As the year turned, Danny and I were still sharing a council flat with Shelley and Andy in Stoke Newington, just opposite Evering Road train station. When we moved in, a year previously, it had been just the four of us. By now there were at least two more people, often a few more over a weekend. The living room was now a bedroom. Although we loved the craziness of this, all of us would go out clubbing together and more friends would often end up at ours afterwards, Danny and I decided we could now afford to rent our own place again.

For the past year I had walked to Dalston Kingsland each morning and caught the overland train to Camden Road. From there, it was under the large blue railway bridge, (being careful not to slip in the remarkable amount of pigeon droppings covering the pavement) and onto Royal College Street.

I would nod to the guy who was opening his shop for the day, hanging Harrington jackets up outside. Sometimes I’d nip in to the newsagents to get a Biscuit Boost, before arriving at 271. Ultimate Records. Across the road from The Falcon.