It was August ‘79. We’d come ashore in Yarmouth midway through a month’s stint out at sea sampling the sandy shite on the bottom of the North Sea. Wandering around trying to find a pub that would a/ let you in (jeans, wrong smelling trainers that kind of shit) and b/ wasn’t solely populated by two or three abandoned psycho lascars and a couple of enormous prossies, somehow we arrived the local Tiffany’s and were allowed in.

Chrome rails, sticky carpets, the stench of Stringfellow, crap, flat overpriced lager, the ‘are you looking at at my bird’ mob, the same script nationwide.

Then it happened. I’d never heard anything quite like it before. Sure, I was big into my punk and had had a clandestine love of reggae for as long as I could remember, but this was something different. In Tiffany’s.

Gangsters. It just seemed so right. The spike esos, the rhythm, the words, it was all I’d ever wanted from a tune. 3 mental minutes of sticky dance floor mayhem l was besotted. Thrice more that evening and thrice more the same mayhem ensued. Fuck, I couldn’t wait to hit dry land again.

First chance to see them when I got back was at Leeds Uni. It was a joyous occasion. So many great songs interspersed with old gems. John Brad hammering out the beats, Rico’s horn, Neville’s rude buoy toasting all topped with that voice. Never the greatest vocalist, but always one you’d listen. Bored? Half interested? Who gave a fuck, it worked beautifully. This one ended as did most, with a mass stage invasion, moonstomping away at the end, skins, punks, rude boys, everything except nazis. I’ve still got my drumstick from that bash. I was hooked.

A year or so later and that was it. They’d imploded. Jerry went with his conscience and the Special AKA and some of the greatest protest songs ever written or performed - I give you Rhoda Dakar’s the Boiler and defy you to be moved or, as a man embarrassed by it. Terry, Nev and Lynval went for the lighter touch and came up with the Lunatics.

Dismissed as a one off comedy song, Terry and Lynval revisited it nearly 40 years later on Encore. This was the first time I’d seen them live since that first tour at Leeds. Brussels Ancienne Belgique. I knew they the venue well of old, but really had no idea what to expect of the band - would it be some kind of novelty tribute act? Would they appeared as a bunch of washed up has been?

My fears were totally misplaced. They were as good as, if not better than those early days. Mellowed? Had they fuck! As angry, as acerbic and even more relevant than they were first time round. If you missed that tour you missed an absolute treat.

I know all about the footy thing and it rankled at the time. But that last gig brought all the great songs flooding back. The footy thing was a petulant display on nonsense. For it to have any influence on Terry’s legacy is petty and misplaced.

Listen to those three albums, Specials, More Specials and Encore. They are are a collective work of great beauty and huge cultural significance, none of which would exist without the great Terry Hall. RIP Terry - you gave and will continue to give, for me at least great joy.