Moons ago, I was fingering my brain. Desperately searching the biological and technological memory resources at my command. What was that stinking cheese name of a skate palace where much of my middle youth was wasted?

Saints skating in Olivette! Chalupalujah!

Pop and I were on a chore outing. Return movies, pick new movies. Select a fishy friend to feast upon. We choose a crop of rainbow trout, nummy nummy good mouth time. Fill the enormous tank on the van, or approach the high gas mark anyway. And finally, scuttle over to Petsmart for the purchasing of designer canine kibble.

Over the horizon it proudly emanated. Same Seventies happy boy skating logo. Saints! Choked on my saliva I did. Neurons sparked alive they have. Yes, yes. You seek the great and wise jedi skatemaster. I'm not frightened. You will be. You......will......be.

Can cross off party poison obliterated brain hole number seventeen. Only an encyclopaedic tome amount left to be resurrected.

Holy crow. Back in the scrubby day. The time of the triple hand threads. The long long long ago. I might have been homies with two kids with access to cable. Legends of movies showing much ass cheek and free flowing nippleage abounded during guvment cheddar sammich lunches. We'd chill at Saints more for the music video interludes projected on the big screen in the corner of the rink than the actual rollerskating. Other than orchestrating oneself into late night friday tube haunting, fulfilling your fresh fly media quotient required weekend trips to Saints.

Christ, I remember actually palpitating the evening they showed Thriller. Promotionally scheduled a solid month beforehand. Bownk bownk. Diggity doo diggity doo diggity doo. Bownk bownk. Cause this is thriiiiillaaaah, thriiiiillaaaaah night, and no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike.

Nerd alert, nerd alert! Point the dork sticks this-a-way.

Anyway, yeah, Saints. I saw the sign today.

Also of note, the cashier at the pet supplies shop was strikingly ugly. On a mesmerising fascinating level. Just complete forfeit of the fight as well. The A to Z list of clock stopping, mirror shattering, Addams family rocky horror. Listless uneven chopped dead forgotten hair. Orthodontia that would worry a Pherenge. Slack jaw clumsy vocal chord mutterings. Gunny sack motif draping a spaghetti posture. It has to be intentional. If so, I imagine she also has an elephantine swinging set of brass balls dangling in her shape obstructing baggy, yet pleated, navy khakis. Get down with your bad ugly self.