The first time I encountered Leeroy Thornhill, he invited me around to his place to smoke banana skins. For a start, half of them – Thornhill and his best mate, Keith Flint – were employed as dancers. When Flint spiked his hair and became a kind of nightmarish, dancefloor version of Johnny Rotten, spitting out the lines to their hit Firestarter, the band went stratospheric. “Keith Flint came over, gave me a hug, and said how thrilled he was for my success,” Blunt said. “We never really thought about stuff like that,” says Thornhill.
