'Every time I came back from a tour, I'd have to kill off my girlfriend's suitors,' says Blur's Graham Coxon By Jon Wilde Last updated at 9:50 PM on 02nd May 2009 Comments (0) Add to My Stories Jumping out of windows, enquiring of a policeman whether you are dead or alive, always making sure you look ridiculous... Blur's Graham Coxon tells Live how he's ticked all the boxes Graham is wearing: Tweed jacket, ￡395, waistcoat, ￡150, breeks, ￡140; tattersall shirt, ￡65; silk tie, ￡49; socks, ￡25; garters, ￡12; tan Scotch country grain ankle boots, ￡235 For years Graham Coxon has been a fixture on magazine's cool lists, yet he hasn't always been so self-assured. For much of his time with Blur he teetered on the brink of self-destruction. But seven years ago he gave up alcohol and went on to produce four acclaimed solo albums. Now 40, he is set to rejoin his old band for a summer of comeback shows. When you find yourself asking a policeman, 'Am I dead or alive?' it means you've had too much to drink. There's a famous photo of me taken in 1995. I've just been run over by a black cab and I'm lying in the gutter with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. I'm about to ask the copper that question. I naturally gravitated towards speeding vehicles in those days. Being run over is a strange sensation but it's a good way of sobering up in a hurry. I celebrated Blur's first No 1 single by trying to jump out of a window. Linen pinstripe suit, ￡395; cotton shirt, ￡65; tie, ￡49. All by Cordings, cordings.co.uk It was the climax to the so-called Blur/Oasis war. Country House had outsold Roll With It and went straight to the top of the charts. It felt like a hollow, pointless victory to me. Our record company threw a big champagne party at Soho House in London. I felt I was being forced into enjoying the moment and I just wanted to be alone really. I couldn't handle being part of that crowd so I tried to jump out of a sixth-storey window. It was Damon (Albarn) who talked me out of it. Looking back, I should have enjoyed myself a lot more than I did during the Blur days. Sausages played a big part in my Nineties downfall. Towards the end of that decade, my drinking had stopped being fun and had become very, very desperate. I started behaving very strangely indeed. I would walk around with a string of sausages in my top pocket. To me, it was as normal as carrying an apple about. I used to go to gigs in Camden, remove all my clothes and throw sausages at the bands. One time I stole some Greek sausages from a shop in Camden. The butcher saw me and gave chase. He finally caught up with me outside Woolworths and gave me a very firm punch in the jaw. I suppose I was asking for it but I didn't care at the time. I wouldn't have cared if he had hacked my arm off with a chicken's beak. Also, I happened to be wearing a denim skirt and there was a busload of people watching. It wasn't my proudest moment. The English are a bloody disgrace when it comes to clothes. They should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves. Most foreigners dress appallingly but, unlike the English, most of them don't wear tracksuits when they're not jogging. We make the best clothes and shoes in the world and people walk around like they can't be bothered. Everything is c**p in this country. No one gives a damn about anything. The four members of Blur are from different centuries. Dave (Rowntree) is a mid-21st-century kind of guy. Alex (James) is definitely late 20th. I can imagine Damon strutting about in the 18th century, wearing tall powdered wigs, lace rues on his shirts. I'm quite medieval compared to them, especially about technology. I think most technology is rubbish. It's supposed to improve our lives but it just makes it worse. It's ridiculous how important clothes are to me. I've been obsessed as far back as I can remember. At the age of six I found myself staring at a pair of shiny black army dress shoes in a shop window and I fell in love. I've never wanted anything so badly in my life. Clothes are as important to me as music. The clothes I wear have a huge influence on the music I write. I've got nothing positive to say about Britpop. The whole thing was a grotesque travesty. It was meant to make Britain look cool but made us all look like a joke. It was meant to be a celebration of music but it was more about petty rivalries. There was no real affinity between the bands. The scene was full of dirty little b******* trying to get off with my girlfriend all the time. Every time I went on tour it was like going off to Troy. I'd come back and have to kill off a few suitors who'd been going behind my back. Pop success was a crushing disappointment to me. I always imagined that appearing on Top Of The Pops for the first time would be like scoring the winning goal in the FA Cup Final. The reality is far more mundane. It's over very quickly, then you buy a bag of chips and go home. I quite liked the idea of being in a successful band but it was the workload I couldn't handle. As soon as it happened, all I dreamed about was achieving some peace and stability in my life. In terms of fashion, I'm like two fish swimming in opposite directions. I've never stuck with any particular look. I want long and short hair - at the same time. I want to look like Sterling Morrison from the Velvet Underground and Steve Marriott from the Small Faces. I want to look like an old colonel and a sharp indie kid. Usually I settle for a look that, to me, is classically English. That's why I do most of my shopping at Cordings. Above: Glencheck three-button linen jacket, ￡395; green grass cords, ￡89; tattersall shirt, ￡65, silk green dog tie, ￡49; tan Scotch country grain ankle boot, ￡235. All by Cordings Motorbikes are my new passion. I thought Lee Marvin and Bob Dylan looked good on bikes so I thought I'd have a go myself. I learned how to ride on a Tiger Cub 200cc and my collection now includes a '68 Triumph Trophy, a '62 BSA Shooting Star, a BSA Regal, a Suzuki V-Strom, a Suzuki VanVan 125, a Suzuki Bandit, a Triumph Tiger 1050 and the new Triumph Bonneville. Bikes to me are like shoes. They have to be the real thing. The idea that I'm some kind of pop heart-throb is frankly preposterous. In Blur I wasn't remotely fanciable when put against two good-looking lads like Damon and Alex. I'd have been better off picking two ugly blokes to be in a group with. In pudding terms, they were banoffee pie and treacle pudding, whereas I was a lump of old Stilton and a mouldy biscuit. Pete Doherty has too much talent. For years I've been telling him to look after himself and finally he's started to do that. He made life tough for himself in his twenties and I can identify with that. Funnily enough, Pete celebrated his 30th birthday the same day I reached 40. I reckon I'll be fine in my forties - I'm a lot happier in my own skin now. Damon and I settled our differences over an Eccles cake. The biggest doubt surrounding a Blur reunion was whether me and Damon would get along. A lot of nastiness had gone on between us. After I left the band in 2002, I kept in touch with the others but Damon and I only communicated through lawyers. In October 2008, I turned up at one of his gigs. There was no guarantee we'd get on. But we went for a walk, had the cake and some tea and realised everything was OK between us. I started to apologise about things that had been on my mind. He said, 'There's no need to apologise, mate.' After half an hour of chat, we knew a reunion was a strong possibility. We all realise that what's most important in life is being nice to your mates. Anything's possible now - even a new Blur album. At the moment, it's a lot of fun. When the gigs come, we just want to go out there and enjoy them. After that, who knows? There could be another album. There could be more to come. Graham Coxon's new album, 'The Spinning Top', is released on May 11 by Transgressive Records.

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