Howard Jones was possibly even worse than Frankie Goes to Hollywood. It's difficult to measure the pain of these things almost 40 years later. But he broke through in 1983 as did Nik Kershaw of all people. Howard Jones reminds me of Sarah. One of the mysterious and beautiful, artistic looking girls with long hair and long coats I remember from the tree lined road in Twickenham I used to walk down in my college days from Autumn 1982 to June 1984 while I was studying for my A Levels. I was too shy and utterly virginal to even talk to most of them though of course I assumed they were all deeply attracted to me.
I met Sarah in 1984 through some friends I met during a college trip to Soviet Russia at the end of 1983. We became friends during 1984. She liked me too but didn't fancy me as I did her. She started going out just after that with one of my best friends. It didn't break my heart. You don't really have a heart to break in those days even if you think you do. That comes later. One day she invited me round to her house on the edge of Kew Green. I met her lovely parents and her terrific sister Anna. She also introduced me to fig rolls and played me her Howard Jones tape. I didn't have the heart to tell her it was crap and that she should be listening to R.E.M. and The Smiths instead.
I lost contact with her ten years later. She's one of the people I miss. She's now a successful artist, (or at least I assume so). You can find her work on the Internet should you care too. I won't divulge her surname. It doesn't matter. The fig rolls and the Howard Jones cassette matter. Still can't stand Howard I'm afraid.
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