It was a long way from Tipperary to here, and back to Harlesden it seemed even further. But The Pogues had aroused interest in France and, on January 16, TV producer Antoin Des Caunes braved the Hampstead divide to capture them at The Mean Fiddler.

The night was a riot: Saint Patrick came early as a sea of green flooded beyond the rafters and the band blazed holy mayhem in the place they loved so well. The highlights formed the basis of a half- hour documentary which traced their roots from Ireland to the pubs of Cricklewood, King's Cross and Camden Town. It featured Shane in his natural habitat of the Devonshire Arms, Elvis Costello at the mixing desk and video clips from 'A Pair Of Brown Eyes' and 'Waxies Dargle'. The Pogues spent the next two weeks in the studio. They had eventually abandoned 'Fairytale Of New York' and opted instead for an EP. "In a sense we felt that the time was right to do an album," says Philip, "but 'Rum, Sodomy And The Lash' had only just come out. So rather than doing a single we decided to show four different sides to the group."

The EP, titled 'Poguetry In Motion', began with 'London Girl' an up tempo breeze around the capital rich in accordion and their most commercial sound to date. 'The Body Of An American' is a return to traditional concerns: the love of home, the loss of home and the endless quest for roots. With Spider Stacy in the foreground it verves along as only an Irish wake could; Tommy Keane piping the plaintive touch.

The final mix was 'Planxty Noel Hill', an instrumental from the hand of Jem Finer, and a manic tribute to the pedantic Hill who had taken such exception to the non-purist Pogues on B P Fallen's radio show. "Noel Hill is generally a nice man," says Terry Woods diplomatically, but he missed the point completely, so we thought we'd dedicate something to him."

'Poguetry In Motion' was recorded at Elephant Studios and produced, once again, by Elvis Costello. Since Christmas, the relationship between Declan Patrick, Aloysius MacManus and Caitlin O'Riordan had gone conspicuously public. O'Riordan appeared on the song writing credits for Costello's comeback LP, 'King Of America.' and featured on the video for 'Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood'.

Less prosperous, however, was the working relationship between Costello and the rest of The Pogues. During 'Poguetry In Motion' it became clear that Costello's views were irredeemably out of synch with the band's and Dave Jordan ended up producing the final version of 'A Rainy Night In Soho'. Enhanced by horns and full strings, it's a heart-rending ballad that captures all the romance and ghost-grey allure of Soho. 'I took shelter front a shower and I stepped into your arms/ On a rainy night in Soho the wind was whistling all its charms/ Sometimes I wake up in the morning the Ginger Lady by my bed/ covered in a cloak of silence/ I hear you talking in my head/ I'm not singing for the future/ I'm not singing of the past/ I'm not talking of the first time/ I never think about the last ...' Shane considered it their finest recording ever. "It's a very personal song," he says, "and so was 'A Pair Of Brown Eyes', but 'Rainy Night In Soho' was more successful. It's the closest that we've ever got to the way that I thought a song should sound."

The Pogues had every intention of making a video for 'Poguetry In Motion', and Dave Jordan was suggested as a possible director. And although it never materialized, they are the only band that Jordan - the man behind Angel, Company Of Wolves and, at the time, working on Mona Lisa - admits to listening to. "I like The Pogues a lot," he says. "They remind me of Luke Kelly who was a very great Irish singer."

Pressed for time, the band had to abandon the idea of a video, and turned their attention to Alex Cox's Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungeon movie. Love Kills. Cox screened a roughcut of the terminal romance and invited them to contribute some music to the soundtrack. After experimenting with various instruments, they came up with the atmospheric 'Junk Theme' an instrumental written by Finer, arranged by himself, Chevron and Fearnley and produced by Dave Jordan. "It was after hearing 'Rain Dogs' in Germany that we started talking about different sounds," says James. "I discovered that if you get a mandolin on your knees, dampen two of the strings and hit it with teaspoons you get a really individual noise. We used that on 'Junk', which starts off pretty straightforwardly then goes off into loads of things. There's violin, banjo, accordion, mandolin, bass, drums, guitar, auto-harp; we just piled everything on."

