The Perfect Circle didn’t form on a particular date, they evolved over a couple of years, from paper and comb harmonica, broken snare drum and an old Rosette acoustic guitar to a fully equipped Mod band owned by the music shops of Oxford Road.

We were spurred on by The Who’s instant stardom (we thought it was instant) and our desire to become rock stars.

We’d patiently practised for months locked away in secluded bedrooms so no-one would hear us - rejection at such an early stage would have been disastrous. Eventually with a little confidence and even less talent we booked a practice room at my school youth club - St Dominic Savio’s in Alkrington - aware that most of the town's bands regularly practiced there.

I remember the first practice. We set up in one of the downstairs classrooms then wandered the school listening to the other groups before packing up and going home again. Initial modesty behind us the next time we turned the volume up to eleven and went for it eager to get on stage and take on the competition.

Every Friday the Middleton Guardian taunted us with the names of our competitors: The Modrox, Formula Five, The Graduates, The Fly-B-Nites, Schemoes Corps, The Blues Council, Young Blood, The Bankers, The Blues Organisation, T.N.T. and the Dynamites, The Phantoms, The Kasual Five, The Mitres, The Impacts, The Blueprints, Pete and the Condors, Effects Five and even Mervin and the Shymen were not slow at coming forward and climbing on stage.

I use the word competitors but looking back the only competition was between our ego and our ability.

We soon built up a good following in the town. we got an agent and bought a van that we could push to gigs with our equipment in, knowing it was only a matter of time before we could afford the engine repairs and spread our name further afield.

There were two kinds of Mods. One lot wore slick Italian-styled suits or casual polo shirts and jeans and the others dressed in op-art and eye boggling checks that looked like the aftermath of a battle of the Scottish clans. We came in the latter category. I dread to think what adverse affect our attire would have had on the quality of the television picture had we been invited on Ready Steady Go.

We may not have mastered every chord in the book or the flam and paradiddle but we had feedback and the rumble of thunder down to a fine art. Any song we were unsure of we simply turned up the volume and increased the feedback.

With patience and a lot of hard work we did become competent and worked the pubs and clubs of the North West, entered countless battle of the bands contests and sweated blood on the workingmen’s club circuit.

Unable to write anything of worth we purposely looked for lesser known artists and songs, much of it recorded off RSG. We copied The Who's version of Man With Money, Clayton Squares’ Come And Get It, Mark Leeman Five’s Forbidden Fruit and Garry Farr and the T-Bones’ One More Chance along with many others all mixed in with copious helpings of soul music and served up a la Small Faces.

Ready Steady Go spawned the so-called Mod bands like The Who, The Small Faces, Creation and Action. Performing became more than rendering a tune, it was fun and exciting. Anthems like the Amen Chorus and Land Of A Thousand Dances rang out enticing audiences back on to the dance floor.

Mortality is not a subject that one ponders at the tender age of 17 but it did come to the fore at a Heywood youth club. Electricity in the sixties came from an IQ puzzle of differing plug sockets. There were coaxial sockets, three-pin round big, three-pin round small and three-pin square sockets and various damaged combinations in-between. The problem of square pegs in round holes was solved by removing the extension lead plug and ramming the wires into the socket with a little screwdriver.

This particular night we were going down pretty well as we went in to the second number.

Roy holding a chord shape on his guitar reached out for the microphone and began to dance. Nice touch we all thought, smiling and nodding approval. All except for roadie, Tony Valente who recognised a high voltage and a low pain threshold.

Tony ripped the extension cable out of the wall saving Roy’s life but loosing the dance moves before we could commit them to memory.

The show did go on but it was at least three years before Roy touched his guitar and microphone in unison again.

In ‘67 we applied to Kennedy Street Enterprises for representation and an audition at the Rex Ballroom in Wilmslow was arranged. We passed and were represented by a young fellow named Terence Morton Smith who came to the Limit in Middleton to check out our usual show.

He liked what he saw and after a meeting in his office - knocking back whisky and smoking fine panatelas – we agreed to go on tour as support for the Merserybeats. Unfortunately we had apprenticeships and parents that were determined we were going to see them through to the end. Sadly our professional careers were dashed before they began and the Merseybeats would have to struggle on without our help.

Not only did we miss our shot at fame we also missed negotiations between our organist, Darryl Ogden, and members of Powerhouse during a late night feast at Greasy Lil’s. A regular haunt for Middleton’s ravenous musicians. Darryl left the Perfect Circle and joined Powerhouse at the peak of their success.

By the time the Perfect Circle, played the Mayor’s Ball on New Year’s Eve 1966 the Manchester Act of 1965 had begun to kill off the cellar clubs, sealing the fate of the Manchester music scene.

There was no room for the raw edged bands on the cabaret circuit and support slots went to DJs for a fraction of the price.

Only the good survived and there was little chance of new bands finding venues to learn their trade.