the U.S. Martin Atkins and I were out for another night on the slash. It was a club full of the New York pseudo post-punk impressionist brigade and as usual, we were there to take the piss. So it was, that I ended up talking to big "J" along with a group of hangers-on making small talk about diddly squat. He was stood there attracting the in-awe gazes of the assembled New York imps and he had taken something, something that made his dark eyes widen, accentuating that inane stare that had become his trade mark. "Where are you living these days John?" I asked innocently. My attempts at small talk were as pathetic as the rest. He turned to face me and fixed me with that stare. The stare that had been well practised since his days of prancing up and down the Kings road, that had frightened so many people, and he snarled back, "Don't play that game with me sonny!" Well fuck me! I was only making conversation but it unnerved me nonetheless, even knowing what he was like. Perhaps my first words to him weren't the greatest of openers to ask the great punk icon but what the heck. It was a dingy loud nightclub, I was pissed and it all seemed so unreal. At that time I never thought I would eventually become part of PiL and I truly thought John was an arse, when I eventually became part of PiL in '82 I got to know the man a little better and saw through some of the facade. Not that he would let you past that defence of his, but I could see beyond that and behind it was an altogether different person.
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