Elephant became the centre of an unlikely dirge as Jem and Spider taught themselves saxophone, and Shane turned up with a trumpet. The band were still working on the final music when the EP hit the shops and it was time, at last, for their self-styled Poguetry Kills Tour.

Mid-day in late February saw them bound for New York via Air India. Not a comfortable thought as they flew 33,000 feet over the west coast of Ireland, and less soothing still when it became crystal clear that the airline wasn't prepared for wholesale consumption from the cocktail cabinet. Frank Murray sighed, May God preserve Aer Lingus.

Several hours later they found themselves in the more salubrious setting of the Iroquois Hotel, a rough and ready apartment block, standing on West 44th Street, and favoured by Bohemians of every persuasion.

Although 'Red Roses' and 'Rum' were only available on import, The Pogues caused an immediate stir. Both MTV and college radio had picked up on 'A Pair Of Brown Eyes' and, as a preliminary to their visit, Murray secured the services of a reputed PR agency. Consequentially the band spent the first two days in their publicist's cramped office doing an unending string of interviews.

By the night of their opening show, on February 8, even the prestigious dailies were requesting freebies. "The New York Times never came here in their life!" exclaimed the manager of the highly celebrated World, as he watched The Pogues sell out at a cool 15 bucks a head. What's more, the reaction was far from blasé: the star-spangled crowd jigged and yelled like the best of them.

"The World was a real highlight," enthuses Terry Woods. "New York is a very sophisticated audience, because it gets everything that's going. You could easily die a death there, but we were lucky enough to be successful."

The Pogues had previously been described as Clancy Brothers with earrings, and among the many revellers that night was mega movie-lust Matt Dillon. "Hey, I was raised on that shit," he told the band. "You guys, I really dig your shit." "He came back to the dressing room after the show and started singing Clancy Brothers' songs to us," remembers Philip. "He knew more about The Clancy Brothers than I did!"

New York was certainly living up to expectations and had already done wonders for their Al 'hey, fuck you, muthafucka' Pacino impressions. "Going to New York was the best thing that I've done in this band," asserts Spider. "It's completely fuckin' mad."

The first day of March saw the World-worn party pacing the Iroquois in a vain wait for their bass player. But the bright light city had proved too much: Caitlin had gone home, again.

After a futile attempt to intercept her at JFK Airport, The Pogues handed the bass to ever- ready Darryl, and veered south on the four-hour route to Washington, DC. Their driver was Bill Rahmy, a momentous figure from Springfield, Massachusetts, who not only served Skeeter Davis but also played a convincing courier.

Their destination was the downtown haunt of the hip and happening: the 930 Club on Ford Street. And, despite the lack of Cait, the response couldn't have been better. Washington adored them.

The next day involved a 40 mile backtrack, through Maryland to Baltimore. A vibrant port, long since revered in ballad form by Glaser/ Howard's supreme 'Streets Of Baltimore', The Pogues were directed to the less than spacious, but appropriately named, Eight By Ten Club.

Far from suffering under Maryland's restricted licensing laws, the entourage enjoyed excessive generosity and unlimited free beer. It was hardly surprising that, come midnight, Shane had to be physically placed on stage and, after a few anxious moments trying to locate the mike, he launched himself into 'Streams Of Whiskey'. The band were playing 'Sick Bed'...

By the end of the show, the devil couldn't have defined debauched better: Shane so earnestly pursued pleasure that he had the misfortune to overtake it. He passed out in a corner.

