Chris Green was festering away in Reading until Johnny Rotten and punk came along to save his soul. Naively believing that you really could do what you wanted, he wrote for fanzines, promoted groups and ran indie record labels before a handful of ‘proper’ jobs as a postman, binman and waste operations manager. Currently a middle-aged listener, thinker, writer and man of leisure addicted to MotoGP, Premier League football and doing proper ‘fuck all’, he recently moved to the small village of Charminster near Dorchester, Dorset with his wife Claire and his conscience.