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The exact moment that started off the chain of events is clear now. If I hadn’t been impressed by the quality of grass Patti was smoking, I would never have introduced her to my brother Joe, she would never have got the band stoned before the gig, and the Dogs Bollocks would never have been formed.
I missed out on the Punk ‘revolution’ because I was touring Germany in the first ever Beatles tribute band 'Abbey Road', as support to an Elvis Presley impersonator. When I return, my long hair, George Harrison moustache, flairs and afghan are about as obsolete as the twin guitar solo. London had moved on, and so had my friends. The Dogs Bollocks were now hailed as the kings of punk, and even my landlord Willy had taken advantage of the ‘Wave.’ Gone was the afro, white flared suit and Cuban heels, and London’s hottest disco band were now called Urban Jungle and pumping out heavy roots reggae. Willy sings about being in Babylon, Terry the local hard lad says it will all end in tears, and for some it does.
Terry ends in prison, Willy in a wheel chair, Patti on a world tour, and me and Joe back to square one in North Wales.
On top of a mountain in Snowden, Spike (ex Vietnam War Veteran) tells us a tale that puts everything in prospective. That was the first and last time I had ever heard him speak, and after what he said, I understood why. We’d gone to the wilderness to find inspiration. Four of us went up, but in the morning, only three of us come down but hey... That’s Rock and Roll!! In a word..............Well in this book there are several thousand of them and I’m still confused by what the Seventies was all about.