I must have been about 15 when Jeremy made a ludicrous suggestion. Jeremy Blackford and I went to the same school in Beaconsfield, where we lived. He was always known as Jel.  We must have met when we were about 7 or 8, my memory is hazy there, and though we were friendly, we weren’t exactly friends.  But he was clever and funny…

Everybody goes on holiday in August.  Sounds great, doesn’t it?  The problem is that music is collaborative; we have to be together, in a room, struggling with words, or tuning, or broken strings, or even (yes) arguments. 

Quiz question:  In the world of popular music, what is the year 1967 particularly significant for? Answer: Well, the release of Sergeant Pepper of course.  And… wait for it… the birth of NTP!!

Why was a drum kit in the room? I can’t remember. It was a house party, a birthday I think.

Al Spokes’ house was in Bourne End, a well-to-do area on the river about half an hour away from Beaconsfield. Big house, big garden, lovely neck of the woods but, most important, there was a room above the garage.

The joke goes like this… A young man finds a teacher and asks if he’ll teach him to play bass guitar. “Come on Saturday,” says the teacher. At the lesson, the teacher tells him to pluck the bottom string. “That’s an E,” he says. “Now go away and practice that string and come back next week.” The following Saturday, the teacher tells the student to play the next string up. “That’s the A string. Now go away and practice playing the E and the A alternately.” The following week, the student doesn’t show up, so the teacher calls him.“Is everything ok? You didn’t come for your lesson….” “Oh, no, I’m sorry about that,” explains the student, “But I’m getting too many gigs.” This is a joke premised on the belief that the bass guitar is easy.  It isn’t; no instrument is easy.

On the first day of the first term Mick and I were walking down Manchester’s Oxford Road back to Owens Park, having discovered we were in the same hall of residence. I’d never got the required A Level grades, but the Cavalry had somehow persuaded the faculty that I’d make a good student, and Mick had got in through clearing.

I remember, well actually I don’t, not really, only bits, images rather than chronologies…

The other plan in the Ultras heads (see It’s Alright, Isn’t) was to become a recording band. We were writing our own stuff - what better way to enrich the waiting world than by making records? Easier said than done, of course.

So… I ran away. Manchester was another life, of students, theatre, acting and a household shared with Mick and his pregnant girlfriend. I wouldn’t have to think.