Bunker people
The Distinct Charm of Inbreeding
(A few thoughts on our glorious royal family by John Collinson).
(A few thoughts on our glorious royal family by John Collinson).
This picture shows Therese, Jude and Di meeting Prince Charles at a media event in honour of the Princes Trust, his 'charity' which had donated some money to their clothes shop, Clothes For Tripping, which was downstairs in the Stockton Road Bunker.
Earlier that day, the lasses were on a specially-chartered coach down to (wherever, Sheffield I think) with stuff from their shop for the event. Being young'n'daft, they were all excited and were laughing and joking on (this being the pre-ipod days) when they were approached by two or three 'minders' of the Prince. These shady types proceeded to remind them, in calm and measured tones, that the prince was a happily-married man and that any unwanted advances from their oikish selves would be most definitely frowned upon. This happened not once, but two or three times on the journey, apparently.
As you can tell, it's a story that still irks me to this day. The outright assumption that any talented, young, good-looking lass from humbler origins would go all wobbly-kneed and be so unable to resist the temptation to throw themselves at someone whose gene-pool is so obviously 85% horse, just because of who he was, and that he was chucking them a bit of tax-dodge. 'We know your sort, and we've got our eye on you. So just smile, courtsey, and remember your place'. I'd just got back from a gig when she told me. When I saw him on the news that night, I wanted to smash my Vox Standard right over his stupid, inbred, baldie pate. I could've kicked the telly...but that would've been really stupid.
Later on that day, the girls were shown on national TV (four channels by then) being asked by his Royal Horseyness "why all their clothes happened to be black" (they weren't). They joked it was "to hide the dirt".
Classic.
He didn't get it, obviously. But as subsequent years were to prove, he'd have enough of his own dirt to hide...
I know some might think 'Oooh, get him!' might even be urged to 'get over it' and, God, I am a middle-aged dad, now, after all. Greying hair, mortgage, kids and shitty little car. Because we're all supposed to be postmodern now, aren't we? All the old political lines blurred, no more 'them' and 'us'. Just ask Sir Ben Elton. But when I see things like this photograph, I just think, fuck the bastards. Fuck'em forever. I'll always be a punk... and they'll always be twats.
John Collinson
Earlier that day, the lasses were on a specially-chartered coach down to (wherever, Sheffield I think) with stuff from their shop for the event. Being young'n'daft, they were all excited and were laughing and joking on (this being the pre-ipod days) when they were approached by two or three 'minders' of the Prince. These shady types proceeded to remind them, in calm and measured tones, that the prince was a happily-married man and that any unwanted advances from their oikish selves would be most definitely frowned upon. This happened not once, but two or three times on the journey, apparently.
As you can tell, it's a story that still irks me to this day. The outright assumption that any talented, young, good-looking lass from humbler origins would go all wobbly-kneed and be so unable to resist the temptation to throw themselves at someone whose gene-pool is so obviously 85% horse, just because of who he was, and that he was chucking them a bit of tax-dodge. 'We know your sort, and we've got our eye on you. So just smile, courtsey, and remember your place'. I'd just got back from a gig when she told me. When I saw him on the news that night, I wanted to smash my Vox Standard right over his stupid, inbred, baldie pate. I could've kicked the telly...but that would've been really stupid.
Later on that day, the girls were shown on national TV (four channels by then) being asked by his Royal Horseyness "why all their clothes happened to be black" (they weren't). They joked it was "to hide the dirt".
Classic.
He didn't get it, obviously. But as subsequent years were to prove, he'd have enough of his own dirt to hide...
I know some might think 'Oooh, get him!' might even be urged to 'get over it' and, God, I am a middle-aged dad, now, after all. Greying hair, mortgage, kids and shitty little car. Because we're all supposed to be postmodern now, aren't we? All the old political lines blurred, no more 'them' and 'us'. Just ask Sir Ben Elton. But when I see things like this photograph, I just think, fuck the bastards. Fuck'em forever. I'll always be a punk... and they'll always be twats.
John Collinson
Ref:
Date:
Location:
Photographer:
Make a donation