To claim indifference as Clinton Hammond does and then launch into a vitriolic attack is a bit of a cheap trick. If your friend really did bottle Shane and get paraded around like a hero – which I very much doubt – then he's just a sad loser.

I appreciate that his habit of not showing for gigs (or turning up completely shitfaced) is irritating, but I would argue that he really shouldn't be playing gigs and touring at all. For a man cursed with his proclivities, that whole rock'n'roll circus is just a greasy pole. (Although I'm not sure that staying at home is such a good idea either. I've seen the liggers swarming around him in Filthy's, buying him drinks (like he needed their charity, who are they kidding?) just to get some sort of buzz from being in the presence of "celebrity".)

There was a period when the Pogues were one of the best punk bands and one of the best folk bands on the planet. Then it all started to go wrong because Shane started putting too much energy into self-destruction and not enough into the band. He lost commitment and lost touch with his songwriting ability. There was still some evidence of it on Peace and Love (e.g. White City). But by Hell's Ditch he was empty. (Five Green Queens and Jean? Too many e's, Shane!)

And then the Pogues "kicked him out". It was inevitable that they would implode. But ditching Shane was not a bright career move. Like it or lump it, Shane was the epicentre of the Pogues and his departure showed that any musical outfit needs a musical director, a focal point. Without him they disappeared without trace.

The Popes' stuff showed that Shane was back on form. The first Popes' album was a gem, but the Crock Of Gold was distilled Shane MacGowan. It didn't get a very warm reception at the time and is now viewed by many as a footnote in the Shane story. But I think a few people missed the point. This was Shane showing the world the lie that underpins the Hollywood/stage-Oirish myth of the Emerald Isle as a mighty place altogether, where the little brooks bubble and there's a hundred thousand welcomes offered from each whitewashed cottage in each sheltered glen. Shane shows that it's not all Glocka-bloody-morra … there's a great deal of the Sodom and Gomorrah in the Irish experience as well. It's an album full of "rub-yer-nose-in-it" material, where Shane takes the point of view of the misfit and the malcontent.

Saint or sinner? Neither … but I reckon I know whose side he's on!