"I grew up in London, but I spent my teens in the countryside, and I’d come to London on the weekends. It was the early stages of the band where we were meeting new people, getting drunk and stoned - all of those really formative experiences of exploring the decadent debauchery that London has to offer. Then at the end of the weekend I’d have to hop on a train and go back to the sanity of school life. “Whenever I hear this song it evokes that feeling, the sense of the early days of the band and discovering my gang. Your early twenties are about finding your tribe, which is what I did during that time by travelling to London and having those formative experiences with them. “Last Train to London” evokes that sense of finding where you belong, and it happens to contextually fit in with my experience at the time. “It’s a stark contrast to the previously mentioned songs, which are a little darker and heavier. It’s a feel-good tune to me, although it’s a song which has a kind of sad, bittersweet mood in the lyrics, like “I really want tonight to last forever / I really want to be with you.” I felt that bittersweet feeling at the time. “It’s also just a great disco banger! It’s mixed so loud and so relentlessly; and sonically it’s an incredible song. I’m uplifted whenever I hear it, it makes me feel elated. I always drop it when I DJ, it bulldozes the songs on either side of it when I play it."

"Here we are in 2016. Having enjoyed a rather robust excursion through the ‘70s, it seems like yesterday. As the clock swings around, things tend to reappear – but in this case revisiting the ‘70s is certainly not nostalgic. The ‘70s was a period of style, statement and fashion that probably should not be repeated. It was horrible! The oranges and the browns, the suede combos. I think Charles is challenging a prospective buyer to see through it, to get beyond the repellent quality of the horrible ‘70s, saying, ""If you dare buy this, you probably know to avoid what you're seeing. Let's get into what you're listening to."" 

From the ‘70s what was salvageable on the musical side was truly good. Here in London on Greek Street there was a really cool spot named Madame Jojo's. It was closed up not so very long ago. There was a great northern soul DJ named Keb Darge on Thursday nights who I got to be friendly with. Seventies pop music was intolerable but what we can now embrace as northern soul was something you could really sink your teeth into with satisfaction. He had the deepest record box on those Thursday nights. Recently I tried to take my lovely sweetheart Ms Gilligan to experience it but Keb was absent and instead there was a celebration of transvestism. We had a great time, but the following weekend we were at Camden Market and I bumped into none other than Keb who was still on a quest, trading records. The vinyl game is still vibrant and it's mostly alive at second-hand shops and flea markets. Vinyl trading reigns supreme."

"I kept reading about punk, but the local radio station wouldn’t play punk; they didn’t think it was real music. That led to me one of the musical discoveries of my life. One night, I really wanted to hear what this punk music was and, turning the radio dial, I heard John Peel’s radio show. I started listening to it and taking songs off there all the time, and that became my musical education. It made me want to form a group; the early Pulp were really just a ragbag of the influences that we’d picked up from listening to John Peel’s show every night. The first Devo album came out that year [in 1978], and I went to see them play at the City Hall in Sheffield, which was quite influential. One of the first songs that Pulp learned how to play was the Devo song “Gut Feeling.” A couple of years later, when we first did some recordings, I took them to John Peel—he used to do these road shows at colleges, and I just went along to the one he did in Sheffield and hung around and gave him the tape after when he was putting all his records back into his DJ box at the end. He listened to it on the way home, and that really changed my life. Then he gave us a session [in 1981]. We were all still at school. I was 16 or maybe just 17, and the drummer was 15 and he looked about 12. He could hardly reach the bass drum pedal to play the drum."