Originally posted by @Halo-Stickman
I can’t say that I was ever a great fan of Simon Bates but I thought that it might be interesting and fun to resurrect his famous ‘Our Tune’ radio feature. Most people will know the format: pick a tune that instantly transports you back to a particular event or time in your life. Sad or happy, fun or serious, fleeting or seminal, sexual or cerebral, it doesn’t matter what sort of event or time, just so long as you give a brief description as to why this tune means something to you.
I’m gonna start with a serious one for a change.
I heard this song performed live on a beautiful sunny day at the Isle of Wight Festival in 2005. It was already a well-known and popular song, so much so, that the audience of about 40,000 sang along to it in unison. This made the lead singer so emotional that he struggled to compose himself for quite some while.
What makes this song poignant for me, however, is that I attended the 3 days of this festival with my 13 year-old youngest son. Anyone who has parented children through their teenage years, or anyone who has passed through the teenage years themselves, will know that the age of 13, or thereabouts, can be a watershed in the parent/child relationship: the natural process of growing older usually means that from this age onwards children begin to spend more and more time with their mates and girl/boy-friends, and less and less time with their parents. Nothing wrong with that: nothing worse than a clingy parent desperately trying to hold on to their kids; nevertheless, looking back, it can be a poignant time for parents.
It became particularly poignant for me on account of my son experiencing some very difficult times throughout his subsequent teenage years. For a long long time the happy carefree son with whom I had attended that festival became a distant stranger – not literally, of course, but perhaps some of you will know what I mean.
Anyway, before I start blubbering, let’s get on to the song! I’ve actually chosen a cover version and not the original version of the song that I heard that day. This is because, in my opinion, the female vocalist on the cover version puts incredible emotion into the song and sings it beautifully. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I like staring – sorry, Lou, I mean glancing – at her tits.
Bumped this because I love this song, especially this version. Incidentally, Leona spent a few bob on a new nose and pumped up boobs. I liked her the way she was.
Happy to help.
So, just for you Fatstuff, and using a technique I’ve learned from the Bear, I’d like to pre-announce the imminent arrival of the third installment of The Story of K.
Right now I’m off out for an all-you-can-eat Chinese meal, but upon my return…get your cock out Fatstuff and prepare to masturbate furiously to my tale of Hoisin this, and Cantonese that.
Oh, and my tale of Kim will also leave you with a small stiffy.
Aw, Bletch, that’s a beautiful story! I’m very much looking forward to the third instalment…
Kim B - Re-redux - The todger touch.
As I said in part II, Kim and I stayed together for a good six months. By and large, we had a great time, but there was one problem in the relationship - her virginity.
Somewhat unusually for a 15-year-old lad from war-torn Gosport, I was a deep thinker, emotionally sensitive and fairly eloquent. This somehow allowed Kim to project the spirit of Lady Chatterley’s sexually incapable husband onto me. I think she saw me as a gallant gent who would wait for the ‘time to be right’.
Her problem, which ultimately became my problem, was that with hormones rushing through my changing body, I wanted to be Mellors and not Mr. Chatterley.
A dalliance with Vicky M at a party some months before which was sponsored by Snakebite had introduced me to the carnal world, and I wanted more.
So Kim and I spent those 6 months going for long walks with me trying every trick in the book to convince her to give in to her obvious desires. But she was made of stronger stuff than me, so in the end we simply drifted apart and ended up good, but slightly awkward friends.
Years passed, I left school and during that time I’d had cause to think back on the way I treated Kim. I had objectified her developed body and hadn’t really thought much about Kim - the person. Looking back I’d like to put that down to my hormones, and that helps me deal with it, but I’m not sure it’s the complete story. For shame.
Anyway, due to family issues I moved away from Gosport pretty early in life which fucked up many of my plans. As a result, I didn’t get back to God’s Port Our Haven all that often. On the odd occasion that I did go back drinking, I’d bump into old mates and ex-girlfriends, but I never saw Kim.
Then, I guess I’m 22 and I’m on a pub-crawl in war-torn Gosport for someone’s birthday. It’s the start of the evening and I’m in The Jolly Roger pub (I think) and who should be there, but Kim (still with her mate Jenny).
