‘I come not to slag off Coldplay, but to bury them’

A ‘lost’ column from the late Steven Wells destroys Coldplay, and at the same time his own too-cool-for-school pretentions:

Flashback: I’m on a packed train from London to Manchester, engaged in a slightly stilted conversation with my suit-and-tie wearing travelling companions, all of whom are strangers. When the conversation wanes, one of the suits reaches into his briefcase and pulls out the latest Jeffrey Archer.

“Are you reading that for a bet?” I quip. He stares at me. His companions stare at me. The whole carriage stares at me. Middle England - sick to the bloody back teeth of being mocked and caricatured by coke-snorting, sexually promiscuous, strangely trousered Private Eye and NME-reading Soho sophisticates - turns and stares at me.