This week, at the hands of an inspired, online purchase, i was dragged wistfully back to early 2005.
Underage and wholly inebriated, watching my friend's band at a pub. The humble, darkened "den of iniquity" played host to our weekly animations; boisterous, foul-mouthed, sweaty, smoky, beer stained and cramped to the point of suffocation, yet we returned perpetually in recognition of our youthful vigour, making our mark. That bar was OUR identifiable environment; the dwelling which dutifully laboured our best years.
In terms of fashion, it was an "era" thoroughly, and personally, characterised by an array of unsightly band t-shirts, now mutilated in beer-ridden battle. Today, however, The Clash, Sex Pistols, The Libertines and The Ramones, lying disfigured in my wardrobe but soaked in youth's nostalgia, are now finally greeted by their newest sibling; Joy Division. Clean, white and slightly-ill fitting- she is inducted into my band t-shirt platoon, ready for the revival of exhausted teenage anarchy.
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