She still looked lovely and I was pleased to see that I was still taller than her. I was also pleased to see that she was no longer a Duranie, and instead was wearing a very tight pair of mumbling trousers.
Cliche’d it might be, but my heart did skip a beat. I was in between girlfriends, and in that instant all I could think about is whether I could manage a ‘long-distance’ relationship with Kim in Gosport.
In that split second, I went back in time to the ‘modette Kim’ asking me to dance to Sad Cafe, and to me ending the New Romantic wars by dancing with her to Rio, and to all the subsequent times when we were together and she was being her wonderfully chaste self, and I was just trying it on.
I felt happiness, lust, guilt, nostalgia - a gamut of emotions that, as I said, stopped me in my tracks.
She walked up to me and it soon became very clear that she was drunk. Very drunk.
She said in a slurred voice “Hello Danny, remember me?”. I told her that of course I did and that it was great to see her. She then reminded me that “…you spent all your time trying to get into my knickers”.
She went on “…well, I’ve changed”.
Jenny looked at me and raised her eyes to the ceiling as if to say “Sorry, she’s drunk”. And with that Kim, in the middle of the crowded pub, pulled the bottom of my t-shirt out of my trousers, put her hand on my belly and then slid her hand down into my trousers and grabbed my cock.
And there it was - she’d become something I’d spent most of my school life lusting after, but now I no longer wanted.
And as Jenny dragged her away to the toilets with an embarrassed smile, I reflected that I hoped I hadn’t helped to create this Kim.
I haven’t seen her again since, but I think I’d like to have a coffee with her one-day to…I don’t know…apologise.
I can’t, hand on heart say that this song takes me back to the evening of the todger-touch incident, but this album was the only thing in my ears during that time.
Be careful what you wish for.
The moral of this story: girls can never win.
A sad tale, beautifully told, Bletch.
What a fucking shit story. I’m going to need some help to get me over the edge. Make something up about earspunk please.
…we finished the Chinese meal with Szechuan prawns and dolphin earspunk?
Is that enough detail for you to reach down, around the folds of fat to drain your vein, Fatstuff?
Do me a favour SB and cut n paste this sentence into your story. Thanks.
“Kim grabbed Bletch’s Szechuan prawn and within seconds she was stood, shame faced, as Jenny tried to clean her earspunk. In the absence of tissue and pride, Jenny grabbed Bletch’s hirsute balls and cleaned her friends ears. Bletch’s homecoming had ended in the same way as his departure…his balls smeared with his own spunk.”
Imagining Bletch’s balls and spunk is what you need to get you over the edge? Interesting.
To be fair to Fatstuff, it’s usually enough to get me over the edge…
I am sorry for being gay. To be honest, I’m used to being judged and marginalised, but thought I would be ok here. Seems I can never find somewhere where I am accepted for who I am.
I am sorry Sotonians, I didn’t realise my coming out to you all would lead to such a response by Lou. I shan’t trouble you all again. Have a good new year and a good life.
Don’t you mean bi? Because on the documentary thread, you said…“if Ted was a girl…”
I was covering it up, Lou! Why are you hounding me?
This always happens to me!! Why do I always fall in love with gay men?!
I’m a broken woman.
well you’ve made me feel so ashamed of my sexuality, I’m willing to try a bit of lettuce, as they say. Hook me up on snap chat.
OK! Would it help if I go doggie style?
do you have a beard and if not, can you grow one before any photos? No lallana beards either, I need proper beard. Thanks.
I have a beard! You want the retro look? - OK, give me a couple of weeks!
There are other beard choices other than a proper one, or Liellana’s shit efforts.
Just seen this thread. Quite some stories. Ah I remember that part of Pap’s life. I think I had a nice row with one of those girlfriends.
I am struggling to remember as much detail as bletch has… I am really beginning to worry for my memory. I tried to go back to the summer of 1991 and my first boyfriend. We were into the same music. That’s how it started, talking about our love of indie music at a house party on the flower estate. But for the life of me I cannot think of a particular song that was ours.
But this brings some memories back.
I’ll have a bit more of a think.