Today, I AM Indie!
Yes indeed, today I am the archetypal indie-kid. The late 80s/early 90s student in a retro sports top with a big chunky cardy and trainers. The only thing that betrays the fact that this is 2007 and not 1991 is the fact that the trainers are Converse, which weren’t all that popular back then, and the fact that I do not have an embarrassing first ever attempt to grow a goatee beard dangling from my chin.
The reason for all this? Well, we have yet to get our wardrobe sorted out so for the moment I am dressing out of my sports bag, which is where my shitty old t-shirts go to die. There are exceptions though. I have a United shirt to play football in, and I also have the one I’m wearing now. I can almost taste the breathless anticipation, so I’ll put you out of your misery – I am wearing my Dukla Prague away kit, O yes indeed! I only ever use it for playing football in, so this is the first time it’s ever had a social outing, and I am feeling very much like my seventeen-year-old self all of a sudden.
Bit early for the 90s revival I fear, but who knows. Inspiral Carpets, The Wonderstuff, Ned’s, Levellers and all the rest of them will one day be welcomed back with open arms, no matter how painful we think they are nowadays.
For those of you who don’t know Half Man Half Biscuit, shame on you. This song encapsulates so much about a British childhood, such as that experienced by the likes of Adrian Mole for example, that anyone from these shores over the age of thirty will love every last line of it. And how did I get into Half Man Half Biscuit myself, given my foreign upbringing? I searched Napster for something by Billy Bragg and I downloaded a mis-labelled copy of 1966 and All That and was captivated. And for those of you who haven’t read the book on whose title the name of that song is a play, shame on you. Buy it here, and thank me later.
I’ve gone and posted another fucking Christmas song haven’t I. Bloody hell. Honestly, I didn’t mean to, I really am wearing my Dukla Prague away kit.
Half Man Half Biscuit – All I Want For Christmas is a Dukla Prague Away Kit
Half Man Half Biscuit – 1966 and All That
1) All I Want For Christmas Is A Dukla Prague Away Kit is dedicated to you (+ one other) on the Christmas Request Show
2) I have purchased an away kit for the + one other above for Christmas & I fully expect it to be worn on social occasions as well as when he is working out in front of the Wednesday evening televised match
3) Converse were quite popular ’round these parts, i.e. the ankle-height All-Star baseball boot (black, natch, if you were ‘goth’, or red/yellow if you were ‘indie’ — I had a pair of red & a pair of black, for I was a ‘Gindoth’)
4) The Wonderstuff = marvelous, depsite the head-shaped, ego-sized compartment in Miles Hunt’s arsehole. I remember the first time I ever heard them & it was a Glory Be! moment. They were the first indie band I ever discovered entirely on my own & before any of my circle of friends in the small town I shuffled about in; I cajoled them into traveling to Cardiff to go see them, Neds (never liked them, or PWEI — talentless chancers, the lot of them; akin to a sloppier, more amateurish Carter…) + some other nonsense (The Smithereens, I think) at the Univeristy & they were sold on impact. I had my Eight Legged Groove Machine t-shirt right up till 2002 when it disintegrated in the wash. *sigh* heady days…
“…a sloppier, more amateurish Carter”
I’m not sure if the erstwhile messrs. Jimbob and Fruitbat would take that as a compliment or not!
Given the indie aesthetic, probably yes.
What I can’t quite figure is how we look at something old-fashioned and think ‘ugh that’s dated’ and only a few year later can look at the exact same thing and think ‘hey, retro but waaay cool, man’. Although in normal English of course. Are our herd instincts that strong?
(Answer: yes, Matthew, they are.)
That’s the home kit in the picture
Oh true, mine is the other way around. I’d missed that – it looked vaguely similar I never even though about it.
Have you all been here yet? Pure joy all round.
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