Monday morning sent them northward to New York. The wind at their backs, as 'Poguetry In Motion' resounded from the radio. "I was very impressed by the fact that they'd obviously heard us quite a lot," says Jem. "Everywhere we went there seemed to be poxy little shops with 'Poguetry In Motion' in the window, and college radio was playing it all the time; which was unbelievable for somewhere we'd never actually been to before. But it sounded entirely right: it's music that fits in with any old bollocks you want to put on the radio. All sorts of people like it, not just those with particular haircuts. I know people up to the age of 90 who think it's really good, which is great. I reckon we can make records that anyone of any age would buy, and in 50 years time will still be really good songs."

Back in the metropolis they played a press show at the ultra-hip Limelight Club. Among the attendants were the former New York Doll David Johansen, and movie stars David Keith, Molly Ringwald and lifetime convert Matt Dillon. The five-song set seemed all too brief and the audience refused to let the band offstage. Booing, stamping feet and lighting matches eventually brought two encores.

Later, the delighted management unwisely granted The Pogues free license to the Limelight VIP Lounge, where Spider managed to complicate his life by falling irretrievably in love with a stunning singer named Cheyne.

The following day Cait was back, tipping up in time for their Maxwell's date in nearby Hoboken. O'Riordan's sudden departure was nothing more than a smashed memory, best explained by American generosity. "Whatever their motives might be," she says, "they give you free drink as soon as you want it, for as long as you're conscious and even afterwards sometimes. I was just full of vodka and consequently went extremely psychotic for a few days, but I sobered up. Once I was away from the free drink and the fawning, I was fine."

While Cait retrieved her bass Darryl resumed his driving duties, transporting the gear from New York to the Massachusetts college town of North-Hampton. The band travelled, per usual, with Bill who was particularly enthused as they drove to- wards his beloved Springfield Valley. "One thing that I really like about working with these guys," he says, "is that they aren't hardened cowboys. The highways are new to them so it's good fun showing them around. They've really made me appreciate America."

The next day they drove 90 miles to Boston where, on arriving at Spit/DV8 (formerly the Boston Tea Party), The Pogues were hit by an air of expectation, normally reserved for London, Glasgow or Dublin. "There are certain places that seem to adopt us," articulates Philip. "You can feel it almost as soon as you get there."

The crowd were barely contained as the over-zealous leapt on and off stage and one, with admirable abandon, even dangled from the rigging. The rest of the hall chanted verses and choruses alike, giving 'The Wild Rover' its definitive treatment and generating a glow that the house lights couldn't hope to dim.

"The reaction was quite amazing," stated hardened trouper Jem. "The whole American attitude is, 'You're starting off in the clubs so therefore we shouldn't like you' and, of all the bands I've worked with, I've never seen anyone get a response like that. I just wish more people could have witnessed it."

After the show, the dressing room was stormed by fans: several bearing Nips and Radiators singles that even Shane and Philip weren't aware of. Later, they discovered that their audience had included the sons of the late Presidents John and Bobby Kennedy. Midway through an election campaign, Joseph Kennedy and his cousin John Kennedy Jr. had been discussing a fund-raising event in the Metro Club when they inquired who was playing next door. On hearing that it was The Pogues they went to Spit/DVB and stayed for the whole set.

The non-stop trail continued to Rhode Island and the beautiful city of Providence, where they headlined a four-band bill at Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel. And finally, on March 8, The Pogues returned to New York for a farewell show at Chelsea's hyped-out Danceteria. "The way the tour worked out was great," says James. "We kept coming back to New York so there was press, radio interviews and reviews. Each time there was a bit more of a buzz, and by the third time it seemed like the whole bloody place was crying out for us."

Back in London, they had reached 28 in the charts with 'Poguetry In Motion'. 'London Girl' had finally overcome Radio 1's playlist, while 'A Rainy Night In Soho' was a constant sound on RTE. Simultaneously, they won a series of accolades in the NME Readers' Poll including Best Live Act. By way of cruel illustration they were crammed into a hired van and, still jetlagged senseless, packed off to Newcastle and Leeds.

