Recently came into repossession of a whole bunch of old crap of mine - parents selling the familial homestead led to the loft getting cleared out, and then just two weeks ago while in the UK I dug out more old crap from the London storage locker. In amidst all this memoradelic detritus, I came across unexpected evidence of a precocious interest in pop music - a zygotic critical impulse, even. A modest start, admittedly, but noteworthy.
It's in this pocket diary from 1974.
Most of the entries are somewhat terse. "Played cricket, nine runs". "Dinner, fried egg". Entries about marbles. Little sense here of a rich inner life, let alone any kind of aesthetic sensibility.
But then there it is:
Under the heading POP RECORDS are two assessments: "Wombling Song" by The Wombles is described as "nice tune. jogging along beat. 24 steady beat", while a second, unidentified single is mildly reproved for being a "a bit wild. rather loud".
A very modest start then, but from such acorns...
This is the old homestead, by the way.
That little room above the front door was my garret. Many dreams, many schemes hatched in there.