo-Fi Garage Band Popsters rehearsal in the dark (Harlow ’78)

We were early exponents of what would later become bands like The White Stripes and Royal Blood, the only exception being they knew how to play.

The White Stripes – just a cheap ripoff of early Pressure Stops rehearsals

Roy & Song Writing

Roy, I discovered one evening, had started to write some songs of his own and every so often he’d suddenly drop into a riff or some lyrics. Even if he did wear a faux leather, tan jacket that made him look like an extra from The Sweeney, the ability to effortlessly switch into an original song, I found very impressive. Admittedly I was easily impressed.

The Sweeney – Wikipedia

All Roy needed was a Ford Consul GT and he was set

The Magnificent 7. L-R (back) Me, Roy (with Tan Jacket ensemble), Jackie, Joy, Steve, (front) Evelyn, Diane – plus guitars. (North Wales ’79)

Head Gear

You have to understand that I was desperate to be in a band, to write songs, to play live.  It took up all my waking hours and most of the sleeping ones too.  They called me the human jukebox at work because I was constantly referring to songs, lyrics, bands and the like. 

A physical representation of my teenage mind

Band Discussions

So, when Roy nonchalantly dropped into some lyrics that I’d previously never heard, it was both literally and metaphorically, music to my ears.  I’d found a kindred spirit, someone who reflected the same treasured aspects of life I held so dear. 

We would be sitting in the beer garden at The Hare, on one of the benches that were set out to the side of the pub, talking about music, football or girls and the conversation would subside for a moment. 

Roy would take a slug of his McMullens Country and suddenly he’d blurt out, “People on the side looking at me, going round the track to victory,” sneering to nobody in particular. Me, taking the bait would say, “What’s that you’re singing Roy, is it by a new band?” and he’d say dismissively, “Nah, it’s just a song I’m knocking around at the moment.  And working on the chorus with Steve.”

Steve – on a good day he could be very charming – Spain ’80

“It sounds great,” I said enthusiastically.  “Is it a punk song?” I enquired.  He loved this.  It gave him the air of an intellectually superior punk poet, preaching to the masses about the fifth-columnist enemy within.

“Yeah, it’s punk with, y’know, a bit of reggae in there.”   He took another slug of his booze.

“I like reggae,” I said keenly.

Control

“Well, that’s cool because one of the other songs I’m working on is much more reggae influenced.  It’s called “Control”.  Steve wrote most of the lyrics on that one.  It’s got a real catchy off-beat rhythm to it.” Then he went “Boom-Chakka-Boom-Chakka” totally out of time and as if he had no rhythm whatsoever. He was the archetypal punk guitarist.

“Control” ended up here – but not Roy’s version…a misprint saw to that.

I was mesmerised.  This guy had a catalogue of songs just waiting to be played and he knew about stuff like ‘off-beats’ which I’d never heard of, but they sounded impressive.

“So,” I ventured.  “Are you…er, you in a band then?”

“Nah, not yet,” he replied casually.  “Thinking about it though.  Steve, the singer, he wants to but it’s finding the right people, y’know?”

Roy – “It’s about finding the right people”

Anyone?

I didn’t know at all.  I thought it was about finding anyone.  But here was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.  I’d been banging on to anyone who’d listen about starting a band or joining one ever since I’d bought God Save The Queen in ’77, so I decided to press onward.

“Well, the way I see it is, it’s like this.  You write songs so, do you play guitar, drums or something?”

He nodded slowly, sagely, as if taking in the more pertinent aspects of my questioning, before ruminating on the most suitable response.  He then closed his eyes, took a long drag of his cigarette, tilted his head back, exhaled a long plume of blue tobacco smoke into the cool night air and then said “Guitar,” in a kind of monotone voice, as if he was already bored with the constant attention he received from adoring fans.

Under different circumstances I would have taken this as a hint not to proceed but I wasn’t about to give up so easily on this occasion though.  This chance meeting was potentially the next step to reaching my goal; my destination.

The Deal Breaker

“Your friend Steve, he sings?”

Steve serenades Diane and Jonsey…or perhaps not, based upon that look.

He nodded again.  “Yep.”

“So, how about this then.  I play the guitar; I have some songs too.  And Clive.  You remember Clive from school?  He plays drums.  So why don’t we pool our resources and see what happens?  We just need to find a bass player and we’re set.  Whaddya think?”

He gave it some thought, weighing up the pros and cons whilst considering the complex paradigm I had presented to him.  “Could work,” he said finally.  “I’ll see what Steve thinks.  He should be here soon.”

“Great,” I said.  “So, where are you living these days?”

Proper Rock ‘n’ Roll

“Over at Katherines.  With my sister,” he replied.  “Moved out from home as soon as I could.”  This guy was proper rock ‘n’ roll, I thought.  Smoked, drank, wrote songs, played guitar, probably on uppers and had already left home.  He had it all going on. 

Roy – the ginger gun-slinger guitarist had it all going on

Steve arrived soon after, all long, tall and gangly with floppy hair and acting like he was on speed. 

We did the introductions and got on really well.  Steve was very serious when it came to music and was very knowledgeable about the subject too, which was perfect for me since it was my favourite subject also.  We discussed punk battle scars i.e. what gigs we’d been to, what albums we had, and what songs we liked, and discovered we liked the same things.

