The pub is on the Prince of Wales Road, it has changed its name, but back then it was called The Butcher’s Hook. We head down the stair, into the basement, and the place is filthy and smells of pish. There are thick black curtains hanging down, blocking off certain areas. This is the fucking orgy scene forever, I says to Tommy. Only there are no birds, Tommy says to me. I hadn’t noticed that before, but it was all men (it was fucking ominous) and at the end of the room there’s a DJ set up, a dark-skinned guy with the dreadlocks name of John The Gun.