Pooped!

When we were teenagers, pop music filled our lives. I followed a niche band called The Rabbit Droppings. As you’d expect, they weren’t big.

Back then it was de rigeur to buy a weekly music magazine. The Melody Maker loved the band, but I bought the New Musical Express. I switched allegiance when its vicious female journalist started slagging off the Droppings, nicknaming them the Bunny Shites. The journo apparently once dated the lead singer.

Things improved when, grudgingly, the frontman took up with her once again.

It proves the old adage, ‘keep your friends close, but your NME closer’.