One of Steve’s early Pressure Stops flyers

This was all going perfectly, I thought.  And as I soon discovered, my spidey-senses were right on the money.

NEXT – PART 6 – ONE CHORD WONDERS

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In Harlow, although I didn’t know it, The Hare pub was the place for bands to meet, along with the Playhouse Bar.

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Pressure Pub

Because it was fairly central to everyone I socialised with, we had started to frequent a pub on the far side of town called The Hare.  A few friends from school used to hang out there and it quickly became the place for youngsers to come and chill out after a hard week of avoiding doing anything at college or school.

The Hare, Harlow – McMullen (mcmullens.co.uk)

Being a 17th Century inn, The Hare was the obvious place in Harlow to start a punk band.

James Doherty – Is that my Guinness?

Blakdale (pronounced Blakedales) – where Roy met Steve C in ’76. The rest is history, much like Blakdales.

Gary Hull, Roy, Me, Allan Walker & Clive enjoy a nutritious breakfast – Bradford ’79

Diane Butler and Jackie Jones – backcombing was a speciality

Lakes

Dave “Dartz” Bridge, Alistair “Gibbo” Gibson and I had spent a fortnight away in the Lake District, mainly because we enjoyed Geography and Geology and went to look at Palæozoic land masses, Arêtes and Basket of Eggs (Drumlin) scenery.  Our geological ramblings suitably fulfilled, we returned to The Hare and were unceremoniously chucked out by the landlord for being underage. 

Gibbo, Dartz & Me atop a breezy Skiddaw, Cumbria, ’78⁴

It was the 24^th of August 1978, the day before my 18^th birthday, so I couldn’t really argue.  I was one of the youngest in my peer group, so the others did argue but it was to no avail.  Not only was I 24 hours underage for drinking in a pub, but I also only looked about 12.

Steve “Frisk” Christy, chucked out of The Hare, so went to the offy instead

Pressure Purchases

For my 18^th birthday I had asked my dad to buy me an electric guitar.  I had owned an electric guitar once before.  An old right-handed copy of a Stratocaster which I’d traded with a friend of Steve Byrne’s, for a full-face Cromwell crash helmet I didn’t use anymore.

Monster Japanese 50cc Bike, soon to become a monster Japanese guitar & amplifier

I had spoken to a guy I worked with who played guitar in a band.  He’d suggested something like an Ibanez/Peavey combo for the money I was looking to spend, and I’d been scanning the adverts in the music papers for months and had seen an Ibanez Les Paul Custom copy ‘left-handed’ for sale in a shop in Ealing and decided I had to have it. 

Aladdin’s Cave

One Saturday (when I wasn’t in The Hare) I travelled up with my dad on the train and with the assistance of an AtoZ of London we found the shop tucked away in a side street.  On entering, we discovered the wall behind the counter was covered from floor to ceiling with guitars of all makes, colours and sizes.  It occurred to me I’d never been in a real guitar shop before and the plethora of equipment on sale, was breath-taking. It was like an Aladdin’s cave of bejewelled guitars: bright reds, metallic blues, deep blacks, sonic purples, sunlit yellows; everything. 

London A to Z. Early offline Beta version of Google Maps

Ibanez & God

And then, there in the middle, shining out like a beacon from heaven was a pure white, left-handed Ibanez Les Paul custom guitar with gold hardware, black binding and a black scratch plate and volume/tone controls.  As if it had been struck by a ray of sunlight, the guitar appeared to glow and shimmer, and I felt the sturdy touch of God’s hand upon my shoulder as he propelled me forward, and suddenly the shop was full of the majestic voices of angels singing “Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” over and over. I looked again.  This time it stood out because it was both white and left-handed and I knew then it would be mine.

Ralph and the Streets

I didn’t care what the guitar sounded like: the action, neck, frets, machine heads, bridge, saddles, pickups, wiring, weight, feel, playability.  None of that stuff mattered because I either didn’t know what it was, or that it was important.

How the Ibanez Les Paul “White Wanderer” may have looked in the guitar shop in Ealing

What I did know was months of searching had led me here and if I didn’t go away with this guitar, I’d be starting again from scratch.  One of the assistants in the shop got it down, plugged it in, ran off a few riffs upside down and handed it over.  “Take your time,” he said, “I’ll be over here if you have any questions.”  How daunting, I thought.  I had to play it now.  In front of everyone! 

When in a guitar shop, some go for Stairway To Heaven, others prefer Ralph McTell

I sat on the amp and my dad sat next to me.  I honestly had no fucking idea what I was supposed to do. So, I did what any other self-respecting novice would do. I apprehensively strummed an open E chord.  It jangled brightly and harmoniously in my ears.  “Wow!” I said.  “That sounds good.”  I tried a few chords and played “The Streets of London” by Ralph McTell, not because I thought it would sound good on an overdriven Les Paul, but it was one of the songs I’d learnt at my guitar lessons and so I could play it quite well.

Johnny & Johnny

“Well, what do you think?” my dad asked.  “Are you going to be Johnny Hendrix then or that Johnny Horrible bloke?” He often did this.  And he also sung the wrong lyrics.  Partly for the entertainment factor, partly to wind me up and partly I guessed, to distance himself from the younger generation, as if misremembering lyrics effectuated a dismissive attitude to something of little consequence or importance.

