Music Arcades: The Pogues: The Best of the Pogues

A few months before I heard the Police song that led me to buy their greatest hits I was at my friend Helen's 40th birthday party — she'd hired a whole house in Buxton for it — and something by The Pogues came on the boombox. And again it stirred wistful feelings, feelings that I'm sure were richer than the ones I experienced when listening to the same songs fifteen years earlier. Hence I didn't buy any of their records in the '80s, but in January '99 I was off to HMV a week or so after the party, where I paid £15.99 (ouch!) for this CD.

I first saw The Pogues at a GLC benefit one afternoon in Battersea Park. Rough it was: it started off with just pints of pissy lager being flung overhead, then came shoes, other items of clothing and at least one pair of spectacles. I stayed at the back. A couple of years later, when they visited Sheffield City Hall, we had something of a works outing, but all from the safety of the circle. I remember nothing of the event, except that one or two of The Specials (they're reforming; now there's a surprise) joined them on stage. And, finally, bringing us right up to date, Guy and I saw them at The Fillmore last October. Very kindly, Jem put us on the list and chatted over a beer afterwards. It was all round the most enjoyable of the three gigs. And nice to see the Californians taking a mature approach to their smoking ban now that they're almost a decade into it — by simply ignoring it.

The one question I'd never ask Jem, though I can't deny my ugly curiosity, is "How much does Fairytale of New York earn you in royalties each year?" My complete-stab-in-the-dark guess would be £5-10,000. Not bad for something you did over 20 years ago, but, damn, it's a good song. It's the last couple of verses, from "I could have been someone / So could anyone" onwards, that catch me every time.

It's not just wistfulness and nostalgia: I swear these songs do sound better with age.