The Cult

Blasting out The Cult's 'Sun King' brings back many memories, especially of a naked girl in a leopard skin coat who's polaroid I left on my work desk (drawing board) when I went AWOL for a couple of days pulling wheelies on my GPZ750 (she was on the back!) and living on nothing but bar snacks in red bars (they had to have red decore) in the late eighties. Luckily my employers (Simon Smith and Michael Brooke Architects- look 'em up) were cool enough to deal with such stuff and I revere them forever for doing so. They thought it was funny, I hope.

Even now, the eighties, even in my sodden new tweeds, repeat. I sit and the tunes in 'The Trench' are 'Blue Monday' and 'Sexpress'. I go, SHIT, I was there, that was me, with my stage amp and a futon in the bedroom and pretty much fuck all else, even buying Level 42 records. Time travelling, that's me.

Oh, and I wish to record that watching George Thorogood and the Destroyers live in Las Vegas, not only brought about the close nervous breakdown of my beloved Julie ('I can't remember him playing a guitar!' she said) but also the most acute piece of rock criticism I've ever heard in so few words:

'He's like a cross between Keith Richards and Larry Grayson' said Kit, and forever shall those words be savoured.