One of his favourite songs was “You Sexy Thing” by Hot Chocolate, but he would sing “I believe in milkmen,” instead of “miracles.” What was a miracle was he wasn’t put away.

“I believe in milkmen!”

Jam Trifle

The lyrics, “Hello Hooray, what a nice day for the Eton Rifles,” became “Hello, hooray, what a nice day, he’s a right one,” which then became, “…what a nice day, eat your trifle.” 

The Eton Trifles

Who or What?

He didn’t save this for me alone though. I remember he asked my brother Robert questions about an album Rob had borrowed from a friend, which my dad referred to as “The What – Dead at Wrexham.” Robert would roll his eyes, sigh in a world-weary way that only a teenager can and reply, “It’s “The Who Live at Leeds!””

“That’s them!” he’d reply enthusiastically.  “The Who…Live…..at Wrexham.”

The Who may have played as ‘The What’ when they toured North Wales

Pressure Peavey

I bought the guitar.  I couldn’t afford a case for it, so they put it in a guitar box, and I took it home.  Later I bought a Peavey Classic 50-watt combo amp from another shop in London.  This time it was in Tooting and my dad came with me again.  He drove this time as getting a 50-watt, two tonne amp home on the tube was going to be a bit of a tall order. 

My mate Steve “Bernie” Byrne came with me and tried to talk me into buying some guitar strings, but I wouldn’t part with any more money than I had decided was necessary.  It was a habit I think I’d picked up from my parents. If I hadn’t broken a string on my guitar I reasoned, why would I need spares?

Roy & Steve board the wrong bus to Rock ‘n’ Roll stardom

Find People Who Want The Same Thing

A few weeks later I was back at The Hare, meeting other “musicians” and suddenly I was discussing forming a band.

NEXT – PART 5 – SOUND OF THE SUBURBS

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The “first punk record”⁵ (Blitzkrieg Bop by The Ramones) was released in February 1976 but I didn’t make my foray into the new world order until ’77.

(Click here for previous blogs)

No Future

In May ’77 I bought my first punk record.  I went out from school at lunchtime to Startime Records with my mate Dave “Dartz” Bridge and bought the single, “God Save The Queen” by a new pop band called The Sex Pistols. 

Startime Records was at the far end of Post Office Walk – No. 21.

Epic

An epic record and not a bad way to start your punk record collection.  Anyway, we went back to school and played it at full volume on the 6^th Form record player, much to the chagrin of the teachers and the 6^th form girls who preferred to have a quiet chinwag at lunch time.

Is there a more iconic picture sleeve in existence?

Anarchist

An even better place to start

Welcome To The Hotel California

It’s No Secret Now

According to Clive, (and many others no doubt) Carly Simon was “none too shabby in the tit department”

Go To Gigs

In November ’77 (the 5^th to be precise) me and my punk mate Dave Puddiford went to our first punk gig.  It was fitting that it was The Stranglers. It took place at The Roundhouse in Chalk Farm, London and I couldn’t even begin to describe the thrill and the emotions of actually being there, in the middle of the whole punk wave that had swept the country, despite the Establishment desperately trying to crush it.

The Stranglers play the best gig ever

The Greatest Gig Of All Time

And it remains to this day, one of the best gigs I’ve ever attended. Possibly the best, purely due to the shock, the sonic attack, the energy, the exhilaration of being there, in a massive crowd, hemmed in on all sides by likeminded people, all there to have a good time.  Because it was like joining a club where everyone and everything reflected all the things you adored.  And you didn’t have to explain it to anyone, they all just ‘knew’, by osmosis or something.

Also, it wasn’t just me who thought it was good, most of it ended up on a ‘live’ album.

The Stranglers were so impressed with me attending one of their gigs, they recorded it for posterity

The Stranglers Setlist – Roundhouse, November 5, 1977

Afterwards when everyone left, bathed in sweat and smiling from ear to ringing ear, Dave and I decided we had to repeat this outing…and soon.

From Harlow to Hammersmith

The Boomtown Rats. Bob Geldof occasionally gave his mild views an ‘airing’.

We did.  In December we were back in London to see The Boomtown Rats at The Rainbow on Saturday 17^th (tickets were £2.50) and on Sunday 18^th we saw The Jam play their final gig of ’77, at the Hammersmith Odeon.⁶

Dave Puddiford and Me consider which punk record to buy next even though we’d never heard of it (Austria, ’76)

Up The Spurs

Anyway, we stayed at my Nan’s in Tottenham for the weekend because it was cheaper and there were no guarantees the trains would run late enough to get us back to Harlow after the gigs had finished.

The Jam play a bouncy little number

1st Punk Gig

Steve’s 1st gig. Might have been Roy’s too.

Pete The Meat & The Boys without Mexican attire

Chelmsford Punk Festival

Poison Girls – effortlessly giving zero shits

Pressure Plagiarism

I continued to practice the guitar and teach myself how to write songs and then on the 22^nd of September 1978 the The Buzzcocks released their second album, called Love Bites, which I thought meant love is painful rather than a reference to the marks you might end up with on your neck if you were an over amorous teenager. 

