I was enjoying a languid, liquid lunch with one of my oldest friends this week on Santa Monica beach, the wintery sun half-heartedly warming our pale British skin, when our conversation turned to the far off days of yore. As I looked back, it occured to me that 1994 was my favourite year. Why? I was living in London, had my own pied a terre in Holland Park, was happily single and it was a long, hot, magical summer (This last may well be a figment of my fevered imagination, or those pesky flashbacks flaring up again).
As I recall, the days were spent sharing liquid lunches in Notting Hill, or pic-nicking and tanning in the park; and the nights were spent dancing in whichever boite was fashionable at that time. Heady days with no intrusive cell-phone calls and no unflattering cell-phone pictures on social media to shame us. We lived emphatically in the moment.
In a nutshell, 1994 was my own personal Summer of Love.
Here's the soundtrack....
Courtesy
of Deathrow/Interscope/Atlantic Records
Courtesy
of Mercury Records
Courtesy
of SBK/Food Records
Courtesy
of Motown Records
Courtesy of Circa/Virgin Records
Courtesy of Columbia
Records
Courtesy
of Mercury Records
Courtesy
of Max Music
Courtesy of Cooltempo Records
Courtesy
of One Little Indian Records
Courtesy of MCA Records
Courtesy
of Dance Pool Records
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