First, there was football, and the two teams, red and blue

No sponsors on their chests at all, round collars, bald heads too

Like Bobby Charlton, World Cup winner, long-haired Georgie Best

Or short and fat like Frannie Lee. Mike Summerbee would test

Defenders as he buzzed down the wing, stinging with each cross

But Manky fans couldn’t stay on the side. Old T or Moss

It had to be, religiously. As for me, I was down

In the Midlands, regretting there was no team in my town.

 

When teenage kicks gave football the boot, what else could I do

But hear you on John Peel, watch Buzzcocks on Top of the Pops. Phew!

Who could resist their fuzzy-textured extra-fast protest

Against the unfairness of life and love. Their shirts impressed

And you’d never catch Joy Division, or the Smiths with Moz

In scruffy T shirts, not on stage. When looking back, it was

Depressing but inspiring, and far better than those clowns

Who replaced the intensity with 80s disco sounds.

 

That electronic decade was my chronic, sonic cue

To relocate. I’d have to study a little bit, too

But either that or working, so then up to the North West

I shifted record-player, sucked some smoke into my chest

Bought dark light-bulbs, walked Oxford Road, Hulme, by the side of Moss

Past the Maths Building, Holy Name, to Rusholme and low cost

Shared house, frequently burgled. Orange buses into town

Past Rotters nightclub, up to Afflecks, dark coat for five pounds.

 

Down Burton Road, in charity shops, always quite a few

Good bargains to be had, some pretty shirts and good books too

The little yellow Bee-Line Buzzes stopped at your request

From Withington, past Maine Road’s towering heights, knees tightly pressed

Against the seat in front. To Trafford car boot sale it was

Now necessary to shop second-hand for things because

A baby had arrived. The pram in the hall called its sounds

Of cries and whimpers as I tried to write that first play down.

 

The needs of family came first, a job I had to do

Starting on eight grand, with four mouths eager to drink and chew

Respectably-clothed civil servant takes his nineties test

Conformity, prosperity, promotion and the rest

But all these things were purchased at a never-ending cost

Of time, energy, opportunity forever lost

My office by the Irwell seems surrounded by boom town

As money rose, so did buildings, but now it’s coming down.