LOVE the hair! Thanks for my 1st smile of the day!

Nothing wrong with too many pig threads...

I always associate Bob Dylan’s Tangled Up In Blue with a period of employment working as a cleansing operative for Scarborough Borough Council. The song reminds me of litter picking sweet wrappers and soiled condoms on the North Bay in the early morning.

Reminds me of going to a disco held in a supermarket car park. In broad daylight.

As a student I worked as a waiter in the restaurant of a "very well known chain of holiday camps" in Pwllheli in North Wales. The food was shite, the job was awful, the wages were a pittance, my colleagues were psychopaths, the customers were mostly feral.

However possibly the very worst thing about the job was the music played over the tannoy. They only had one CD. It was Deacon Blue's Raintown. It was played on a loop constantly.

For three months I spent eight hours a day listening to that bloody album on a loop doing possibly the worst job I have ever had. The single memory which tips me over the edge, Dignity is playing, the customers are gone, we are setting up the tables for the next sitting and my manager is trying to encourage us to "set them up" quicker by singing the "Set them up, set them up, set them up" section of the song in a comedy voice.

I am fondling cutlery, wondering if it's possible to actually disembowel someone with a spoon...

At least you didn't have to do a Rebecca Loos on it...

I know it's difficult to believe now, but as a teenager I never had much success with girls. I was skinny, shy and went to a boys-only school. I thought girls were all like my little sister, only interested in ponies, fluffy puppies and the Bay City Rollers.

At about the same time my hormones kicked in, me and my mates started to go to youth club discos. Most of these evenings were spent on the edge of the dance floor, Vimto in hand, eyeing up the girls we fancied. But I could never pluck up the courage to ask them to dance. The worst part of the disco was the last few dances, always slow dances and christened 'The Erection Section' by the lads. I always 'sat out' the Erection Section.

This went on for a year or two, until one night at the Friary Youth Centre in Nuneaton, I caught the eye of a stunningly attractive girl I'd never seen before. She was looking at me, she even smiled at me, but I still couldn't pluck up the courage to ask her to dance. It approached the end of the evening and the DJ announced the start of the Erection Section. 10cc's I'm Not In Love came on, the stunningly attractive girl came over and asked me to dance and I discovered a world I never realised existed. And that's why, every time I hear I'm Not In Love, I think of that girl.

by Diana Ross and the Supremes. Whenever I hear the swirly opening bars, all sort of disco psychadelia, I'm back in Joe Lyons opposite Aldgate Bus Station in the summer of 1966, where I worked on Sundays for not much plus a roast dinner (at 10 o'clock, a bit early!), and I remember various events during the time I was there - the 2, or was it 3 people, who broke their legs jumping off buses pulling into the station, before they'd stopped. Dropping a wire basket of uncooked chips in the kitchen, sweeping them up, and frying, on the grounds that would kill any germs. Splattering a customers coat with a cream bun. I was try to hit a colleague. The customer who fell asleep in his mixed grill every Sunday. The manager going berserk, and kicking a customer down the stairs and out the door, after the chap had mouthed off at him for being gay, which was still illegal at the time. Those were the days.

Riffs you hum to yourself when you're drunk.

A girl.

Nottingham.

1990.

That's all you're getting.