19 Signs You Were A Brummie Teenage Goth
Aren't you 'ot in all that black, bab?
You told your parents you were staying at a mate's house when you were actually moshing at XLs.
The fag smell always came out of your Punkyfish top with a bit of Impulse.
Although sometimes you mixed it up and went to Scruffy Murphy's.
But you were most likely to get served at The Flapper and Firkin, Birmingham's answer to idyllic canal-side drinking.
You'd nurse a Guinness for hours in an attempt to avoid the entry fee when the bands came on.
You shed a tear when Edward's Number 8 burnt down.
But you always had Snobs.
The Oasis was your Mecca.
You pretended to be Nancy from The Craft in Anna Bee's Top Rock boutique.
And tried on every pair of black buckle boots downstairs.
Of course, you couldn't leave without enjoying a ciggie and a cuppa at Oscar's.
Lurking around the metal section in Swordfish made you feel like a serious muso.
And you looked for bootleg tapes at the old Rag Market.
But most of your CDs actually came from Tower Records.
You got your bellybutton pierced at Toxic Shock.
You were desperate for a tribal tattoo.
Vintage shopping meant sniffing out the darkest clothes at YoYo.
Of course you bought jeans from Cult Clothing that were wide enough to fit a family into.
The closest you ever got to playing sport was watching the skaters from the steps at Central Library.
But mostly you just hung out around the graves in pigeon park.
And, of course, you have a story about the time Robert Plant sat on your leather jacket at a gig.
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