-The heady summer of 1990. Patchouli oil. Unwashed hair, saggy jumpers and
->overtight trousers. The zenith of my feral attraction. Bristol's hazy pavements,
-steeped in the equivocality of history. Colonial mansions sweated from the sinews
-of the underclass. The epiphany of my sensuality; sultry with fetid desire.
-What a night. 18 August 1990. Etched across my septum. St Nicholas Street.
-The Linkuns. Smokin'. Indescribable. If only I'd had change for the bus...

If only you'd paid to get in! Come on now. You still owe us 1.50. We still owe you a
passable performance of the songs but hey...just let us know where you got that stuff from so
we can get down to some serious Smoking business.