Ever since he heard ‘”Eezer Goode, Eezer Goode, He’s Ebeneezer Goode” by The Shaman in 1992 this guy has been permanently on the party train. That’s 24 years of hard graft he’s put in. If you look closely at his face you can see that he’s probably a little older than he appeared at first glance and that despite his slightly glum expression the smiley culture runs deep within his soul. Nowadays he hangs out at rave revival nights listening to Slipmatt and Micky Finn pulling out all the old classics. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give to go back, for just one night, to the utopia that was Fantazia at Castle Donington. Hardcore will never die.