Q. How do you write songs?

A. Listen to this and ruthlessly plagiarise

As usual, I bought my latest punk record from Startime Records and discovered not only an incredible collection of bright, catchy, poppy punk songs but the core of the songs was fairly rudimentary (a feature of punk music) and this was a turning point for me. 

Pressure De Plata

Suddenly I didn’t have to possess the ability of Manitas De Plata or Dave Gilmour to be able to write pop songs and I discovered I could write punk songs with the few major, minor and seventh chords I already knew.

OGWT

The Buzzcocks album was like opening up the whole world of music to me which until now had been closed to all but the most gifted musicians i.e. those who appeared on the Old Grey Whistle Test.

However, I used to love the overblown, bombastic pomposity of some of those bands. Introduced by “whispering” Bob Harris, OGWT often featured bands who were as dull as ditch water, with guitarists whose solos used all of the fretboard all of the time.  Not because it sounded good but because they could, so consequently, were (thankfully) way out of my league.

And sometimes they’d have Bowie on, or Alex Harvey, or even The New York Dolls. Something with bite. With energy.

Curtains for Bob

Then punk arrived and like an unruly, petulant child, ripped the curtain aside and we saw OGWT for what it truly was.  A bunch of ageing Hippies desperately clinging to the gravy train they’d been riding since the 60’s.  Which effectively meant keeping me and people like me, out. OGWT and Punk mixed about as well as oil and water.

I may have been a little hasty with my disparaging remarks regarding OGWT

Sniffin’ Glue deconstructs the art of song-writing

But to paraphrase “Sniffin’ Glue” the punk fanzine of the time, all I had to do was learn three chords and form a band.  And sometime later, I did. Unfortunately for an unsuspecting world, it was The Pressure Stops.

NEXT – PART 4 – TURNING JAPANESE

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The Stranglers are an English rock band who came to prominence during the late 1970’s British Punk scene. Currently touring the UK and Europe on their final “Full UK Tour”¹⁰, they recently released the album Dark Matters which reached No. 4 in the UK Charts.

The Stranglers formed in Guildford in 1974 which means they’ve been in existence for 48 years and not 45. However, it’s 45 years since I first saw them in London in 1977, hence the title.

I went to see The Stranglers at the Cliffs Pavilion in Westcliff-on-sea (Southend) recently (15th Feb 2022) but previously I’d seen them at The Roundhouse, Chalk Farm, London on 5th November 1977.

A one-way ticket to heaven

Something Better Change

Has much changed in the intervening years? Well yes…and no. For a start, I wasn’t crushed against the stage in the mosh pit this time (thankfully) but being in the seats in the balcony has its drawbacks too. More than you may imagine.

Awaiting the arrival of The Ruts DC (aka The Ruts)

Walk On By

I first discovered The Stranglers in 1977, when I heard the single Peaches on the radio one evening and from the opening few bars I was hooked. I bought the album Rattus Norvegicus IV, No More Heroes, Black & White, then The Raven. And then I stopped. I didn’t buy The Gospel According To The Meninblack because, well, I was 21 by then. Far too old for punk music.

This album featured the instrumental Waltzinblack, famously used in the opening credits of Keith Floyd’s “Floyd On…” cooking programmes

The next Stranglers studio album I bought was Dark Matters, which was released in 2021 and it is an incredibly good album.¹¹

Definitely worth a spin

The Stranglers were never your average punk band. They didn’t follow the pattern as determined by the likes of The Pistols and The Clash and, whilst alienating themselves from the British music press, they conversely brought themselves many admirers. Like me for example. I didn’t care whether they were truly ‘punk’ or not. I liked the music. But they weren’t your average musicians either.

Always The Sun

Hugh Cornwell the singer/guitarist was a Biochemist

Jean-Jacques Burnel the bass player/singer was French/English, a black-belt in martial arts, and a classically trained guitarist

Dave Greenfield the keyboardist was a very-high functioning autistic ‘genius’

Jet Black the drummer owned an off-licence and a fleet of ice-cream vans

Dave Greenfield, Hugh Cornwell, Jet Black, JJ Burnel

In the interim though, since I saw them in ’77 the keyboard player Dave Greenfield, had died. During the pandemic he was admitted into hospital for a heart operation, and then contracted Covid.

Before that Jet Black, the drummer retired from the band in 2018 because he was pushing 80.

And in 1990, Hugh Cornwell, the guitarist, left the band due to the usual musical differences.

No aspiring punk drummer would be seen in anything else

No Mercy

So what has changed in the 45 years since the Roundhouse? Well the Roundhouse was a dirty, unpleasant place that held live music and if you want to know what that gig was like, listen to the live album X-Cert. Most of it is comprised of the gig I attended. As I recall an American band were first on. They were called The Destroyers, or something like that. Or did they have a song called Search & Destroy?¹²

Featuring me as an audience member

Death & Night & Blood (Yukio)

However, the English punk audience didn’t take to them very well and a lot of spitting ensued. Spitting, I should state, isn’t big or clever especially in a post-pandemic world, but in the UK in 1977, it was either a compliment for a band to be spat at, or as in this case it clearly meant the audience were not impressed.

