Were you the one asking Miles to "play a choon" like it was some kind of Zen Mantra by the time he was into his 19th minute of introducing "Let's Hope I Get It Right This Time"?

Were you the one who endlessly shouted 'CIRCLESQUARE' or 'SLEEP ALONE' and only woke up when he played songs written when you were a virgin?

To remind you of those old days, you most definitely are sleeping alone tonight.

Were you the one who I spent most of the gig watching your gravity-defying drink of Red Bull & Vodka trying to work out when *exactly* I was going to get covered in your shitty booze?

Were you the one having a big five guy manboylovehuddle during the ye older 'Wonderstuff' choons?

Were you the one quaffing your seventh beer, holding one in each hand, constantly falling over me and my mates three times looking like some kind of hairless ape?

Were you the one talking endlessly about your meaningless life very loudly, where you live in the past, don't realise that any records were made after 1994? (Oasis and R*bbie W*ll*ams don't count, ok?).

So that you know, I don't go to your place of work and ask you to swill through old rotting cow shit like you did a decade ago, right?

Then you mate are a drunk cunt, and I kindly invite you to ONLY go to Wonder Stuff gigs, get incredibly drunk beforehand and fall asleep in the foyer of the gig so that me and several hundred other people with taste, style, and an awareness of the fact that it isn't 1991 can enjoy decent music without you. Remember Wonder Stuff gigs for Wonder Stuff songs. Miles Hunt gigs for Miles Hunt songs.

So You, Yes, You with the big mouth shouting loudly about your meaningless life and your seventh pint, for whom gravity is a nemesis you cannot defeat, time an adversary who will never lose, and dignity something you can never have, please please please Fuck Off back to the Eighties, you balding, drunk, idiot cunt.

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