For some, Punk was about a handful of big‐name bands who built careers fighting about their supreme importance in the general scheme of things. For most of us spikey haired critters, punk was a lifestyle, a place where all the weird kids got together to play; all those outsiders who could never go home anymore. Sure, most of us formed bands or wrote fanzines or did something. The most important thing was he had a world of own. However, whilst raising two fingers to the establishment may have been fun, it did not come without an equal and opposite reaction. The sun may rise but night comes down. Bob Short writes about his involvement in the punk scene on two continents, not so much as a hero but as a witness of the good, the bad and the downright ugly. It is a story about the deaths of people, dreams and ideals. But don’t worry. Some of it is pretty funny. Some of it may even be true.
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