Tears streamed down my face. I was so happy I wanted to shout it from the rooftop. But at the same time I knew that that afternoon's downpour would have made the slate tiles so slippery that achieving any kind of purchase would have been impossible.
Putting a damp spoon back in the bowl is the tea-drinking equivalent of sharing a needle. And I did want to end up with the tea-drinking equivalent of AIDS.
I’d spend hours in HMVs, Virgin Megastores and second-hand record shops staffed by greasy-haired 40-year-olds dressed as 20-year-olds, listening to contemporary music of every genre – Britrock, heavy maiden, gang rap, brakebeat. And I came to a s...
Like a good-looking John Merrick, mine was a face that looked really shit.