October 1992. Madonna’s ‘Sex’ became the fastest-selling coffee table book ever. Expo ‘92 closed in Seville. The Pioneer Venus Orbiter crashed into Venus. And perhaps most importantly of all, two 12-year-olds in a bedroom somewhere on the outskirts of London penned ‘Four White Walls’, the first proper song (sort of) for their rude and rudimentary punk band, The Walking Abortions.
Inspired by singer/drummer Ed Ache’s grandma’s protestations at always being cooped up at home, where she chain-smoked and swore like a Tourettic Dot Cotton, the two pre-pubescent oiks thought they had a hit on their hands.
They absolutely didn’t of course, but the runaway pram that was about to careen down the back stairway of pop for the next four-and-a-bit years had been set in motion.
Following a riotous 1993 youth club gig in the murky backstreets of Kingston (not Jamaica), and a bizarre encounter with a woefully intoxicated Jimmy Pursey several months later, the duo expanded to a troupe of four, landed a spot on a national TV show and a tour with Sham 69 before nearly imploding amidst heartbreak and acrimony at the end of 1994.
These teenage tribulations did not do the WA’s in however, and they resurfaced in 1995 as a three-piece unit under the dubious management of London club raconteur, Sean McClusky, who booked them to play at an assortment of hip nightspots they probably shouldn’t have even been allowed into.
When it became clear the lads weren’t remotely interested in following their manager’s ambitions to make them the new Ash, relations with McClusky cooled, but a new opportunity soon presented itself in the form of a 7” single release on Stuttgart-based punk label, Incognito Records.
Recorded in a tiny studio at a Twickenham youth club on a budget of £10 and a packet of Marlboro Lights, the curiously-titled ‘Handy Pandy Tony Tandy EP’ showcased the WA’s at their finest - young, angry, and shouting very rude words indeed.
Their newly-garnered reputation as the pop stars of their school wasn’t enough to keep all parties interested however, and the band underwent another personnel overhaul in early 1996, acquiring prestigious support slots with aging punk luminaries such as The Damned, UK Subs and, erm, Splodgenessabounds shortly thereafter.
A second - and for the most part, dreadful - EP was recorded for renowned indie imprint Damaged Goods later that year, and in early 1997, after one final thundering studio session, the fickle whims of youth finally kicked into gear and our punky protagonists went their separate ways before any of them were in danger of turning 18.
So what remains of this pubescent platoon? There isn’t really a ‘best of’ The Walking Abortions, as their recordings were so few and all of varying degrees of questionable quality, but assuming that the humble listener isn’t here for Steely Dan, this is as close as it gets.
If snotty, swaggeringly raw teen punk is your bag, you won’t be disappointed. 
And even if you are, The Walking Abortions don’t care.
They hate you anyway.