Welcome to the music of the US and UK. Set throughout seven decades and seven chapters, I'm here to take you on a journey of friendship, romance and smashed music players. We begin our story in 1958, five years after the music legend Elvis Presley broke onto the scene in the USA, and the year the British musician Cliff Richard released his first single Move It.

Chapter 1: 1958

If there was one thing America was proud of in the 1950s, it was his country's music scene. He'd watched in envy at England across the pond as he celebrated Vera Lynn and her lovely vocals, but it wasn't right, somehow. It didn't translate to the post World War American nation properly. It wasn't poppy, or fast, and certainly didn't represent the conglomerate country that the USA was shaping up to be.

America knew that change was coming, he could feel it in his bones. The Montgomery Bus Boycott of 1955 made him grin in anticipation, finally knowing that the long-held prejudices of his people may be lifting. Shaking Rosa Parks hand at an official presidential rally, pumping it up and down with a broad beam on his face (not that she knew who he was, of course - she assumed he was just part of the press) gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

The rifts across the US were mirrored in his body, in deep scars produced by years of infighting, the assassinations of two Presidents and worldwide wars. But slowly, the deep dark bags under his eyes that the World War had drummed into his bones were loosening. Lightening up a little. He knew England could see the difference too.

"You look good," his friend (friend? America wasn't sure of their official relationship, it was murky at best) said, sipping his tea from a china cup, high up in the top of America's penthouse apartment. Outside the window, the landscape of New York stretched out before them, the Empire State Building standing proud and glinting in the skyline.

America had to smile at that sight. When he'd first announced his plans to build the tallest building in the world at that World Meeting, England had scoffed. "Compensating for something?"he had smirked, quirking an eyebrow. But no, America just knew that his newly emerging nation needed to be known for innovation. In the previous Century, all that ever came to mind when the words 'United States' were mentioned was slavery, Civil War and 'oh yeah, didn't your president get shot in that theatre?'.

It had been many years since that World Meeting, years marred by war and horror and death. But here they were, him and England, sat in his apartment. Like nothing had happened.

"I am," America grinned, taking a big bite from his burger. McDonald's had only been formed some fifteen years previous, but damn, it must be the best shit to come out of his country so far. Pickles, burger patty, a smidgeon of mayo… With salty fries and a Coke on the side too, of course! England was less of a fan, stubbornly refusing the company entry to his shores.

"It's not big enough," England said back then, grimacing at the suggestion. "I know you like it Alfred, but it's unlikely to take off in the US, let alone here. Needless to say, our palates are a little more… Sophisticated."

England had been incredibly up his ass ever since his new monarch had ascended the throne. America grimaced as he thought of the young woman who was leading the country. Needless to say, he didn't get the idea of a monarchy. His country stood against all of that boring, old crap.

And those palates were mostly based off of rationing, leftover from the war yet still. Although America had helped out his old friend as best he could, it had taken almost ten years to fully shake off the effects of that war in Europe. And England, with its mandatory rationing and poor fast-food chains, was one of the better-off countries.

But things had begun to settle out for the world a little more - if you ignored the commie situation in old Russia (which America often chose to). And he was positively thrumming with excitement as he chewed on his burger, devouring it so quickly that he appeared to be inhaling it. He was good. Better than good, in fact.

"I have something to show you, Artie!" America grinned even wider. England thought that his friend's face just might split in half if the American insisted on smiling whilst showing so many teeth. Surely it hurt? Or maybe Alfred was just used to the stretching of his cheeks and jaw by now.

"Is that so?" England wasn't massively impressed. America much preferred the modern world to the one of yesteryear, which was in complete opposition to England's own preferred taste. He split his time between a quaint flat in Kensington (close to both Buckingham Palace and 10 Downing Street) and a sweet cottage in the rural hills of Herefordshire. America's penthouse was neither quaint nor sweet - in contrast, it smelt mostly of bleach and newly opened, seldom used pre-packaged furniture.

The elder country placed his teacup back onto its saucer with a quiet, gentle clink, before leaning back in the chair he was sat in. England rested his head on his hands contemplatively, bracing himself for whatever inane thing Alfred Jones had seen fit to grace him with on this particular evening.