Down In The Sewer

The singer, Handsome Dick Manitoba (he really was asking for it) then performed the cardinal sin, which is to start lecturing an audience that doesn’t respect you. He said, for the right reasons albeit foolishly, that if the audience didn’t stop spitting, the band wouldn’t continue. Cue a volley of phlegm arcing through the stage lights like arrows from an army of medieval bowmen.

“Handsome Dick” and his hair. On my command, unleash hell!

Black & White

After they cleared off, the lights went down again but The Stranglers didn’t appear. First we were treated to a short, silent black and white Mickey Mouse cartoon accompanied by some jaunty music. Then The Stranglers did appear. On the X-Cert album, Hugh Cornwell makes a reference to the film. “You get a free film here,” he says to a delighted audience. “You don’t even get that at the Hammersmith Odeon!”

Part of the early Stranglers live set

Hugh, who stood directly in front of me, spent time between songs, wiping himself and his Telecaster down with a towel, Dave Greenfield’s keyboards stopped working (a feature of pretty much every gig), JJ Burnel snarled and Jet Black kept perfect time.

The Gospel According To The Meninblack

In 2022 the audience is a little older. There are (as my friend Steve Christy noted) a lot of old, bald men wearing black. And this is very much the case. What he may not have appreciated is these same old, bald men have not only a limitless thirst for cheap beer but also incredibly poor bladder control.

And so the new “Gospel According To The (Old & Bald) Meninblack” is triangular in its formation, with each of the three points representing one absolute necessity of their being, namely: Stranglers, Bar, Toilet. Stranglers, Bar, Toilet, Stranglers, Bar, Toilet. And this continues ad infinitum until the venue closes.

The Stranglers? Nah mate. I’m here for the beer

So, when you sit in the balcony at the Cliffs Pavilion as Vikki and I did the other night, you get to spend half the gig standing up and sitting down as the same group of people go back and forth to the bar, then back and forth to the toilets about 15 minutes later. This continued right up until the very last song of the night. It was actually worse than being at Spurs.

2022 Stranglers play an acoustic encore

Princess Of The Streets

Then as if to add insult to injury, the two seats in front of us were taken by two women, about my age, who not only arrived late but had clearly decided not to spend the evening going to and from the bar, so they had got tanked up before they came in. What we were treated to was choruses of “woo-woo” every 30 seconds, followed by hands in the air like 60’s go-go girls, then the pointing at the band in time to the beat.

Bring On The Nubiles

Then the one in front of me, who we’ll call Brandy (for obvious reasons) started trying to sing the songs, at full volume and out of tune before she suddenly stood up, swayed a little whilst she spoke to her friend (the gig was going on behind her although I now couldn’t see anything), then she stepped out onto the stairs beside us, leaned against the wall, and just when we all thought she was going to throw up, she started dancing. At least she had the decency to move out of the way to boogie so I was thankful for that.

Strange Little Girl

Then a couple of songs later she sat down again. Then she started “woo-wooing”, then she started singing Strange Little Girl (the band were playing Skin Deep), then the pointing started again, then she stood up and slowly walked/stumbled down the stairs towards the exit.

5 Minutes (x6)

She didn’t come back for half an hour. Her friend didn’t bother going to find her. I assume she’d seen it all before and was well versed in the whole routine. When she did return, she had another drink in her hand and she flopped into her seat before bouncing back up again, like a jack-in-the-box, to start gyrating on the stairwell once more.

Indian Love Call

A bit later, singer/guitarist Baz Warne started chatting to the audience and Brandy took this as her cue to profess her undying love for him. Again at full volume she started shouting, “I LOVE YOU!” only the “you” part was pronounced “You-Woo-Woo-Woo”. She had her lips pursed with her bottom lip jutting out to really get that final “woo” out.

In between her dancing, shouting, pointing, and people going to and from the bar/toilet, a gig was going on in the background. What I saw of it was quite good.

And If You Should See Dave

Towards the end of the gig, The Stranglers played a couple of acoustic numbers, one of which is called And If You Should See Dave – a lament to the recently departed Dave Greenfield. One of the lyrics is “And if you should see Dave say hello, this is where your solo would go,” at which point the lights dim and a spotlight shines on the empty keyboard. That was more emotional than I thought it would be.

And If You Should See Dave…

So, on reflection, both gigs were wonderful for completely different reasons. They had their positive traits and their negative ones too.

Would I see The Stranglers again? Absolutely. I’d just want front row tickets next time.

Some tickets for the tour are still available should you be interested. See link below.

The Stranglers (Official Site)

Thank you for your time.

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Monday the 17th January was Blue Monday. Not named after the 80’s hit by New Order however, but because it’s the most depressing day of the year. Well, it was for me.

When I got up on Monday the 17th January 2022, I wasn’t thinking, “Well here goes, most depressing day of the year.” But it was anyway. Vikki, in her infinite wisdom as Mother Earth, Goddess of Light, Possessor of all things Virtuous, Breaker of Chains, and also Wife of Mine, had decided that what I really needed at 8.15 on a cold January morning, was a visit to the dentist (ok, so only the hygienist but hey, you’ve still got to leave the house for that).