Two days later The Pogues toasted Saint Patrick at the Hammersmith Palais. By now, their annual celebration was imbued with a religious significance of its own. The show had sold out in February, the pubs had filled by noon and early evening Hammersmith heaved with green as young Irish, old Irish and sheer wishful-thinking Irish, headed for the Palais.

While Terry Woods and Philip Chevron guested on the Janice Long Show, the others were besieged by press. Tetchy from articulating the case, Shane told The Observer: "It's hard for us to take in words with more than eight letters. We don't try to be serious or philosophical. Then we'd be boring like all the others." Sidestepping the spotlight he tried, instead, to revive his wilting shamrock. MacGowan wasn't, as Declan Lynch observed in Hot Press, "revealing the secret of his talent to anyone, and only a fool would ask." By 8.00 p.m. the Palais was the scene of rapidly accelerating chaos. Downstairs, a euphoric army of headers and hipsters converged; on stage, Ron Kavana bravely battled with a solo acoustic set; backstage, the dressing room overflowed with family and friends. And outside, a ticketless queue stretched longer than the Liffey.

Eventually The Pogues took the stage and played possessed. Fuelled by the excess of the occasion, their set was wilder than ever and the crowd responded in kind, the opening numbers barely audible as the noise rose to a manic mixture of Croke Park, the Stretford End and Parkhead. "I suppose we come across a bit like a football team," says Philip. "Because we don't look like Duran Duran or wear Anthony Price suits or John Paul Gaultier underpants, we look pretty much like the male members of our audience. Consequently we are - and especially Shane - regarded by other males as ordinary blokes that you could meet in the pub and have a laugh and a drink with."

The warmest cheer however, was saved for Cait who raised a smiling slainte and dedicated 'I'm A Man You Don't Meet Every Day' to "everyone who likes a drink."

Fourteen hours later they returned to Hammersmith for a tamer, but technically improved, second show. Meanwhile, a series of French festivals and TV shows had been lined up for the following week so, the next day, it was back to the studio in a rushed attempt to finish their contribution to Love Kills.

On this occasion they took to Lansdowne House in Netting Hill, to remix 'Junk' and record 'A Needle For Paddy Garcia', an instrumental, detailing the further adventures of Jem Finer's fictitious hero.

Afterwards they attempted 'Hot Dogs With Everything', a less than cultured trip around Soho. "I can't sing that!" screeched Spider on reading Shane's scrawled lyrics. Eventually he did, and Stacy's Chainsaw schooling Had never served him better. "It was a good laugh," he smiles. "I'm not keen on recording because, apart from everything else, I'm always the last one to do anything, so I just have to sit around the studio; but I really enjoyed doing 'Hot Dogs'."

The following night, having completed their studio work, Spider and Shane went to a nearby restaurant with Alex Cox who was now planning a rock 'n' roll documentary to be filmed in Nicaragua during August and starring The Pogues and Joe Strummer. Afterwards they headed home but, as Shane was about to get into a car in Westbourne Grove, he was hit by a taxi cab. He was thrown into the air, flung 15 yards down the road and left unconscious on the pavement. "For a split second I thought he was dead," says Spider. "I never want to experience anything like that again."

And neither did Shane. He was rushed to hospital where he was found to have multiple injuries including a fractured arm, facial wounds requiring stitches and severe damage to ligaments in his leg. Following an operation over the weekend, MacGowan's arm and leg were put in cast. And, although he discharged himself five days later, he was trapped in plaster for the next four weeks.

Consequently The Pogues had to cancel not only their heavy French schedule, but also an ensuing tour of Germany. "I was still in Dublin," says Paul Scully, "when Frank rang and said, 'We're not going to Paris, we're off to Helsinki. He made a joke; he's a terrible man. There's a lot of catalysts in this band, and it seems that whenever we've been working really hard and everyone is mentally and physically at breaking point, something happens and everyone gets a rest. "Unfortunately, there's a price to pay and Shane has had to bear the brunt of it both times."

