help." Shit, really? I wouldn't put it past myself to have daydreamed it. But no, I remember, clear as day, I remember putting the phone down trembling... "No. I'm joking. What a cunt I am. I did it because I wanted to be in a band with someone I liked, who made me laugh, who I could relate to as a mate and who had an aptitude with words as I had decided to just be a musician again and not sing. You should have done it. It might have made all the difference, seriously." Fucking guilt trips, how many things a moment of doubt can derail. Where were you in 92? Were you in love? Did you have someone on your arm? Did you have places to go? Clubs you loved? People you loved? I'm ever so pleased for you. I had none of that myself. Just plastic to live by. The kids, my peers, my contemporaries, generation-Britpop and me in 92 were never gonna truly get along because we wanted different things. They were cool, sexy and young in head, heart and body. They wanted music that sounded like life, that filtered it, that made it fit, funny and whole. Bluetones. Shed 7. Blur. Oasis. I, prick, gobshite, lonely, 19-yr old pensioner, could unfortunately only exist on music that was life, that refused to filter or 'satirise' its times, that was only in hock to its sources in what pioneering spirit it could attempt to emulate - not