My mum had always thought my taste in music was suspect. From the time she tried to shield me from Russell Mael bouncing around in"hot pants" on Top of the Pops to screaming when those naughty Sex Pistols said a rude word on telly. I found these things funny, Mum did not. There was friction, but then that's what pop music is about... the moment she began to despair and claim I was "heading down the path of degeneracy" was when she came into my room while I was listening to Annie Nightingale while this was playing. Naturally, her reaction sealed the deal. The next day I was straight along Freeman Street in Grimsby to Humber Records to by the little beauty.