Did I ever tell you about the time I was sent to a tiny little secondary stage at the O2 Islington Academy?
Did I tell you how I stood there plotting to kill our editor as I was pinned between the pre pubescent girls, horny dads and the PA system?
Did I tell you how Misterwives bounded onto the stage and skipped and clapped like they were Prozac made flesh?
Did I tell you how I left the venue weeping, not knowing whether to masturbate in the toilets, hang myself from the door or both?
Did I tell you how support act Vérité kept reverberating in my head for the rest of the night?
Did I tell you about Verité?
Photos and disgruntlement by Carl Byron Batson. Not to be reproduced without express prior permission.