Punks (some of them) come and punks (most of them) go but the British Christmas is always the same: family cosiness, turkey and stuffing, the Queen's speech, cups of tea, the solemn exchange of Rod Stewart's latest LP. His release date is, on the official calendar, (end of October this year) the start of the Christmas season—shopping and all that—and no one's supposed to listen to it 'til Xmas Day. I haven't and so I've got nothing more to say except that if 1977 was a Rotten year, it'll be the last one for a while. We're now entering PP Time—post-punk—recognisable by 1. Punk Snobs.

Lot of 'em about, especially in the music business, especially musicians: "The Pistols and the Clash, they're alright. I mean, what they did was original; didn't I always say so? (No) But the others, all those punk punters leaping on the bandwagofi—man, they haven't got an original idea in their heads and they've all got recording contracts and! can't tell one from the other and, I tell you, the punk scene's blown. Two good bands and a load of rubbisji—who needs it?"