‘Hi, I’m Angela Morton. You wrote in response to my ad in the Eye?’ I don’t normally get flustered but with a rag full of cat shit, on my knee... and nearly puking from the smell it was a close thing. Recovering my composure she invited me to meet her over coffee for an interview. ‘I don’t do formal,’ she said in a voice which seemed to have a constant hint of a smile in it. We met the following afternoon in a hotel lounge near the main railway station. It was pleasant and relatively quiet, like. "I swear I think Emma's eye twitched, "Can't say I have." God bless her she was trying to be nice.The next two guys heard the question Emma had kept asking and they played covers. One guy played "Sweet Child of Mine" in the wrong key. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard and cats getting murdered at the same time. The other guy played a Metallica song, and did a pretty decent job but it wasn't in Emma's vocal range.Finally it was my turn and I walked out shifting my guitar strap. I plugged. More

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