So: More John Peel.

Walker's birthday tonight, so all manner of nonsense conversation. Particularly, we wander back to Peel's death. We start swapping stories - future pop songs beamed into our minds through the government-paid speakers which change our lives forever. I end up telling a story about myself linked to Peel.

You see, I've never deliberately listened to Teenage Kicks since I turned 20. I decided that indulging in something as eternally perfect as Teenage kicks post-20s was a complete betrayl of what I got from the track. Sure, I'd dance to it if it came on to a club, but I had to sacrifice it to whatever Gods I possessed because it was greater and better than I was.

And I did it. Never listened to it since. That's just shy of a decade. That's several pop life-times.

Pete and Jim raise eyebrows. Jim tells me that he's never taken Teenage Kicks in that naive way - that it's clearly about needing something in a teenage way rather than a literal teenage lust. In that someone who makes you feel an over-powering craving that you just can't shake rather than anything more obvious... and I think "Actually, yeah."

Suddenly it clicks, and I feel stupid for being incapable of making the leap myself. I gain the ability to process Teenage Kicks in a manner other than my teenage guilt penance, and my heart flips over in my chest.

Hence, as I'm writing this, I find myself writing Teenage Kicks on repeat. And it's glorious.

Other minor peel story: I was in a club, slagging off John Peel. I was arguing he removed any genuinely radical sting from any new music by contexualising it in a 30-year old pocket. So, in other words, was essentially evil.

A girl turns around from the row in front of me, and tells me I'm full of shit.

And that was Jane.

Thanks John.