Album covers don't come much more 80s than the one for "Sulk", by the Associates, from 1982. Singer Billy MacKenzie and keyboardist Alan Rankine sit on facing garden benches, covered in dustsheets, looking more like they're in a drained swimming pool. Both are dressed like a cross between Star Trek crew members and Hitler youth, and leer poncily at the camera. They're surrounded by what is probably fairly standard British vegetation, but the lurid lighting makes the whole thing look more like they're on Mars.

It stood out a mile in the window of Ace Music, in dreary old Musselburgh. It spoke of a world of impossible decadence and sophistication, like the first line of the hit single "Party Fears Two"-

I'll have a shower and call my brother up
Within the hour I'll smash another car

Actually it turns out to have been "I'll smash another cup", but I'll stick with the former. It's still a great song, rolling along on a sprightly piano line, and with Mackenzie's voice swooping up and down with a degree of melodrama that would shame even Christina Aguilera. It was followed by "Club Country", more urban decadence, with a rhythm like train wheels clacking, and stabs of cossack-like keyboards.

The rest doesn't really stand up. They produced a few more albums throughout the 80s, which made no impression on me. Rankine became a lecturer and helped launch Belle and Sebastien. MacKenzie attempted a solo career, producing several albums, but killed himself about 5 years ago. I don't know if it's a tale of how the music biz doesn't sustain careers, or how certain people can't handle being anything less than a gilt-edged star. Maybe it's just a sad case of someone who only had so much good art in him, and never regained that peak. But it burned itself onto my childish psyche enough for me to recognise it again and buy it 24 years later.

I've been taller than most people I meet for most of my life. There was a brief spell when I was about 10-12 when other guys started to catch up or even take over, but then BANG ! Puberty took care of that. I've been 6' 5" since I was about 20- I guess that was when I finally stopped, as at was the first time in my life that I gained any weight in a short spell.

I don't give it a minute's thought usually, unless I see spmeone taller, which is rare. People joke about it, usually tolerably, sometimes not. The simple fact is, it has a massive impact on people's perception of me, but I have no clue. I don't feel uncomfortable with it, but I did as a teenager. I remember one day walking down the corridor outside the school library. There was a bunch of kids leaning on either wall, obviously looking for trouble. I just wanted to vanish, and stooped like a cripple- I was sick of aggro. Every day at school was like a fucking battle. It didn't work, but the stooping became habitual, until my Dad started to nag me out of it.

I've never made any conscious attempt to exploit it, though I'm aware of when it is advantageous- on stage, in class, when I'm angry. People are generally scared of 6'5 skinheads with a cob on. When I look back at a lot of the women I've fancied, they were often tall, though I didn't realise it then. It would be handy if I were the competitive type, but along with my Dad's lankiness, I seem to have inherited his mellow streak. It pisses me off occasionally, when I think about opportunities I've squandered, especially with women. My contrary streak has contributed to that as well. Suppose I'm not the only one.

Having soldiered through Virginia Woolf's "Orlando" (actually really good til the end), I indulged in a bit of pure "High Fidelity bloke" reading recently, namely "Please Kill Me". It's an "oral history" of American punk music in the 70s, in that it's purely a collection of quotes from those involved, arranged by topic. The absence of any comment is highly effective, as most of the protagonists make it quite clear that they are the most narcisstic, parasitic, manipulative, degenerate bunch you could conjure up. I might, just might have been thrilled with some of the squalid behaviour they triumphally describe when i was 15, but now I'm just sickened. The thing is that I still love a lot of the music- the Stooges and Ramones in particular, but there are a few stone classics among the various others.

Truth is, I've always been more of a hippy, man, even when sighing and poncing my way through the indie 80s and 90s. I was reading the book this evening while listening to David Crosby's "If I could only remember my name". Far out.

Apparently "multiculturalism" has failed. Does anyone really know what they mean by it ? It's been described as the concensus of the last 20 years, in which case it corrals the beginning of my own education/experience in those matters almost exactly. In my last year of primary school (1982), an Indian and a Chinese boy joined my class (bear in mind this is an East of Scotland fishing town, not Brixton). Any racism they experienced at first was just pure childish ignorance. We asked them if they could speak to each other in "their" language. We couldn't pronounce the Indian boy's name (Ranvir). I'm not exactly glowing to admit these things, nor that I went with the herd when it did get malicious later (though Ranvir did tell me that he knew I didn't mean it after a bunch of us were given a group telling-off for it). He went on to study medicine (I think) and now no doubt has an income and grown-up staus that would put me to shame. A few years ago it was a national news story that Tony, the Chinese guy, had been abducted by a racist sadist and tortured. It made me especially sick when I thought about how much I'd frozen him out in later school years- I just found conversation with him really awkward.

I remained fairly good mates with Ranvir throughout secondary school, and we worked together on a project about vivisection in what became "Social Education". In my first year it was still of the plain old-fashioned "Religious" variety. It was taught by a guy known as "Bomber", who used a Scots dialect version of the New Testament and had a reputation for throwing classroom furniture around. The new "S.E" teacher was an attractive young woman who'd recently graduated from teacher training college. I can't remember the initial curriculum, as it rapidly descended into chaos- I sat in the corner and read various kiddy introductions to world religions, which still form the basis of most of my knowledge of Islam, Hinduism, Sikhism etc. She later exerted a bit of authority, and we worked on various "social" projects like the one me and Ranvir did. Religion didn't feature at all.

I've no idea what is taught in those kinds of classes these days, in Scotland or England. I sincerely hope it isn't some nebulous, happy-clappy attempt to water down the identities of those in the class. I actually think the melting pot is a fairly cringeworthy idea if it is "taught", rather than just happening. If someone has clearly defined religious beliefs and cultural tenets then I'm happy to leave them be unless, and here's the crucial bit, they impinge upon me. I "respect" those who live by strict religious precepts until it dictates what plays I can go and see, which cartoons I can look at etc. Present generations of immigrant communities may feel victimised in that respect, but I would extend the same attitude to any Christian who tried the same. The notion of basically secular education seems to have ruled since Bomber hung up his cane- to what extent it's allowed different social groups to fall into mutual mistrust and non-communication I don't know.