“Working” From Home

I wasn’t best pleased but I went anyway. You’ll be pleased to know that all was well with the facial tombstones other than the fact I don’t know how to use dental floss properly – perhaps using it might be a good place to start. Anyway, I got back from the hygienist and Vikki said to me (as she was “working” from home), “I’ve received an email through work explaining that today is the most depressing day of the year.” I countered with the standard retort that “every day is the worst day of the year if you’re going to work,” but she appeared non-plussed by this revelation.

The 3rd Monday

It transpires that Blue Monday falls on the third Monday in January, which this year was the 17th (just gone). So you’re safe. It is defined by an ‘equation’ which takes into account Weather, Travel, Delays, Finances, Christmas, Failed New Year’s resolutions, Lack of recreational drugs, Tottenham Hotspur’s home record, Tottenham Hotspur’s away record etc. but most people who know about these things call it a load of old ‘hokum’ or pseudoscience.

You can read all about the pseudoscience here…

Blue Monday (date) – Wikipedia

How Does It Feel?

Anyway, we were just talking about pseudoscience and Blue Monday by New Order when I said, “How does it feel?” Vikki said, “How does what feel?” To which I replied. “To treat me like you do.” She looked perplexed. “What are you warbling on about now?” Then I tried to impersonate the synth opening riff to New Order’s Blue Monday and sing like Bernard Sumner. “I thought I was mistaken!” I cried at full volume. “I thought I heard your words. Tell me, how do you feel, tell me how how do you feel?” She sighed. “Are you going to do this all day?” she said, with levels of disdain I thought were somewhat unnecessary.

Router

Then, because I presume it was Blue Monday, the Wi-Fi router ‘went down’. Just went offline right in the middle of Googling the lyrics to Blue Monday by New Order. The irony of this is when the router is connected to the internet, it shows a steady blue light but when it cannot connect to said web, it goes orange. So now it was Orange Monday (or Wednesday, if that’s still a thing). I tried a number of highly technical network reconfigurations to re-avail us of online communication to the outside world, which consisted of switching the router off and on again. But nothing worked. All hope was lost. The router stayed orange and refused to go any further.

Using my mobile I contacted BT’s fault checking system, plugged in my phone number and post code. A fault has been detected on your line, it said. First reported at 9.27. anticipated resolution time 17.35. I explained this to Vikki and suddenly a cold, icy chill enveloped us in its frostbitten, wintery tentacles. “Is the back door open?” I asked. “No,” she said. “I think the heating has gone off.”

And then that’s when the enormity of our situation hit me. We have Hive!

Hot Stuff

Hive

Now, for those who don’t have Hive, you really should, except when you don’t have an internet connection. Hive is all about flexible management of your heating and water system. Basically you get a thermostat which you can move around the house (good) i.e. it’s not fixed to a wall, and you get an app (really good) so you can control your heating even when you’re at the pub (very good). The problem occurs when you don’t have an internet connection. That’s when your whole world and what was once a ‘smart’ home, comes grinding to a halt. Because when you go to the app it just says (in a friendly but ultimately useless manner) “Your hub doesn’t appear to be connected to the network. Let’s do some simple diagnostics and get you up and running” (or words to that effect). Yes. Let’s.

Of course, I’m no techie (not anymore anyway) but I reckon the diagnostics, simple or complex as they may be, will only ever determine that the router is offline (but of course we already know that). So I didn’t bother with ‘simple diagnostics’. But then, just after my teeth started chattering and I thought I was slipping away due to extreme hypothermia brought about by the heating being off for about 5 minutes, my life took a turn for the worse.

Melitta

I began to panic when I realised the coffee machine is on the internet too. I bought this Melitta a couple of years ago. It has an app and it makes coffee and it’s flash and everything because you just dial in your hot beverage of choice on your phone and it appears from the machine as if by magic. But now it wasn’t so flash after all.

I can’t make coffee without an internet connection.

Vikki said, “Ok, so you can’t use the app, so why don’t you just use the buttons on the front?”

I was horrified. “What, like normal people?” I asked.

“Yes, like normal people.”

I shook my head. “You don’t seem to understand. My life is falling apart, it’s all BT’s fault and all you can say is “Make your coffee manually”?”

“Well, can’t you?” she asked.

I thought about it. “I suppose – but that’s not the point!”

Flaky

“No, it never is,” she said. “Anyway, are you sure you can’t use the heating system at all if you don’t have an internet connection? It seems a bit flaky.”

And then I remembered. “I love you,” I said enthusiastically. “You are a wonder of modern thinking.”

“I’m sure I am. So, have you just remembered how to fix the heating?” she asked.

“No. It’s more important than that. The coffee machine. It’s not on Wi-Fi. It connects via Bluetooth.”

“Which means?” she asked.

“Which means I can use the app,” I said.

“Well, thank God for that,” she said with just a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “I won’t need to utter ancient supplications to the Coffee Gods then.”

And then, enthused by the coffee revelation, I Googled “Hive” and discovered that I could use the thermostat instead of the app to control the heating if the hub was ‘offline’. So we could heat the house after all. And so, all my 1st World problems were averted and I could breathe again and take off the four jumpers and eight pairs of trousers I’d put on earlier.

Has it warmed up in here yet?

Then, about ten minutes later the router came back online and everything went back to normal. I could’ve cried but I was too busy making a Latte Macchiato with sprinkles to concern myself with emotional outpourings. Well, there’s no point overreacting to minor issues in the home, is there.

