.....packed away my wing collar shirt, white face make up (never as good at concealing acne as I liked to believe it might be) and bullet belt in 1985.
Black carriage clock? If only. I can imagine the presentation ceremony on the dancefloor of "The Whip" as the strains of one of the more funereal efforts from Joy Division's Closer seeps from the turn table ("The Eternal", perhaps...)
...no longer would I ostentatiously read Sylvia Plath books in the corner in the (sadly misplaced) belief that this would impress suitors....