Out wandering the London streets with arms full of booze, searching for entertainment, somehow the above happened. I can't remember why exactly, but if you know that the man on the left is a painter, and he on the right is a stockbroker; the whole scene becomes some kind of rubbish statement about Modern Life.

There were a few such incidents of note on our travel, including using the band van to fly-tip refridgerators for a local club. A bit of money on the side and a bit of hooting & hollering as we drove off to freedom and victory. I cut my ankle in the process, but such is the price of glory. And I'd do it again.

It was a ten hour drive each way in the van, nightmarish piece of shit that it was, it could only do 55mph and even then it was constantly overheating. We had to drive with the heat on full blast in the cab to try and keep the engine just below red - dry faces and cracked eye balls all round. But we made it back, blood clots in knees and seat-belts in spines. And then we got played on Radio 1 the next day and went fucking beserk.