If you’ve ever spent any time hanging around the live music scene, especially the furtive niche of experimental noise and heavy metal which is where The Chemical Spray plied its harrowing trade, then you know that it’s full of wallowing losers and manipulative assholes who prey on the delicate fluids of the saucer-eyed loners from the sticks in their Sabbath t-shirts who would hang around at the fringes. “Hateful motherfuckers who deserve to get punched,” is how Alice would put it, cigarette dangling from the edge of her mouth, as we stood outside the Picadilly in the rain after a show watching these cocaine-lean miscreants in their poser Rod Stewart casino tour coiffures deigning to flirt with some skittish colts from the suburbs as busses hissed past us on the street. | image by @_awdesign