Around 1998… my friend Peter and I were ushering for a special gala at the Lyceum theatre, attended by Her Majesty the Queen… We kept hearing incredible whispers that David Bowie would be performing… Our imaginations ran wild as to how best to snag this opportunity to snare our idol, to tell him we were just like he was, that he was one of us, and we were, well, one of him. So, we compiled a note for him, on which was scrawled an offer we thought he would be unable to resist: an invitation for him to join us for a cup of tea at our squat. Yeeeah. He’d see we too were rebel space cowboys, and he would marvel at our collections of stolen books and random movie posters.