Last modified on Mon 8 Feb 2021 06.02 EST I was only nine years old and I’d already been through T Rex, the Sweet and Slade. Now I was in love with Roy Wood. This wasn’t a crush – this was the real thing. Roy wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea. He was no Marc Bolan; he wasn’t even much of a Noddy Holder to be fair. But he was mine. I was ill with encephalitis, bed-bound and living pretty much in the dark because my head was killing me. The only thing that kept me going was music – though my head was too sore to listen to much of it. But there were some things you made an exception for. And my exception was Roy and his glam-rock band Wizzard.