I helped a friend move house some months back and loaded the trusty old wagon with gear, drove from his old pad to his new pad and helped him set up in a funky little place on a high hill overlooking the picturesque town of Guildford. I refused any offers of cash or meals, just happy to help out a friend

When I got a txt message saying “Do you like the Sex Pistols?” I said “Hell yeah” and was then offered a ticket to see the Sex Pistols at Brixton Academy.

Man, The Cribs weren’t too bad a support band, and Goldie was good on the decks for a while until we just got bored with the boom-boom-boom of drum ‘n’ bass… so, as much as I like and respect him & his music, I stuck my fingers up and shouted for the Pistols. We all did.

John Lydon’s a fucking hero, he always has been and his on-stage addiction to Chloroseptic was 21st century punk rock! Glen Matlock’s hair was getting kinda prog rock and Steve Jones ate all the pies!

Pretty Vacant, I’m a Lazy Sod, No Feelings, New York, Did You No Wrong, Liar, Holidays, Sub-Mission, Stepping Stone, No Fun, Problems, God Save the Queen, Bodies, Anarchy in the UK. I mean it, maaaan!

We stood by the mixing desk to get the best view, best sound and to avoid the flying beer but hey were fucking excellent, and I’m honoured to have seen the bastards play live.

Will I get the chance again, I dunno. But I’ll let my ears stop ringing before I see them again.