I am a Lord of Lochaber. I’ve perved down Kylie Minogue’s blouse, stood next to Lars Ulrich, hung in Kirk Hammett’s dressing room pre-gig, had lunch with Tim Rogers, almost called Ice T ‘Mr T’ to his face, got hit in face with a sweaty towel thrown by a middle-aged Sex Pistol… I guess I’ve had a few run-ins with fame. Iggy Pop once poked his tongue out at me as I yelled ‘Iggy’ like a drunken dickhead. I’ve had over 250,000 words published in print but I won’t tell you where. I’ve been light-weight versions of Lester Bangs and Hunter S Thompson. I’ve run websites that reached millions but won’t say which ones. I once scored five goals in one half of football. I’ve taken a hat-trick. I drummed in a music video that was played on RAGE. I’ve heard my music played on the radio. I’ve been knocked unconscious. I’ve thrown up on myself. I’ve set my pubes on fire. I’ve been in street-fights. I’ve cried in front of my mates. I’ve suffered a broken heart. I’ve fallen in love. I’ve woken up on the wrong side of town. I’ve been a winner and a loser and a fuck-up. I’ve experienced more shit than many my age. I constantly seek personal redemption. I am sharing my life with an awesome woman who never fails to impress me and drive me to hospital when I have a patented Geoff Moment.

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