George Michael: an original in an industry that is gradually fading
More than 30 years on, I still break out in a cold sweat at the opening bars of 'Careless Whisper'. I am back in the teenage disco. Once the saxophone ushered in the full, rounded tones of George Michael, red-haired lads like me knew the night was over.
The slow set wasn't designed for redheads. It didn't matter how much spadework we had put in, the slow set separated the redheads from the rest. Us carrot-tops may have been able to compete in the chats, laughs and yarns, but when it came to the holy grail of teenage south Dublin - the successful slow-set snog - redhead boys hadn't a prayer. Only the very brave or very drunk teenage girl would regard a redhead as a scalp.
That was just the way it was.