Pencil skirts and crushes. Soul music and Sunday afternoons. Love and Luther. Giving me the reason to Stop For Love. It was 1986 and nothing, not even Luther, could save me from that first unrequited love, that first true heartbreak as my big brown eyes failed to deliver the results they later would and I grew certain that this “phase” would ever end. Not that I minded really. If falling in love with a lass called Fen was always going to be sound tracked by Luther I’d happily go back and do it all again. The blushes and the wishes, the cheeky grins and the imagined confessions. The working out she’ll never love you but finally acknowledging that you’d always love her kind. Regardless of the fears and the tabloid fabrications. A revelation that hurt as much as it lifted, changing my life forever as this pencil skirt enclosed (and hardly able to walk) teen made her way to adulthood safe in the knowledge she’ll never wear another one but would, eventually, love again. All queer like. Just as Luther would have wanted.

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