Miranda Thompson
I was four when I got hooked on Jimmy Nail. Something about his 1992 Number One hit ‘Ain’t No Doubt’ struck a chord within me - the muttered, sardonic vocals under the joyous tooting of a saxophone were far preferable to the tape of nursery rhymes we would chant along to in the car.
But it was at the pre-school equivalent of an Ibizan clubnight that my Jimmy love really blossomed. As my sister and I were put to bed during a family friend’s wedding in Bristol, the music on the TV swelled into that instantly recognisable, grumbly bass. Fuelled by illicit fizzy drinks, we jumped and screamed along with the television in our green and pink Laura Ashley culottes: “AIN NO DOUBT IT’S PLANASEEE….IMAHOOOL ESKIMO ESKIMO ESKIMO.”
Twenty years on, I still yammer on about Jimmy. And the first song I was officially stopped from listening to when Spotify did their ‘switchover’ was ‘Ain’t No Doubt’.
