Pulp

I seem to be stuck firmly in the early nineties (I'm not quite sure why - even milk-bottle thick rose-tinted lenses can't hide the fact I was awkward, spotty, speccy, had crap hair and shit shoes. At least the acne eventually cleared up). Pulp were the perfect outlet for mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits, with front-man Jarvis proving skinny and enormous glasses weren't actually the end of the world (though I swear the NHS goggles my mum used to buy me were some kind of prototype re-entry shielding for the space shuttle).

I can't listen to this track without thinking back to my time working in the trendy, upper-class supermarket, Kwik Save, when the rebellious assistant manager let me play His'n'Hers over the tannoy system. How amused I was to watch the Sunday morning shoppers (predominantly female pensioners) expecting jingles for No Frills toilet cleaner instead be greeted by I want to take you home, I want to give you children.