27 years and 8 days ago I saw Motorhead at the Hammersmith Odeon in London. I was 18. I drove there on my motorbike in freezing fog, realising as I passed the Royal Albert Hall that I’d forgotten my ear plugs. Walking through the Odeon foyer I bumped into Kerrang! journalist Morat and Barney Greenway from Napalm Death and had a quick chat. I told them this was my first time seeing the band and they told me they were envious. “You’re in for a treat”.

Just before the lights went down I felt and heard the PA being cranked up: a noticeable hiss and bass hum filled the venue and the crowd roared. The lights went down, Lemmy appeared and suddenly Doctor Rock was pummelling me and it was like nothing I had ever experienced. Yes, it was fucking loud. But it was also fucking amazing.

An hour and a half later I was sat on my motorbike wondering how the hell I was going to get home. I had headbanged so hard I could only look down or up. I couldn’t hold my head still or look forward. The ringing in my ears was insane. My neck hurt for a week afterwards, and I’m fairly sure the damage to my ears from that night is still there almost 30 years later.

These days I have so much regret that I only saw Motorhead one more time before Lemmy passed away. Every year at Christmas, like clockwork, the band would tour the Odeon / Apollo circuit and every year I would think “I’ll give it a miss and go next year”. I assumed, as many did, that Lemmy would live forever and still be gracing stages when he got his letter from the Queen. In 2012 I sorted my shit out and got a ticket for the Manchester show on 6th November. When I arrived at the venue I knew something was up: everyone looked like my grandmother. In one of the biggest fuck-ups of my life, I’d gone on the wrong night. Motorhead had played the day before, the geriatrics were at the Apollo for David fuckin’ Cassidy.

Even when, in 2015, it was apparent Lemmy was properly unwell I felt certain he would recover. He died just two weeks before I was due to see Motorhead once more.

That second show I attended was in 2014 at Manchester Apollo, another gig which lives long in the memory. It was the last time I hung out with my friend of 20 years, Mark Williams. Nicknamed “Geezer”, Mark was a decade older than me and rocked twice as hard. He lived the most amazing life, working all over the world and treating every day as if it might be his last. He knew he was unlikely to live to retirement, because he partied as hard as any rock star. His two favourite bands were Motorhead and The Damned, and they shared that Apollo stage in 2014. Mark was in second heaven that night. His liver gave up on him in early 2015 and I helped carry his coffin at his funeral. I miss him more than Lemmy, but my memories of the two of them are tied up together.

I will always remember where I was when I found out Lemmy and Geezer had died (stood outside Salford Central train station for the former, Cheshire Oaks for the latter). Whilst celebrities were - and still are - passing away at a rate of knots, Lemmy's was the first since Kurt Cobain that had affected me. That night me and Fred Barchetta went home and drank Jack Daniels well into the early hours, listening to Motorhead and talking shit. With a bunch of other friends I gave Lemmy a proper send off in the Salisbury Ale House a day or so later. 12 months on I still get that tug in my heart when I see either of them in photos, or hear Lemmy talk or play. I wish I’d seen more shows. So wish I’d seen more shows. And so wish I could have Geezer back, because he was unique and impossible to replace. But for now its eyes shut, headphones on and No Sleep Til Hammersmith.

This one’s called Iron Horse Born To Lose………..