September 13th and the fat cats are stirring. Bolan has strained his hip, Bowie has surrounded himself with camera-smashing heavies, Jesus Christ is playing the Palace and "Darling David" had the teenies screaming from the roof-tops for a week. Slade is Britain's Number One Group and Noddy Holder still lives at home with his mother and father. It's Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich time. Motto for the month: bend it.

I've moved from the north to the midlands. No skins here, but Slade-heads. They all wear: plaid trousers held up by skinny braces, tam-o-shanters, striped jumpers, red and yellow clogs that echo. Coventry City are one of the shittiest football teams ever, so the local sport is in the precinct — grabbing ass, snickering, staring. I hurry past but no refuge in the pubs or discos — they're so fucking huge. As the local Mecca has it: