Tales From My Youth 3

Further old stuff, this time from my evangelical period as a Britpop era musicologist (originally written in coloured felt, entirely in CAPITAL LETTERS):

Oh my god, that's the funky sh*t

or the definitive guide to the new listener to jumpy shouty music

1. Find a decent couple of blokes to go to a student night-club with.
2. Come home.
3. Wake up the next afternoon with an aching head, sore neck muscles, bruised legs, splinter gut, a strange whistling noise in your head that just won't go away, and a feeling of complete euphoria at having the first great night of your life.
4. Rush out armed to the teeth with cash trying to obtain the tunes you heard last night. 
5. Return home with tears streaming from your eyes, realising your plan to buy Our Price with 48p, failed.
6. After a week of scratching around, you come across a blank cassette, and give it to a chum who has gone through the whole experience before.
7. Realise you are holding ninety minutes of pure, unadluterated fine music that will blow your nan's pants off even if she dared to think about saying "That's nice, dear".
8. Contemplate putting your new new TDK D90 in the machine.
9. Eat a steak and kidney pie instead.
10. Clear your bladder, this will be a pants wetting experience.
11. Go down to the shop to see if they've sold out of FHM's already. Failing that, buy a copy of GOAL magazine.

Do you know what? This all gets too autobiographical too soon. I don't think I know you well enough to let all of this out just yet.