Heard "A Grand Don't Come for Free" on the bus home and it still hits different — Mike Skinner describing exactly the kind of Tuesday where you lose your keys, your bird, and a grand in cash all before tea. That album got me through 2012 when Sarah walked out and I spent three months sleeping on my mate's sofa in Tottenham, staring at the ceiling listening to "Dry Your Eyes" on repeat. Twenty years later and I still can't hear the opening beat of "Fit But You Know It" without tasting cheap lager