HAPPY MONDAYS "KINKY AFRO" . . . . IF THERE WAS ONE BAND THAT FOR ME EPITOMISED THE MARVELOUS 'MADCHESTER' EPOCH, THEN THESE E POPPIN OUTOFITS GET MY GONG . . . . BEEN FLAILING THE ALBUM IN THE CAR OVER THE LAST WEEK . . . . ALMOST MAKES ME FEEL INCLINED TO DROP AROUND TO A CERTAIN DESTINATION AND CRACK ON . . . . GET KINKY OR DANCE TRYIN !!!!

I don't know what it was like in the U.S of A or Europe in the late eighties/early nineties when the grey, industrial town of Madchester was undergoing yet another phase of musical rebirthing that spread like herpes to the world beyond, but out here in the Antipodes it was an almost palpable feeling of . . . . being completely fucked up on the love train express, clubbing in the old school way, gigging until one in the a.m, on the piss, on the Big Eezy, on the fucking move, 24 Hour Party People extended way beyond it's birthplace . . . . the 'shit' was clean and pure, 12 hours from a single ticket, grinding teeth, face aching from smiling, beaming, loving, throbbing without any gristle, I described it's sensation on my first ride as being struck up the arse by the freight train of love, and it was, people you'd seen around for ten, twelve years but never actually met . . . . 'gidday mate, I've seen you around before and I just wanted to say how much I think you're a good bloke' . . . . no agro, except out of towners or footy heads wondering what the fuck was up with happy people, not just riding the Love Train either, constantly slurping gins, beers, interspersed with doobs, hot ones, buckets, clearlights, redlights, micro dots, blotters, the yang yang, Afghan Black . . . . the world was a beautifully toxic multi coloured oyster and I was at the smorgasbord of life . . . . and my constant companion was the Mondays, more than the Stone Roses or any of the others, Shaun and Bez and the lads provided my personal soundtrack to all the madness, gladness and occasionally, motherfuckin badness, psychadelically trance enducing, mesmerizing, the perfect partner, three in the arvo or three in the morning, it was Happy Monday every day of the week . . . . until jaundice, viral hepatitus and total dysfunction of the liver threw me off the Madchester Express like a drug fucked zombie in '91. It was my saving grace, and not a moment too soon . . . . I wouldn't change a single thing though, not one.