prologue

"The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side." Hunter. S. Thompson.

Ring ring... ring ring... ring ri...

Click...

"Heh............ lo-oh?"

I'm in a public call box, excited. It's taken me longer than I had thought, but I finally get to say those usually unspoken words...

"Mum... I got a record deal."

It is Primrose Hill.

Camden town.

North West London.

Summer '96.

Post grunge, height of Brit Pop.

The red yellow hazy sun sets on this beautiful, balmy late summer evening. From behind cheap wraparound sunglasses, I am armed with two brand new £50 notes, a pint of whisky and coke, pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a wrap of cocaine. I've just turned 25. I have everything I have ever wanted.

What could possibly go wrong?