“All these polo-necked wankers from grammar schools were going out and buying songs like ‘San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair)’. Flowers in your hair? Do me a f**king favour.[...]Who gave a dog’s arse about what people were doing in San Francisco, anyway? The only flowers anyone saw in Aston were the ones they threw in the hole after you when you croaked it at the age of fifty-three ’cos you’d worked yourself to death.I hated those hippy-dippy songs, man.Really hated them.”

“Apart from Tony Iommi – who I’d never seen again since leaving school – I didn’t even know anyone who could play a musical instrument. So, instead, I decided to grow my hair long and get some tattoos. At least I’d look the part.The hair was easy. The tattoos stung like a f**king bastard.”

“The thing is, I’ve never believed in feuds. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve been angry with people. Very angry – with people like Patrick Meehan, or that lawyer who tried to bill me for a drink, or Bob Daisley. But I don’t hate them. And I don’t wish them any harm. I reckon hating someone is just a total f**king waste of time and effort. What do you get out of it in the end? Nothing. I’m not trying to come over like the Archangel Gabriel here. I just think that if you’re pissed off with someone, call them an arsehole, get it out of your system, and move on. It’s not like we’re on this earth very long.”

“If you don’t have a sense of humour when you’re in a band, you end up like f**king Emerson, Lake and Palmer, making eight-disc LPs so you can all have your own three-hour f**king solos.And who wants to listen to that bollocks?”

“‘And what about a [band] name?’ said Tony [Iommi]. The three of us looked at each other.‘We should all take a couple of days to think about it,’ I said. ‘I dunno about you two, but I’ve got a special place where I go to get ideas for important stuff like this. It’s never failed me yet.’Forty-eight hours later I blurted out: ‘I’ve got it!’‘Must have been that dodgy bird you poked the other night,’ said Geezer. ‘Has your whelk turned green yet?’ Tony and Bill snickered into their plates of egg and chips. We were sitting in a greasy spoon caff in Aston. So far, everyone was getting along famously.‘Very funny, Geezer,’ I said, waving an eggy fork at him. ‘I mean the name for our band.’The snickering died down.‘Go on then,’ said Tony [Iommi].‘Well, I was on the shitter last night, and...'‘That’s your special place?’ spluttered Bill, blobs of mushed-up egg and HP sauce flying out of his mouth.‘Where the f**k did you think it was, Bill?’ I said. ‘The hanging gardens of f**king Babylon?”

“I stomped down the hallway, twisted the latch on the front door, and yanked it open.‘Are you… “Ozzy Zig”?’ said Guy Fawkes, in a thick Brummie accent.‘Who wants to know?’ I said, folding my arms.‘Terry Butler,’ he said. ‘I saw your ad.’That was exactly what I’d hoped he was going to say. Truth was, I’d been waiting a long time for this moment. I’d dreamed about it. I’d fantasised about it. I’d had conversations with myself on the shitter about it. One day, I thought, people might write newspaper articles about my ad in the window of Ringway Music, saying it was the turning point in the life of John Michael Osbourne, ex-car horn tuner. ‘Tell me, Mr Osbourne,’ I’d be asked by Robin Day on the BBC, ‘when you were growing up in Aston, did you ever think that a simple advert in a music shop window would lead to you becoming the fifth member of the Beatles, and your sister Iris getting married to Paul McCartney?’And I’d answer, ‘Never in a million years, Robin, never in a million years.’It was a f**king awesome ad.”

“Mind you, no one who lives in the real world spends the whole time going around saying, ‘Oh yes,darling, I understand, let’s talk about our “feelings”, lah-dee-f**king-dah.’ People who say they’ve never had a cross word are living on another f**king planet.”