Ill-starred as Shane's health seemed to be, it was certainly conducive to creativity. He acquired a Casio keyboard and spent the next morning working out a series of new songs. These included a manic Arabic/Irish number which he christened 'Turkish Song Of The Damned'. The title had arisen in Berlin, when a fan had mentioned the B-side of a Damned single. "Did you ever, you know, hear the 'Turkish Song' of the Damned!'" the German had asked. "Aaaaghh! Fuck! What did he say!" shrieked Shane, "The Turkish Song Of The Damned!" The line was a gift, but the resulting song contained some of his most spectral imagery to date: 'I come old friend from hell tonight, across the rotting sea/ Not the nails on the cross nor the blood of Christ, can bring you help this eve…" "Basically it's an historical number," says Shane, "that's more or less like 'Down In The Ground Where The Dead Men Go' or 'Sea Shanty'. it's a ghost story about a bloke who got off a ship and the rest of them went down. It doesn't specify what he did, but it was his fault. It's about being possessed but it's also a bit of a laugh."

To emphasize his increasing power as a word-smith, Liam Clancy and Tommy Makem asked MacGowan to write a song for them. The result was a very sentimental ballad, lovingly titled 'The Broad Majestic Shannon'. "I'm a sentimental person," he admits, "so I just wrote a song about Tipperary when I was a kid. It's about meeting people, who are around the same age as you that you knew then and there and meeting them now in London, and the way that all the stuff that we loved when we were kids has gone. It's basically just about the good old days and they're gone, and we've got to accept it; I've got to accept it."

Throughout the April evenings, Shane and DJ could invariably be found in Camden's core of cordiality, The Devonshire, where they conceived another outlet know as Shit. It was to be all occasional and less than serious band featuring Mo O'Hagan, Bryan Scully and the incorrigible Paul Ronan.

Shit subsequently made their first appearance, on May 3, at the Town And Country Club in Kentish Town. Having promised toilet tunes for all, they threw up a torrent of forgotten classics including The Nips' 'King Of The Bop'. Spider Stacy, always ready for an impromptu spot, grabbed a spare mike and hurled abuse at anyone gullible enough to listen.

A week later Jem and James made a debut of a different kind. Transporting their instruments in a supermarket trolley, they headed for the unlikely venue of Thomas Coram's Nursery School, where they played to a roomful of Ella Finer's classmates.

Due to indoor regulations dancing was strictly prohibited, but a raucous rendition of 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' proved too much and the under fives finally took to the floor during 'Dingle Regatta'. Luckily, by this time, it had stopped raining and a distraught teacher was able to redirect the gathering to the infinitely more suitable playground. And, although the show never regained its early momentum, the offshoot Pogues scored a mass hit and were urged to return.

In the interim, The Pogues proper had completed a final track for Sin 'n' Nancy: Love Kills. 'Haunted' is a clangorous pop ballad written by MacGowan, sung by O'Riordan and produced by Craig Leon. The final cut was, however, one that nobody was entirely happy with. "It all went wrong in the mix as far as I'm concerned," says Philip. "We wanted to remix it but there wasn't a chance. On the rough mixes it sounded pretty well like us, there was enough individuality and guts to make it sound like a Pogues record. But it sounds a little bit too American; a little bit too FM. We just didn't have as much control over it as we should have had."

The Pogues returned to the boards in Dublin. Under a collective banner of Self-Aid they appeared alongside U2, The Chieftains, Van Morrison, The Boomtown Rats, Christy Moore and Elvis Costello at the Royal Dublin Show-ground. Inspired by the spirit of Live Aid, Self-Aid was dedicated to the nation's unemployed and billed as the ultimate exhibition of Irish rock. Although only 30,000 could be squeezed into the stadium, the rest of the country received round the clock coverage from RTE. The majority of the crowd were young fans and, for one day at least, everybody seemed refreshingly indifferent to the great purist versus rogue debate.

