.. I'm just a happy kid, stuck with the heart of a sad punk.
I'm a collection of loose ends. I don't want to be a pop star. I think that this is just a part of my life which will come to an end.
I recently attended a high school society party where I knew many of the people from the old days when we played deb parties. I got a lot of snubs that night.
Gene Pitney once told me, "You're the quietest spoken illiterate I have ever met".
At school there was this character who'd keep repeating, "That's not the way to carry on, Scott", and clumping me round the ear to each syllable. Worst of all was the giant Welsh gym master who jumped off the top of wall bars and endangered your limbs. He threw medicine balls at me.
I was never a garbage man. Too proud!
I've been told I bear a striking resemblance to an unwashed Bela Lugosi.
As a teenager, I was part of a gang called "The Mussies". We had a fued with the Finchley boys, which developed into a grand-scale punch-up one evening at their local dance hall. I was posted as a look-out at the door, and when the Law arrived, I disappeared under a parked car. I was lucky. I got away. But many of the gang were sent to approved school. That cured me of being a delinquent.
When I first began playing in local groups at the Athenaeum, I wouldn't have said "boo" to a goose. Now I talk for hours to people. Doing interviews brings you out of yourself.
