Pity poor Tracey Evans, the object of my affection, as she arrives to work to find another token of my ardour on her desk. Here’s my debut album. “You don’t have a record…

Timbo’s Dad was a cop. Plain clothes, CID. Through his connections on Sheffield’s night-life scene he engineered a gig for our band, The Sounds, at a salubrious spot called Baileys, just a collar-feel…