It's 1977 & everybody's hacking their hair off with razorblades, scrawling "No Future" on the back of their donkey jackets in Tippex & practicing their pogo in front of their bedroom mirror (but only when their mum's gone out, of course). Meanwhile, I'm 10 years old, just discovering Genesis*, & home alone from school dinners watching this nightmarish kids' television atrocity with a can of Fanta in one hand & a spam & tomato sauce sarnie in the other, slackjawed in abject terror. Little wonder I've turned out to be such a complete mess, huh? Yorkshire TV have got a lot to answer for...

...30 years on & it still creeps me out.

* Which reminds me, I haven't heard Foxtrot in ages!

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