And that was my Blue Monday, which was quite blue for a while. I hope yours was better.

Morality

And the moral of the story? Always have a “Plan B” even if it is only a kettle and a jar of mouldy Nescafe. You never know when it might be your redemption.

Of course it would be remiss of me not to mention mental health when discussing the most depressing day of the year. It doesn’t follow that Blue Monday is the only day when it’s acceptable to suffer with depression but it’s worth remembering that if you do struggle, then there really is always someone you can talk to. Like me.

Thank you for your time.

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In Part 1, (which you can find here Pushing Away…Part 1) I detailed 5 things you may want to consider putting into practice, should the unthinkable happen and depression comes knocking at your door. Here are 5 more, like exercise and my personal favourite, being judgemental.

6.    Exercise

If, as in Item 4 in Part 1 (Get Out) you do decide to take some air, then while you’re there you may want try to do a bit of exercise.  If you’re anything like me then that would be something like taking the dogs for a walk for about a minute, trudging really slowly all the time, whilst eating chocolate.  This is not a good form of exercise unless you want to exercise those aspects of your alimentary canal that turns food to fat. If that is your goal, then this is the perfect kind of exercise for that.  

Don’t take any notice of all that rubbish Doctors spout about doing at least twenty minutes exercise, three times per week.  Doing that is already putting pressure on yourself that you really don’t need right now. Start small, by doing something, even if it is a one-minute trudge with a Crunchie in your gob.  It’s a start.  Maybe tomorrow it’ll be two minutes with a large slice of Battenburg between your fingers.  Maybe one day you’ll dispense with the sugary treats for a day too.  It’s all possible.

7.     See People

During your regular forays outdoors (by regular I mean once a quarter) you could consider seeing friends and family.  It is really amazing what a difference a brief chat with some friends can have on your overall demeanour.  It won’t make a permanent difference but all these things are what the Sky Pro Cycling Team might have referred to as marginal gains.  You may not see an improvement from any of them in isolation but put them together and you’ll have no need for EPO or WADA banned asthma inhalers or even jiffy bags brought to you by couriers with no knowledge of their contents.

The thing I discovered was my outlook would improve while I was out but as soon as I returned home it was as if the evil spectre of depression was waiting at the door for me and I would swiftly return to my previous sombre self.  The point wasn’t to expect to beat the depression in one fell swoop.  Rather, it was to reduce its negative impact one step at a time.  Chip away at it. Seeing people who had an idea of my condition and were compassionate in their feelings towards it, was of great benefit.  Be selective about who you see.  A misplaced word or negative attitude put me back weeks.

8. Diet

This is not so much about taking up the keto diet, or becoming a vegan, vegetarian or even a flexitarian.  This is about taking note of the type of things you are eating every day.  I piled on the pounds when I was in the deep throes of depression.  I was eating all the rubbish I could get my hands on because I could, I didn’t care and because I was punishing myself.  Many people find depression causes a loss of weight due to a distinct lack of appetite.  Unfortunately for me that didn’t occur, but the message is the same.  

You still need to be vigilant to the vitamins and minerals you are getting from the food you eat, and the usual story regarding vegetables is always a good place to start. I’d give fruit a miss because its full of sugar (and no, natural sugar isn’t ok).

A medium sized apple contains 25 grams of sugar. A can of Coke contains 35 grams.²¹Coke evil. Apple good. Coke evil. Apple good. Coke evil…

But be aware that you are literally feeding your depression by shoving that Crunchie down your throat, because vitamin and mineral depleted foods can lead to weight gain/loss, whichever is your enemy, and that gives you further licence to hate yourself, and while your doing that your depression is sitting back, metaphorically rubbing its hands with glee and saying joyfully, “You’re making this too easy for me!”

9. Communication

This is where you stop imagining everyone else is a mind reader and you start talking to people rather than hoping they know how you feel and what you need, naturally by osmosis.  I found most people to be very supportive towards me, but I did also recognise that banging on about it 24/7 can be a little tiresome for others.  You want people to want to help you, or at least understand your condition, not think, “Oh shit, here he comes again, it’s enough to make me depressed the way he goes on about it.”  By the same token it helps no one, least of all yourself, if you suffer in silence.  It’s about finding a balance between silent martyrdom and constant prattling.

10. Judgement

Being judgemental is effectively feeding your already overweight, negative mental attitude with a big, fat, unhealthy lunch, followed by a large gut-busting dessert, then nipping down the road for dinner at an all-you-can-eat burger joint.  Which is the last thing you need when you’re depressed.  It’s like entering a hopping race when you’ve just broken both legs.  Judgemental people (like me) tend to have an overblown opinion on something or someone which in itself is okay, except that it tends to a.) carry with it negative connotations and b.) is usually based upon incomplete knowledge, which is not okay.  

First Dates

Item 5, in Part 1, about Lena Martell, is me being judgemental, although I do have a fairly good knowledge of music so I would probably argue that it’s nothing more than a very robust opinion based upon information I have accrued over a number of years.  The facts are, most of us are judgemental most of the time.  Every time I watch something like First Dates on Channel Four and I see someone to whom I don’t naturally or immediately warm to, I start to think, ‘Well he’s and idiot,’ or ‘She’s a bit full of herself,’ and stuff like that.  

