13 years old. Wide-eyed, totally confused about my inner self and drenched in the blackest of the blackest goth attire because, hey, it’s the year 2000 and nu-metal has completely engulfed me. Stomping forwards in my ruby-red cracked DMs with no real grace through the streets of London, Brixton, I’ve just pulled myself out of the darkest, sweat-inducing, beer-flowing walls of the Academy. I’m high on the electrifying riffs of Slipknot and dizzy from all of the thrashing and mayhem. I charge like a baby rhino towards the tube to return home, because my parents have warned me, people ‘are going to rob me for every penny’ here. Head down, ploughing through, ascending the concrete station steps, nearly there then…