I will probably never get over the feeling of missing out that comes from growing up in the hinterlands, far from where all the cool things start—even if that was never really true. But the big cities famed in song and story seem to be where everything breaks. I do recall the evening news spending a few minutes on the Sex Pistols final disastrous tour: my mother making a face while I tried to memorise everything about those brief clips.

I read a lot of music mags. Grateful to Trouser Press for the flexidisks, Then there were films: punk and new wave-filled films almost never made it to my remote location. Midnight movies were Rocky Horror Show and Gimme Shelter or Woodstock. Eventually Tommy and The Kids Are Alright made it up our way so I sat through the latter easily a hundred times (go on, test me). But we…