America nodded eagerly, burger finished. The paper packaging (emblazoned with a golden M that made England roll his eyes) was thrown unceremoniously on the ground, tossed aside like, well, rubbish. If England wasn't quite so amused by America's over-excitement, he would have demanded that the packaging be picked up and placed into a bin. But doing that right now would be like kicking a puppy, and despite himself England was slightly interested.

His friend walked over to the record player, thumbing through a pile of messily stacked records to its' left. They looked like they could fall at any moment, and England winced as the stack wobbled and trembled. America was ignorant of the upcoming crash and thud - and broken record collection - that could have followed, and instead began to hum an unfamiliar tune under his breath as he searched.

Nothing could compare to Arthur's beloved Cliff Richard, surely America knew that? Ever since the new musician had emerged with the dulcet tones of Move It only a month or so prior, England knew that something was brewing in the music scene of the United Kingdom. Not too far removed from the musical stylings of Vera Lynn, but different enough to usher in a new decade.

England wasn't entirely convinced on the whole 'rock n roll' schtick quite yet. But Cliff was a kind lad and had been kind enough to show the country some of his guitar skills and even offer him a lesson or two. And even if it wasn't quite to England's own taste yet, his people loved it. Sooner or later, he knew, he'd be obsessed with the whole new Rock n Roll genre.

Cliff Richard was a nice, steady introduction to this new kind of music.

Whatever crap America had just put on wasn't steady at all. It was far too fast, far too loud, far too… Far too…

"What the bloody hell is this shit?" England scowled, squinting his hearing to try and make out the words to the song America was blasting. Something about - was the madman singing about a jail? Dancing in a jail? What was this?

America grinned (did the man have another expression in his repertoire?) and waved his hands frantically at the record player. "Elvis Presley!" he beamed. "Jailhouse Rock! It's a modern-day American classic!"

England groaned, holding his head in his hands. Elvis Presley. He'd heard of the man, of course - who hadn't? The thrusting psycho that the British tabloids, and Arthur himself, loved to criticise. Women were practically ripping off their panties in anticipation of his concerts, and although the man himself had escaped off to the US Army only earlier that year, his music still permeated the airwaves.

England had managed to avoid listening to any of that ghastly noise up until now. Today did not seem to be his lucky day at all.

Cliff Richard would never thrust his hips like that Mississippi devil. Cliff Richard was a calm, gentle Hertfordshire lad with a basis in skiffle and a penchant for calm Rock n Roll guitar playing. Cliff wasn't… Sexy, or rude, or overly loud. Cliff was just Cliff.

I wonder if Cliff has met Elvis Presley? England thought to himself, as he pressed his fingers into his ears to try to drown out that awful noise. America had begun to dance now, prancing around the penthouse like a demented, drunk gazelle. He was definitely two of those things, at the very least.

"Enough!" England scolded, getting to his feet and yanking the needle off the record. There was a scratching sound, and a whine from Alfred, as the older country pulled the record away from the player.

"Be careful with that!" America complained, pouting from the other side of the room. "I have it signed!"

England scoffed, looking over the record with a beady eye. "This isn't Cliff Richard," he said simply, regarding the other country with a glare. "You need some Cliff in your life."

"But Cliff's boring," America whined again, moving to grab the record from England's grasp. "He isn't like Elvis - Elvis is young, exciting, sexy - modern too! He really brings black and white music together y'know? Like it's jazz, and classical, and country all in one!"

England's eyes glinted dangerously. "Cliff?" he repeated, taking a step towards the open window. "Did you just call Cliff Richard boring?"

Before the younger country could do anything to stop it, England's anger at his idol being besmirched overcame him. The beautiful, pristine signed Elvis Presley single record (A side: Jailhouse Rock, B side: Treat Me Nice) was hurtling downwards towards the pavement at breakneck speed.

It hit the kerb with a loud crash, before shattering into millions of tiny black Rock N Roll shards.

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McDonald's was introduced in the USA in 1940, they opened their third branch in 1953 and their first New England branch in 1958, so I'm sure Alfred would have been able to get his hands on one.

Cliff Richard released his first single Move It in August 1958.

Jailhouse Rock was released in September 1957.

Yes, Herefordshire and Hertfordshire are different English counties. Cliff Richard lived in one, I live in the other.