As I got older, I read every word in every issue of Smash Hits, the NME and Melody Maker and knew every single thing about bands I had no way of hearing unless I bought their records. I bought loads of albums simply on the strength of reviews by the likes of you.

In 1976, we moved to Swaziland, and when the country finally got TV in 1978, the programmer was clearly a British man of a certain age, so we had vintage Morecambe and Wise, the Two Ronnies and old episodes of Top of the Pops and loads of Johnny Dankworth and Cleo Laine.

When I was 8, we moved to South Africa. Unlike my sister, who picked up a South African accent within six months, I had no interest in fitting in and was desperate to hold onto my Britishness. If there was another English kid at school, I immediately became their best friend.

Like you, I’ve always gravitated towards British pop, and I also put this down to my upbringing, but for almost the opposite reasons:

Skeeters to skeet?

The “Person who wants tweeters do tweet differently

I’ve taken it to 50.2%. Ooh, the power!

Nonsense. Seventy-year-olds don’t use fesshole, say I as a, ahem, 60-something-year-old.

You’d think he could’ve got those bits of food out of his teeth before the cameras started rolling.

Really cool of Eric B and Rakim to team up with a British singer, from one of Britain’s top bands.

The world’s smallest.

It’s EXHAUSTING

Umqombothi

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