Freedom just ain't freedom when your back's against the wall: drinking Skol and pogo-ing to Crass

Cast your mind back. It's the summer of 1980. Or possibly 1981, I can't quite remember. Er, yes, because you're casting your mind back to something that happened in my life (tricky to do, but have a go ...). Anyway, in the looseness of post-school life - where you're 16 and still hanging out with various people from school - I found myself at someone's house one afternoon and we're drinking cheap lager from cans (Skol?), getting drunk (pretty easy to do when you're 16) and ... pogo-ing around the living room to this record: 

For real! I have no idea who'd bought the record. These people weren't exactly punks and certainly not "anarcho-punks". Anyway, during an increasingly-unfocused afternoon we played this record over and over, crashing around the living room holding onto each others' shoulders and generally getting over-excited. After about eight repeat-plays Bloody Revolutions sounded to me like the greatest thing ever recorded. Maybe it is? Anyway, 44 years later I still really rate it. It's got a lot of the qualities that made Crass so good: experimental electronic interludes, Steve Ignorant's rabble-rousing Cockney vocals, Eve Libertine's amazing operatic voice, the semi-humorous (?) apeing of La Marseillaise, the fantastic punk energy of the sped-up parts (check out 2:34 and 3:47), and an all-round complexity that totally gives the lie to any idea that punk/anarcho-punk was simplistic, dumbed-down music. Also, in my adolescent, would-be bookish mind - already steeped in Orwell and other stuff that felt real - Crass's bitter polemics hit home: "Transportation details will be left to British Rail". Gulp. Yeah man, Crass weren't just for Christmas. Anyway, I spent the next couple of years using up my pitifully small wages religiously buying everything that came out on Crass Records (studying the new releases column in Sounds for stuff by Zounds or the Flux Of Pink Indians), only to overdose on everything anarcho-punk, rebound toward art-rock post-punk (Magazine, Psychedelic Furs, Cure) and the gathering goth scene (Bauhaus, Theatre Of Hate, Southern Death Cult) and - by 1984 (that terminal year) - divest myself of all things Crass! Yeah, all memory-holed. Anyway, in a weird twist of fate, yesterday I was going though my singles looking for a record by Wild Palms (as you do) when I found this: 

If it says pay no more than 70p why is it '75 copies from £2.37' on Discogs?

Woah, it's the missing link! The pay-no-more-than-70p connection between my 16-year-old self and my grizzled-geezer old-man self. Amazing. Of course, the missing link also has to be a missing record. Because of all my hundreds of 7"s this is the only one that's just an empty sleeve. There's no record inside! I have no idea why. Is it a sign? Some anarcho-punk message being beamed over to me from the long-lost year of 1980? Anyway, given that it's just a record-less sleeve I was on the verge of chucking it out last night when I remembered that it's a fold-out poster in a typical Crass Records stylee. And behold, it's their famous take-down of the over-praised Sex Pistols. At some stage this was definitely on display in my teenage bedroom. Should I put it up in my present-day (non-teenage) bedroom? Have it as a reminder of Skol'd-out afternoons learning how to pogo? Maybe ..     

Corgi registered: this dog likes the Sex Pistols