Me, a haggard 18-year old, at a Keatons gig.

Sunday 26th August 1990: London

“Error.”

Whenever anything went wrong, Steve usually said “Error”. Things went wrong so often that shouting was a waste of energy. Saying “error” in a calm, measured tone acknowledged the dreadfulness of a situation without making the crisis feel any worse. It also gave the rest of us permission to have a moment of quiet reflection. When a member of our tour party once tried to bring ecstasy into Belgium, causing us all to be strip searched by a brusque moustachioed border guard, that was an error. When we drove for 30 hours to get…

Rhodri Marsden

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