At the height of his initial, turn-of-the-1990's infamy as the maraca-wielding dancer with 'Madchester' giants …
After some weeks in my idea of paradise, I decided I was ready to go home again. Still completely without cash, I hung around for a few days in the harbour area, and I'm not proud to say I was robbing off the Moroccans while I waited for Nan and Grandad Berry to send me money for my return fare to Blighty. The police and general public in this town could see what I was up to, unwashed and prowling around, and they weren't happy with me, chasing me all through the streets, which was quite frightening. You don't want to end up in a Moroccan jail, so I scarpered and lived in a cave for a while, out of cash and starving, while I waited for that lifesaving letter from my grandparents to get me out of there.