An admission, nothing too shameful, I can’t drive. The thought like an itch scratches the inside of my skull, we are powering along the M62 towards rebellion. Johann is nursing a can of lemonade. Rehydration, he looks fucked, it was a long night. “Fuck it”, he shrugs, accent thick with nonchalance. I’m inclined to agree. Friday was a good gig, I have high hopes for tonight. I grew-up fast, on 70’s swagger, eighties excess, my first night out was my mates thirteenth Birthday, it was a different time then. I had a denim jacket, arms cut off, patches everywhere, like a less ginger mate of John Connor minus the mullet and PTSD.
We knew for certain we where going to see Bonafide, Swedish, denim, sports shoes and more than a seasoning of high energy, short fuse rock and roll. What we didn’t know then, there would be three other bands of equally high energy and full of punk, blues and rock so prevalent in the 70’s and 80’s.