The first time Crossrail ever dented my consciousness was in about 2006 via a petition to save the London Astoria, a stalwart of London’s music scene even since my parents had been frequent gig-goers.
Their misty-eyed memories of David Bowie et al would make me bristle with indignation at their claim to MY venue, even as I enjoyed the reassuring continuity of rock history watching Fun Lovin’ Criminals or Franz Ferdinand (look, you get the era you’re given).
