Well he did make it, wherever he's going, I assume, but he doesn't look too well. The tag to this is: Depeche Mode 1993 Hollywood Awards. I Feel You was the record, rather cassette, that Andrew Lane and I sped down the M4 to in his souped up Ford, on a ridiculously conceived plan to get second years from Oxford Poly, maybe Brookes by then, to design rugby clubs in Mythyr. In his XR2i. It's a record by a fucked up bunch of Essex guys who, and you wouldn't really have believed it, become more important for more members of the old Soviet Union than anybody else. This record is also sonically more profound than anything U2 have ever managed. It's also of course a tale of desperate fucked up drug addled madness from Essex to LA, but that is rock n' roll.
Crucially one of the students on that mission suffered a mishap in her Golf outside the pub Andrew and I were enjoying once we got to actual fucking Wales. Kirsty, the driver, I loved afterwards for quite a long long while, till she dumped me on her birthday in fucking Stamford.
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