Something about this couple invokes the dolour of Sebastian Horsley 's day of reckoning: "The day of the wedding dawned foul. Slowly and silently I got ready. I dressed all in white. I looked like a glass of milk. But inside I was black. Walking through the graveyard towards the chapel I felt about as hopeful as one of the tombstones. "The priest was waiting outside the church, like a ticket tout at the gates of heaven peddling his wares for four times their real worth. I shook his hand. He had a soft pale grip. I walked up the aisle. My soles clipped against stone like the tick of a death-watch beetle. "Ev was late. I passed the time she made me linger there at the altar listing all her faults. I could have done with another hour... " Okay, you get the picture. And can always pursue several pages of the sorry charade... in the much-missed Mr Horsley's 'unauthorised autobiography' Dandy in the Underworld (Hodder & Stoughton, 2007). In time, ...
It's 1980 - and the 'cult with no name' is never far from a press headline. Except nobody knows what to call them... 🧐 A look beyond the frilly shirts and foofaraw of the Blitz Kids: https://medium.com/@nuromanca/new-romantics-or-dandy-nouveaux-277fc16f23b0
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