IT’s still amazing and wonderful to me that I have managed to earn my living for over 40 years doing something I enjoy so much that I’d have done it as my main lifetime hobby all that time if I hadn’t earned a penny. And no, I’m not “a celebrity” — especially in the modern, vapid sense of the word — and most certainly don’t need anyone to “get me out of here.” I’m content where I am, thank you very much. I’m faster than most and I live on the coast. 

And even more amazing for me, after four-and-half decades and 4,000 shows in 26 countries as Attila the Stockbroker, is that the most utterly batshit of all the many completely nuts experiences I have had in my travels across Britain, Europe and the wider world has unravelled in the last 18 months, as I traverse my 67th and 68th years. And I didn’t actually go anywhere.

Next Friday I am releasing two new tracks. Over the years I’ve wandered through punk poetry, spoken word, acoustic punk, melodic punk, early music punk, thrash punk, ska, dub poetry and industrial language (a Laibach-influenced genre I created for myself.)