Nick Cave’s chilling account of a man awaiting execution in the electric chair remains a highlight of his huge arena shows more than 30 years later.

When I went to the local deli to buy eggs today the chatty Aussie girl who works there asked me if I was doing anything interesting over the weekend.
Seeing as she is in her 20s, and Australian, I swiftly dismissed what first came to mind (watching Chelsea-Arsenal on TV tomorrow).
I further discounted the second thing that came to mind (making a Spanish-style pheasant and rice dish from Norman Tebbit’s surprisingly great recipe book The Game Cook) because I was sure she would never have heard of Tebbit and wasn’t entirely convinced that they have pheasants in Australia.
Also I was still traumatised by the process of buying the pheasant, which required me to survey the game birds before telling the butcher – in a packed shop – that I was in need of a large cock.
Never not embarrassing, yet somehow unavoidable; much like the hilarity of Bake-Off contestants required to prepare and present to the judges a Spotted Dick this week.
So, what with her being Australian and all, and it being very much on my mind, I told her I was going to see Nick Cave tonight.
She looked back at me not with the envy and admiration I might have anticipated but with a look of mild confusion.
“Who’s he?” she asked.