(instrumental)

CROWD: We demand a universal Grid! We demand a universal Grid!
We demand a universal Grid! We demand a universal Grid!

Ray speaking into a tape recorder

RAY: ID - Ray High, Gridlife Chronicles. November the tenth, 1992. I'm working on my own in here, going over some old music I did in 1970. It's got something, something special. I could really dream then. It ain't such a bad dream either.

Walking to a club

RAY: I've been completely degraded by chasing publicity. Degraded! Yeah, I'll never go back. I know too much. I know how it's done. I can't discover it all over again, make it seem new.

RASTUS: You're great, Ray. You know that, man. Here, hold up. This is the place.

RAY: What? Can't go in here. That bloody cow Ruth Streeting uses this club. She hates my guts.

RASTUS: It's her job to hate your guts. She's a journalist. It's nothing personal. Oh sod it, I forgot, of course she won't be here. She's in the States. Oh c'mon, let's go in anyway. We've got to get back in the mainstream sometime. Come on, you own shares in the place.

RAY: That cow wrote that I'm ugly.

RASTUS: Well, you are ugly.

RAY: I'm not.

RASTUS: Yes you are.

RAY: No, I'm not!

RASTUS: Well, you are, actually.

RAY: Oh bollocks. Oh, let's go in.