Curious as to how things were working out at HMV during the dying days of the troubled franchise - where for nine days 18 years ago we managed to hold down a job - I was mooching round a branch in north London. Since I had roughly no money to spend this was an entirely speculative recce. Amid the cut-price, out-of-license blues compilations and the vast array of magical headphones was a GG Allin CD going for 17 quid. That seemed odd. We won't be posting GG Allin here. But we are posting Butthole Surfers, with whom we are mildly obsessed at the moment. "They were drinking from a fountain that was pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain..."