I was four maybe five when i had my first Mongo Jongo. By the time i was six i was sniffing Scruffy Magguffies. Bigger boys introduced me to Brick Dust: i used snort that through copies of Vogue magazine. It was like some terrifying home made rollercoaster. I became addicted to mint munchies. I was dropping at least twelve packets a day at one point.
My childhood is a fragmented image of David Bowie using Wham bars for glow sticks and repeatedly shouting something like, "It Was Steve!!" I have no idea who Steve is.Anyway, unlike most musicians, i did not turn to music for salvation or, as one 'arteeest' puts it, "to escape these tormenting times and upsurge the paranoia, man!" (what a wanker). In fact music turned its sad and abused face to me. I did not recognise it as a friend/associate/dealer and promptly turned the cunt away. This is highly apparent in my listed tracks.This was 93, i was eleven and still washing down Renne's with Night Nurse. Several years blurred past like a Vauxhal Astra with orange 'go faster' stripes, its driver urinating out of the the window of time onto helpless passersby's. Finally, whilst in detention, one murky afternoon, i miss heard the teacher and snorted twenty five lines. An epiphany can be life changing. i nearly died.The rest, just is.
