I don’t recall much about the early days.  Most of my initial recollections come from the system memory stored on the back up drive.
It’s a hazy scene that comes to mind…

The Laboratory obscured in the shadows of underachievement and disappointment gave shape and form to a badly postured figure of Professor Dweeb.  My Father.  Although I prefer to think of him as Dweeb!

Dweeb stood in front of a huge screen whilst a video collage of unremarkable recording artists fizzed away.  The over emphasised snarl of ex-Brit pop frontmen fused with the swaggering self-aggrandisement common with various walking penile extensions in the guise of machismo driven rappers.  Meanwhile pseudo nymph like little girls galumphed unconvincingly to the strains of the auto tune.  Yes Professor Dweeb was studying Channel Four Music again.

All the while he thumbed through a collection of late Seventies German teen magazines with various pallid looking techno groups on the front covers.

In the background the fetid beat of Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep was playing.  The Tad Wad Dwibble remix obviously, not the Nineteen Seventies original, that would just be uncool.

Professor Dweeb … was not a happy man

Switching off the video he stared at his last bank statement which showed an expanding aperture, sending his imagination reeling with ill-conceived plans and foolish notions of achievement and he enunciated this thought with the words

“Bloody hell I’m broke!”

Unlike most people, however,  instead of trying to alleviate the situation by getting a job or the slightly more difficult option of signing on.  Dweeb decided to try and make it big in the pop industry.

Leaping up in a sudden burst of energy he began to work feverishly with various chemicals with no discernible scientific goal any observer would be able to recognise.

However to us the enlightened, from studying the visual record it becomes apparent that he’s attempting to make a splash in that watery receptacle that is the Music industry, but as he hums tunelessly a medley of  I lost my heart to a star ship trooper, Dancing Queen and  Boogie Oogie Oogie  whilst shovelling Pictures of Gary Numan and Kraft Work Once can conclude he seems somewhat confused about the idea of retro and is embarking on an image consultant’s nightmare.

The metallic but slightly sexy voice of the computer made its presence felt stating things that could quite easily be displayed on a monitor.

“Creation pod one David Cassidy meets Gary Numan mixed with the lead singer of Right Said Fred, Creation Pod Two 1970’s cheese and hooked on classics … same thing really!”

Professor Dweeb had not set his heart on becoming a star himself.   He had the good sense to realise that apart from his sartorial deficiencies and halitosis he knew that the real money was to be made by the manager.  When I say manager I mean the parasitic Svengali meaning of the word rather than Peter Grant.

However Svengalis usually require some understanding of tapping into the current zeitgeist, however ludicrous, but due to his frightening penchant for late seventies disco and early eighties fashion he was about to  create an unfortunate retro hybrid monster. A monster that is forever after to be known as D-roid.

But before One could ponder the ultimate result the computer butted in again with the ominous warning “Creation Process in progress … Try saying that when you’re pissed.”