Sheer Heart Attack

Yesterday was UK Day on Heart 106.2. They restricted their playlist to songs by UK artists. Of course this meant a hell of a lot of George Michael and Elton John and Shine by Take That getting at least double its usual 54 plays in the day.

The morning's Guess the Year spot featured the year pop music got really shit. Spandau Ballet, Duran Duran, Kajagoogoo, Karma Fucking Chameleon by Culture Club, the beginning of the slide towards shitness for David Bowie (Let's Dance) and the Human League (Keep Feeling Fascination).

Yes, it was 1983.

Sometime during the morning they announced that sometime during the day there would be four songs in a row by artists hailing from England, Nothern Ireland, Scotland and Wales, respectively. The first person to ring in with the correct identities of the artists would win £1,000!

This was really going to brighten up my day.

I made a game plan. The English singer or group was going to be the most difficult one. England has produced so much crap pop music over the years, the list would be longer than my arm.

Northern Ireland is a different matter. Not a lot of rubbish coming out of Northern Ireland that gets in the charts. What about songs that I'm really sick to the back teeth of? Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison and Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. Yeah, it had to be one of those two. I'd go for the Morrison even though I hear the Patrol's song at least ten times a day.

What about Scotland? There was only one contender, only one Scottish band who were shit enough for this competition. No, not the Proclaimers or Texas, shit as they are. No, it had to be the Wets. Fucking Wet Wet Wet, bane of my fucking life. They take a great song like Love Is All Around and make me hate it. Scum.

Wales? Tom Jones? Sex Bomb? No, I hadn't heard that for a few years. Charlotte Church? Nah, haven't hear her much either. It had to be old croaky voice herself, Bonnie Pissing Tyler.

Cut to the chase.

It's 3 p.m. and no sign yet of anything from Northern Ireland. Take That are all over the radio like a rash. Here come the Pet Shop Boys.

Snow Patrol! This could be it! Pet Shop Boys, Snow Patrol...Come on, come on!

Simply Fucking Red!

Lemar, English. Sybil, English. Queen, mostly English. Singer with the eye patch, Gabrielle, that's her name, English. Paul Young, Jesus save me, Paul Young, English...

Van the fucking Man! Brown Eyed fucking Girl! Van, You The Man! Game on!

Come on the Wets. Come on you wank stains! Paul Young, Van The Man, The Wets! It's...

The Wets! Game fucking on! That £1,000 (well, £500 as I'm sharing this with my work colleague who's going to make the phone call) is going to sit very nicely in my pocket.

Shut up Wets. Get it over so we can make the phone call. It's going to be gruff-voiced Tyler. It's going to be Tyler it's going to be Tyler it's going to be Tyler. It's...

Tyler!

Quick, phone! Dial that number dial that number dial that number!

Engaged? What do you mean engaged?



After all that it turned out there was something wrong with the phone lines and nobody got to win the £1,000. It's being saved for another day, another competition.