My first memorable encounter with the duo came in rather odd circumstances. It’s the mid 80s and I’m a pre-teen, travelling to France on a cross-channel ferry for a family holiday. Safeguarding against a decidedly choppy day, the hatches are quite literally battened down and assorted kids are ushered into a TV lounge to take their minds off the carnage going on outside.
An attendant presses play on a VCR and, over the next hour or so, jaws drop, nervous glances are exchanged and some of the more delicate souls seem genuinely perturbed. Now, my memory of this remains hazy, but what I recall of the audio-visual smörgåsbord on offer was that it featured Almond and Dave Ball in various places of ill repute – sex shops, brothels, S&M clubs, that kind of thing.