Brit Poppers were practically forced out the house, calling mates on HUGE mobies, and looking to Liverpool for most excellent adventures! <Air Riff>
We’ve always been dead serious about style. Nowhere was more boss than Wade Smith for trabs & trackies fit for the Terraces. Up on Bold street, Rock kids went to Flip for 501’s. Goths sat-off outside Quiggins, dodging mums coming out of Dodo’s. On your way for a nose around Lewis’s, you’d nip into Clayton Square, with Smith & Westwood, Ciro Citterio, Etam, and George, it was as close to a Liverpool ONE redevelopment as we got.
Harry Enfield ripped Scousers, but there was no way he wasn’t watching Beth get off with Margaret, or Ricky and Sue trade Brookie Close for The Royale Family. Down The Albert Dock, you waved at Richard & Judy, while Dinner ladies got told: “Juss cOOk will yer?” After we went behind-the-scenes at The Adelphi. The only Liverpool ONE we’d heard of, was a Cop show with Samantha Janus and future husband, Scouser, Mark Womack. While former Quarry Bank teacher, Jimmy McGovern, wrote The BEST TV, with Cracker, Priest, Hillsborough, and The Lakes. Get in!
School holidays saw kids crying as dads refused to quit Quasar. We nearly drowned on the prophetically named, Death Slide, and got battered by our mum’s for ruining our Rockports, at Pleasure Island. If you survived all that, it was off to Deeside Ice Rink with you! If you had younger brothers or sisters, there’s a good chance you felt Pure Shame going on The Duck Tour like a proper Wool, hoping no one from school thought you were meffs, in your matching cagoules.
You caught Seven at The Cannon (Lime St), got onto Gus Van Sant at the 051 (Mt Pleasant), queued for T2 at The Odeon (London Rd), and when Liverpool wasn’t watching films, we were making them. Backbeat took us to Hamburg with The Beatles, starring illustrious Liverpool actors, Ian Hart (John Lennon), and Scot Williams (Pete Best).
All the single ladies went Dancin’ Thru the Dark, courtesy of wondrous Willy Russell. Critically acclaimed, Kensington-lad, Terence Davies, brought us The Long Day Closes, and our Margi (Clarke) went Blonde Fist for her director brother, Frank. We only hope you made it to The Sixth Sense before some biff told you Bruce Willis was dead! (Soz).
Superstar DJS, Guitar Gods and even our own Spice Girl. When we weren’t rummaging around record shops, Probe (Slater St), Hairy Records (Bold St), Scene of the Crime (School Lane), we were reading about them, with 3 for £10 at HMV. Cast walked away, The Lightning Seeds headed-up Three Lions, Writer/Director Kevin Sampson got The Farm on their Groovy Train, and secretly? You defo reckoned There She Goes was written for you, because your cousin knew Lee Mavers’ cousin.
In the 90s, we practically invented getting off our heads. Nation, mothership of the legendary license to party and full-on fezzy, known as Cream, was at the forefront of the music they called, Dance. We partied at Paradox (Aintree), went quackers at the Quad (Bootle), copped-off at The Cokey (Tuebrook), snogged ourselves silly at Macmillan’s, and you should’ve seen the state of us, at The State (Dale St).
Down the road, the Rock (musical genre, not statuesque actor) & Indie kids played air-guitar at The Krazy House (Wood St), paraded like peacocks at The Pink Parrot (The fourth Liver Bird, in our opinion) and love, love, loved the sultry soundtrack at the Lomax (Duke St). No matter how much mileage we clocked up, we legged it the Lobster Pot, before heading to Hanover street for a cab that never showed, with only our hot pants to keep us from Hypothermia.
Tweet your memories of why it was sound hangin’ around in The 90s to @TheGuideLpool
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