There were so many songs about working nine to five in the early Eighties. It almost made it sound like fun. Working Nine to five. 'What a way to make a living'. 'My baby rakes the morning train' 'It takes a great amount of strain about getting on a train. every day and every night,' That no excuse for Haircut 100. The poor man's Orange Juice .
I suspect I chose my natural constituency between seventeen and eighteen. I'd discovered the cut of my jib. The size that fitted. Young men that toted telecasters and rickenbackers and read poetry and listened to The Velvet Underground, The Byrds and Al Green. And bought the NME. And loved deeply. And felt deeply. And preferred the stuff that didn't get into the charts to the stuff that did. It's all served me very well since.
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