ABSTRACT
I’m afraid that Miss Kelly who hates the Hit Parade because of ‘gimmick records’ would be a real wash-out with my crowd. Every Saturday night, a whole crowd of us teenagers gather in sweaters and jeans at my house, where Mum has turned over to me the front room, which she aptly calls The Rock-And-Roll Room. From seven p.m. until midnight the room simply rocks to Bill Haley, Rusty Draper, Fats Domino, Elvis Presley, the Teenagers, and all the horrible, gimmicky records that Miss Kelly refers to. Hot and loud and vulgar music, non-stop for five hours. Luckily my home is detached so there is no fear of complaining neighbours.
