When it did ring, out of the blue, it was a call that was to change my life again. It was my old friend Andrew Eldritch.

Come and join the Sisters of Mercy he said offering an ironic twist to the story that had begun back in 1982 that night at the Embassy club when I’d asked him to be the singer in Sputnik.

Another adventure was about to start..... But that’s another story.

[Chapter 20...]

Meanwhile who was there reigning me in? I understand so much more now about those crazy years, high on ideas and with the power to make them all happen. My belief and genuine enthusiasm allowed me to convince everyone around me, from to the band to the record company, that every mad idea was achievable. That we’d all have the best fun carrying them out too. I was a charismatic Guy Fawkes determined to burn down the houses of the media, laughing maniacally as I lit the fuse and because when I stood back the results brought success, I was unstoppable.

I just needed a tap on the shoulder when things were getting out of hand. Someone to tell me in a measured voice that if you say “Fleece the World”, if you go out there and sound like you are goading or sneering, then sooner or later, in this industry, that stuff will come back to kill you. This is a great game and you are playing it well, but you have to be measured and watch your back, making sure not to alienate the very people you want to play with.

Power corrupts, that’s for sure and I am the first one to put up my hand and admit that I got carried away, but who loved me enough or was close enough to me to tell me the painful truth, that I was loosing the plot, sounding increasingly like a sneery know it all, with little grasp of reality. I had convinced everyone that I had the infallible plan, that I knew all the answers, who can blame many of the people around for being pissed off at me when it all went wrong, when I couldn’t continue to make all their dreams come true and they saw me as suddenly human and vulnerable and just as insecure as they were.

And as we know, when you are vulnerable like that, all those people you were goading and sneering at, all the ones watching and judging, even if they were happy to come along for the ride, they will be the ones waiting for a chance to kick you the hardest when it all comes crashing down.

The phone, that had never stopped ringing was suddenly deathly quiet, as was the office on 392b Harrow Road, devoid now of all trace of Ultra Vixens.