iSound

I was born in London, May 2nd 1972. My earliest memory is sitting on a bench in the dining room of a Kings Cross B&B staring down at my shoes, which kept slipping off my feet because I had lost my laces. The B&B was the first place we stopped after moving north of the river from Brixton in 1974. Two pictures hung on the walls of the various places we lived that stick in the mind. The first was a Sacred Heart of Jesus; you know the ones with a red light bulb on a little ledge just beneath the picture of Our Lord baring His burning heart for all to see. The other was a huge framed photo of Elvis circa 1974 resplendent in a white rhinestone encrusted jumpsuit slashed to the midriff, guitar slung about his hips, jet-black hair, bronze skin, a little overweight but not yet the bloated grotesque he would soon become. In our home Jesus was God; but Elvis wasn’t far behind. My father is an Elvis fanatic. As a seven-year-old Irish boy in 1957 he hustled his way into a cinema to see J...