If you are a child of the early 1980s like me, the slightest mention of favourite television programmes such as the A-Team and Knight Rider are likely to get you excited, as do films like The Goonies and Teen Wolf.

Talk of confectionery including Wagon Wheels, Jammie Dodgers and Trios will have you licking your lips.

But one notable admission from these trips down memory lane is music. Before I became a teenager the only artist my friends and I would put on the turntable or listen to on our Walkmans was Michael Jackson, for whom tickets today go on general sale for a much-publicised ten-night residency at London's O2 arena in July.

I used to love dancing around to my brother's 12" vinyl version of Thriller and the first album my parents bought for me was Bad, along with an accompanying Michael Jackson notepad and duel Biro and highlighter pen.

My friends and I all tried to imitate the moonwalk and the obligatory crotch-grabbing.

But as we got older, the self-styled King of Pop's music really did turn 'bad', his off-stage antics and appearance became increasingly bizarre and his private life was dogged by controversy.

Regardless of this, you only have to hear the first beats of Thriller or Billie Jean at a wedding reception to see a dance floor swamped by people, including me, who would normally dismiss Jackson as a joke in an everyday conversation.

Despite our obvious affection for some of his material, I can't see any of my friends or me forking out about £70 for a ticket to see his final performances on these shores.

Even if he did limit his performance to his peak recording period, is Jackson, now 50, and appearing to be in deteriorating health, really going to be able to do them justice with the high-octane choreography with which he made his name?

I'm sure his diehard fans will flock to the concerts and it will sell out in minutes today but I would rather slip Thriller on my iPod and remember him at his best.