I ‘ve got a problem (one of many you may say, but let’s focus here). I am, I have come to realise, something of a musical extremist. Basically, the purpose of my existence on the planet is to make radio programmes that traumatise and upset people who have conservatories and cappuccino machines and who laugh at A Question of Sport, and give some kind of hope to the beautful people who find all this stuff as ennervating as I do.
It’s a childish and ultimately futile aim, of course, but it is the only thing that stops me walking into the Stock Exchange with forty pounds of Semtex strapped about my torso, so it’ll have to do.
And sometimes it’s a lonely life, but not today.
For something has happened today that proves that there are 500,000 other like minded(ish) souls who have assaulted the bastions of banality and emerged victorious.
I speak of course of the people, heroes everyone of them, who have put a shouty records full of “fucks” and guitar noises that could strip a picket fence at 200 yards, into the Christmas number one slot.