Then they get to tell you their back story and if they open up about their vulnerabilities or the issues they’ve suffered due to say, a difficult upbringing, then I start to think, ‘Well considering what he’s been through he’s actually turned out okay,’ or, ‘I’m not surprised she’s putting the barriers up, if that’s the kind of life she’s had.’  

Jumping

There I was being all judgemental, jumping to conclusions without knowing all the facts and I catch myself doing this constantly, so I do what I can to stop it happening too regularly.  Vikki, my wife, might say to me, “Well that’s a very judgemental thing to say,” and initially I’ll go on the defensive and look for ways to back up my statement but then I’ll stop and think for a moment or two and come to the conclusion that I had made an uninformed statement based on limited knowledge or information.  

So, it’s quite possible you’ll see someone in the street, or in a bar somewhere and you’ll immediately think ‘What a freaking weirdo,’ and you might be right, based upon the generic westernised society definition of what a ‘freaking weirdo’ is.  But do you know why the person is the way they are?  It’s highly unlikely you have any idea, if you just saw them for the first time.  If you’ve already decided you don’t like them based upon the way they appear to you, then you’re being judgemental.

The Cycle Of Negativity

But what has being judgemental got to do with depression, you might ask? Well, being judgemental feeds a negative attitude and depression feeds on negativity. It has a voracious appetite for all things negative. In fact, it loves negativity so much that if there’s none to be had, it invents some for it to feed upon. And when it invents some, it’s called being judgemental.

Negative thoughts create negative feelings, which create negative behaviour, which creates negative thoughts, which create negative feelings, which…

Below is a link to a page on negative thinking.

How Negative Thinking Patterns Affect Anxiety

I can remember being on a training course many years ago at a converted Stately Home, west of London. Everyone on the course was staying at a hotel near Heathrow and there was one chap on the course who I decided I didn’t like.  He had bad skin and a funny shaped head.  These were the main reasons I didn’t like him.  He looked like the generic westernised society’s definition of a ‘freaking weirdo’, as far as I could tell. So, I decided he was.  For this reason, I didn’t speak to him for the duration of the course. 

The Thing From The Planet Zog

On the last night, we all decided to meet in the hotel bar, have a few drinks, kick back and relax.  This was all going very well to begin with.  The people I had bonded with over the course of the week were all on good form and we were having a very good time.  Then the unthinkable happened.  We went to another bar and all the seating positions changed and I was stuck next to Mr Weirdy Pants and so “Bang!”, I put the barriers right up.  I wasn’t having any of this nonsense, where I would have to talk to old banana head.  So, I sat, or stood, I’m not sure, next to The Thing from the Planet Zog, resolutely ignored him and sipped my beer very quickly.  But then it got worse.

Then “The Thing” spoke to me

He spoke to me.  Can you imagine that? I was fuming.  And I was outraged at what he said.  He said something like, “So Lee, we haven’t spoken much this week, what do you do?” and his head was all wobbly and I could feel my skin crawling.  Inwardly I sighed.  I was angry, as now I was in this invidious position, where he’d asked me a perfectly reasonable question.  So, I decided against my better judgement, to answer.  I told him where I worked, what I did, the usual stuff.  Then, the unthinkable happened again.  We found ourselves agreeing with each other and then he mentioned he was very interested in film which, at the time, was one of my favourite subjects. 

The Funny Shaped Head

What happened then was we got into this long discussion about Hollywood blockbusters, Film Noir, British film, Foreign Films, Classics, Black and White, Silent Comedy – the whole shebang.  We were there hours and then suddenly it was 2am, the bar was closing and it was time to go and get some sleep.  Never have I been so disappointed at not talking to someone sooner than I did.  I was inwardly mortified that I hadn’t allowed myself to talk to this guy for longer.  He’d been there all week and I hadn’t bothered and all because he had a funny shaped head.

Judgemental.  It’s not all about you, you know.

Conclusion

So, in conclusion. the idea behind my shopping list wasn’t to do all of those things, every day without fail.  That would have been impossible.  It was primarily an aide memoire to remind me of the types of things that might assist in creating a positive mental attitude.  I didn’t have a positive mental attitude most of the time.  In fact, I had the opposite but I recognised, in my calmer moments, that a PMA was something which could help me get back to the promised land, and so I would occasionally scan the list and see if there was anything on there which caught my eye, then I’d try to implement it at some point during the day.

Pushing Away The Demons

Other days I’d look at the list and say with a scowl, “Well that’s not happening,” and that was the end of any positivity for that day.  This then, is not for the days when it feels like depression has you in a headlock on the floor and is manoeuvring you into a half-nelson, it’s for those days when it leaves you alone for a few hours. You know the time, when you start feeling guilty that there’s nothing really wrong with you. Look at it then. It’s almost impossible to be positive when you’re depressed but having little reminders of positivity when your negativity levels are a little lower than usual, is one way to push away the demons.  Even if at first, it’s only for a few minutes at a time, it all helps and it all adds up. The fact I’ve written this and you’re reading it, is proof it works, for some of us at least.

Thank you for your time. I hope you found some of this useful. If not, there’s always next time.

Lees Blogosphere (theleeadamsblog.com)