I believe I may have something to say about this unpleasant arrival on the scene. Young man, were we to play at a gig together, the girls would indeed be falling over you....to get to me. I have skill in this area. They may chant your name, but I will have their phone numbers before you have recovered from the concussion incurred during the stampede. I shall select the classy ladies, and you can keep the ones that a foul mouthed degenerate like you deserves. They are beneath my contempt anyway.

With regard to musical talent, brother Oakley has more in his little finger than you will ever accumulate. And if it's a lead break that turns you on, bow down and worship before the Meister. I was rocking before you were a twinkle in your unknown daddy's eye.

Grotty English pubs, you say? Give me gaslight, Guinness and a roaring fire anyday over colonial bars serving tasteless froth.

I wish you luck on your forthcoming world tour, Philip, and hope you get lost in Siberia. I hear there are some delightful Olga's there. But you better stay off my turf, unless you wish to be revealed as the talentless fraud you are.

The Gauntlet is down, chaps.