His sentences were swelled by Californian affectation. Words crept out of his mouth and settled on the table in front of him.

As he was on the radio - mid-interview with the evergreen Johnnie Walker - I could only imagine his appearance. Leather trousers, surely, tucked into outrageous motorcycle boots. His cap sleeved, T-shirted chest would swell as if a pigeon. His face would be framed by a blonde mullet and, of course, Raybans would shield him from the world.

I could be wrong, of course. Billy Idol, back from the rock star's obligatory motorcycle crash, had returned to London to promote a new album, his first set of original songs for 12 years.

And how comforting it is, to discover that his rock caricature persona fully intact.

I could never bring myself to dislike Idol. His vision of a rock star who wished to do nothing more profound that 'hang with his lady' in some Hollywood hotel, always carried a beautiful innocence. This is even more profound today.

Indeed, it's like Cradle of Filth never happened. In Billy's world, his alarming pseudo Elvis sneer would be accepted as normal facial behaviour and his dance-stance, always about as sexually charged as Roger Whittaker, just wouldn't be quite so ludicrous.

But, as stated, I'm so pleased to see him back. His album, to be reviewed here soon, sounds exactly as you would imagine and the lyric to his pre-album single is about...er,...hanging with his lady in some hotel room. So all is well with the world. I am pleased also, to see his name added to the list of acts outlined to appear at this year's Download Festival at Castle Donington (and, immediately, one can sense a swirling vortex of mosh-pit hell during White Wedding). It's an extraordinary bill, this year too, with Billy joining Black Sabbath, Velvet Revolver, System of a Down, Slipknot, Garbage, Feeder, Prodigy. Extraordinary. Download is my favourite of the British festivals, partly because it's the only one I manage to scrounge a free pass for. (I am of the journalistic belief that, if it isn't free, I can't see it...I can't hear it... it doesn't exist).

I do hope that the hooded masses who attend Download manage to display as much emotion as they did last year. I am particularly fond of the vision of them filling their empty Coke bottles with urine and hurling them at the bass guitarist from The Vines. How sweet our little rock children are. And how cowardly. I didn't notice many of them doing likewise to Iggy Pop. Billy Idol's sparkly showbiz rock vision should go down a storm!

If you detect a smidgeon of irony here, then allow me to transport you, via the Tardis of my memory, to the Ship Inn pub in London's Wardour Street. It is April, 1977, and four members of the band called Generation X are sitting around a table, deflecting the barrage of inane questions from two irksome northern fanzine scribblers.

The band's singer, had just named himself Billy Idol and was proving to be the quite the most obnoxious, whingeing, self-obsessed, overblown public schoolboy geek I had ever met. He was also, I later noted, reedy voiced and of the posh cockney mould. Now it seems quite inconceivable that this brattish moaner could possibly be the same person who growled his way through the Johnnie Walker interview. I have to say, I certainly prefer the new, improved, LA-based, Harley riding, sexual driven and somewhat ridiculous growler. I hope also that the new Billy Idol album will provide a most welcome soundtrack to the summer of 2005.*

(* Not ironic).

IN reference to the intriguing ongoing saga of the forthcoming Ian Curtis bio-pic and surrounding chaos, I note the possibility of the release of a high-level Joy Division tribute album. Provided, that is, that the project isn't defeated by logistics. The artists linked to this project are mouth-watering, to say the least. U2 have already agreed in principle. There are rumblings also, I believe, that a track may surface from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. While these offer intriguing possibilities, this is countered by the knowledge that, of all bands, the mighty Kraftwerk have steadfastly refused to record a track. What a shame. Then again, perhaps they have already supplied so much. Without the gargantuan influence of Kraftwerk, Joy Division would have been a second division sub-goth outfit and New Order frankly, couldn't have existed.