One upon a time there were loads of them, but as the years have ebbed away as has this creature who haunted the shadows of cities across the country. No longer do we have sightings of this pale-faced skeleton aspirer, eyes blacked out with thick kohl, skin laced with glitter and t-shirts emblazoned with DIY spray painted slogans of suitably intellectual quotes in the vein of Nihilism. It's virtually impossible to find this delicate and sensitive creature who, characterised by hair of abyss-black and back-combed to dazzling hights, styled with Coca-Cola would stand outside Waterstone's or Spillers in Cardiff looking sad yet thoughtful, shrouded in leopard fur and 'waiting' for something though they knew not what (probably their next vodka)
I remember them with nostalgia, probably because I was one of them. But where are we? Where did we go and why did the Manic Street Preachers hit a nerve with people like us, messes of eyeliner and spraypaint characterised by a definite costume of juxtaposing glittering frivolity and self loathing?
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