Things I Nearly Forgot (But Didn’t)

Needle Drops: A series about music, memory, and the soft weight of becoming.

I didn’t plan to write a series about the past. But memory’s like that—it taps you on the shoulder when it’s ready. Sometimes it barges in with a laugh, or drops a song you hadn’t heard in decades. Sometimes, it just lingers until you turn around.

Needle Drops isn’t memoir, exactly. It’s not fiction either. More like memory set to vinyl—warped, replayed, a little fuzzy in spots. These are the stories that showed up with soundtracks. Stories that stuck to the seams of old jumpers and bad eyeliner. The kind that remind you who you were becoming, even if you didn’t know it yet.

Here’s what’s on the mix so far:

OPERATION: J-DAY
A tactical history of teenage resistance—conducted with tea, tartan, and 10p treasures. What began as a quest for secondhand glory became a ritual of belonging. This one’s about friendship, fashion, and the joyful absurdity of showing up—loud, ridiculous, and entirely yourself.

The Jumper That Would Not Die
A scarlet mohair jumper. A DIY fashion disaster. A girl who nearly ruined both. This is a story about style as survival—about how we stitch ourselves together from the things we inherit, the ones we lose, and the ones who somehow put us back together again.

We Never Did Swim in Oggy
A half-formed plan, a too-full Mini, and the kind of summer night that almost lets you forget what you’re carrying. We didn’t swim—but something lifted, just for a while.

Ah tha' comin'?
The night I found myself on the doorstep of a house that didn’t ask for backstory—just presence. A soft entry into a louder world, and the first step toward something that felt like home.

Pull Up to the Bumper, Baby
What began as a beach day became a breakdown—and a quiet reminder of what steady love looks like. No drama, no lectures. Just a dad with a tow rope, and the kind of presence that says: I’ve got you.

The Quality Street Gang
We looked like punks, got mistaken for chocolates, and lost more than just a van in Leeds. What started as a weekend of music and mayhem turned into a story about misfits, found family, and learning when to laugh—even as the edges fray.

Step Away from the Synths
The synths were cheap, the performance unconvincing, and the ban from Woolies immediate. But for a few minutes, we were The Human League. This is a love letter to the kind of teenage mischief that makes no sense—except that it still makes you smile decades later.

Needle Drops (origin post)
Not every memory has a lesson. Some just hum in the background—until you realize they never stopped playing.

Each of these holds a moment I almost forgot—but didn’t.
And if you’ve got a soundtrack of your own—those odd, vivid, unforgettable bits of youth and longing—maybe something here will sing to you too.

This is Needle Drops.
Not nostalgia. Not fiction. Just the echo of who we were, still skipping in the groove.

More to come. Stay tuned.
And if something here hit a note—feel free to share it, or just drop a line.
We remember louder, together.

—Robert

P.S.
If something in these stories stirred something in you—if you’re circling your own piece of memory, meaning, or mess—I offer 1:1 support for writers who want to find their way back to the thread. Quiet sessions. No hustle. Just honest work, done together.
More details here, or drop me a note. We'll figure it out from there.