Loss on day £195
(Paddy Power re-instated my account eventually)
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark were on the repeat of Top of the Pops 1986, the other day. OMG, as no-one ever said or abbreviated back then. Neither Janice from Friends nor social media had been invented.
But OMD had been going strong a good few years. I’d forgotten they’d had that longevity. I was a fan of them back in the new wave/electropop segue of the late ‘70s and particularly liked Messages from my last year at 6th form.
At Lampeter a year later, there was a bloke in halls opposite me – Steve Davis. He was six foot plus, a dyed blonde-haired Scouser who had a Sting-type thing going on that meant he would have looked cool in London. In deepest Wales he was like a homoerotic fantasy – Putin bare-chested on a horse, high camp machismo. Frankly, I was a bit in love.
He liked my taste in music, and seemed to like me. Or my worship. Whatever, we got on. He published the poetry magazine and in the first term published a couple of my “concrete poems” – both of which I still remember and still love just a little bit, crap though they were.
Anyway, the reason I mention this is, and I’ve no idea nor care for the reality, but he always said he was in the original line-up of OMD, but left before they got famous. I took him at face value. And, frankly, OMD would have been a lot cooler with him in it.
One day, hanging around the Asteroids machine, he said to me, Oh God Gary, this place is killing me. Let’s bunk off. Let’s hitch to Paris, wipe our willies on the toilet seats and write poetry about it. Really, he did. I was there.
Lord knows, we should have done, but I’d just got to Level 93…