The 4-Legged Groove-Machine

Between the ages of about 18 and 22,
The Wonder Stuff were far-and-away my favourite band.
They were the reason I first grew my hair long
and wore ripped-jeans.
I slept on railway stations for them
and even, occasionally, affected a Black Country accent.
It was The Wonder Stuff that keep me sane
during the long bad summer
I spent trapped on a holiday camp in Suffolk.
I listened to them, religiously, at least once a day.
I put pictures of them up on my chalet walls.
Their drummer, Martin Gilks, died last Monday.
He was 41. That's all.
He died in a hospital in Tooting, South London -
from injuries sustained in a road accident.
Strangely enough, I was in Tooting that Monday night,
and we'd been talking about The Wonder Stuff,
while we sat on a tour-bus style coach trying not to fall asleep.
I'd passed around an old photo of me from 1991,
in which I was putting on my very best Miles Hunt sneer.
Remember kids;
motorbikes aren't big and they aren't clever.
They are dangerous. Really fucking dangerous.

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