Each act was limited to 15 minutes and, early in the afternoon, The Pogues made the most of theirs. No one was disappointed as they sped through 'Sick Bed' and 'The Body Of An American' before uniting the whole of Dublin under the heartfelt strains of 'Dirty Old Town'.

Backstage, The Chieftains' unsurpassable piper Paddy Maloney handed his instrument to Shane and invited him to have a go. MacGowan immediately turned to Spider, saying: "He's the whistle player not me." Stacy, oblivious to the stature of his audience, proceeded to play. "It wasn't until afterwards that I found out who he was," he says. "Otherwise I'd never have attempted it."

During the evening, Elvis Costello sang Little Willie John's 'Leave My Kitten Alone' for "Cait, my kitten from Clare", who ended the weekend with a gold wedding band and the title of Mrs. Costello.

The night closed with an emotional tribute to the late Philip Lynott. Thin Lizzy's Gary Moore and Scott Gorham led the way with 'Don't Believe A Word', before being joined by Bob Geldof for 'The Cowboy Song', and finally by most of the Self-Aid cast in a thronged chorus of 'Whiskey In The Jar'. "That was the part that really got to you," says Spider.

Two weeks later, The Pogues returned to the road for a full-scale assault on France, punctuated with a regrettable five-day visit to Finland. This time the entourage included Davey and Stephen Wiseman, a pair of busking brothers who hailed from Lugton, near Kilmamock, and were known as the Nyah Fearties. They came to the band's attention via Nick Stewart from Shotts who, on hearing a demo, considered The Fearties the third best band in the world; overshadowed only by The Velvet Underground and The Pogues themselves. Having played to Spider and Philip on a cold January night outside The Devonshire, The Fearties persuaded Frank Murray to give them a support slot, first, at Hammersmith Palais and, now, eight dates in France.

They reached Paris on May 30,just in time for a Friday session at the Right Bank's over-extolled nightspot Les Bains Douche. Not long enough afterwards, they faced a hazy-eyed afternoon and made their way to the north west of the city for a massive Anti-Apartheid Benefit. It was an all-day event, staged on the open park of the Forte de Pantin and organized, among others, by ex-Specials star and leading Artist Against Apartheid, Jerry Dammers.

As soon as they arrived, The Pogues were struck by an unprecedented flash of cameras and press. Microphones probed for attention while shutters shifted into motor-drive for a 20-minute rattle, resembling nothing so much as a scene from Philip Kaufman's The Right Stuff. The main subject of attention was Shane who, with supreme nonchalance, barely blinked throughout the wrangle.

Meanwhile, the ever-enterprising Fearties found a venue of their own, temporarily squeezing out the CND slogans and hot dog vendors to play a short, side-stall set.

Dusk was falling when The Pogues finally took the stage, and the cameras rolled again. "I've been sent 90 miles to see this band," hissed a reporter from Reims as he jostled for the front. "I've heard they send the English wild, but they won't do that here, the French always dance like they're listening to Tchaikovsky."

He couldn't have been more wrong. From the first note of 'Sick Bed', the crowd were as manic as the flash bulbs. A huge video screen projected the charge to the back of the field, and the ceili-flavour of 'Wild Cats' and 'Sally MacLennane' sent the entire place into a full-scale reel.

The performance itself was, by Pogue standards, disturbingly mediocre; rarely had they sounded so jaded. Playing a well-worn set might be necessary, but it was also increasingly frustrating. "We've already established a formula," says Andrew, "so, in a way, we could just be The Pogues and carry on playing gigs. But we want to develop and try as many different things as possible. And although I think we'll always have our own sound, there's loads of different influences that we're starting to incorporate: such as soul, jazz and blues; which I think will come out more and more."

Their next date took them south to Marseille's Theatre du Moulin, a velveteen venue decorated exclusively in red, but whose plush seats and rich decor seemed alarmingly at odds with The Pogues, and their protégés.

Let loose with acoustic guitars, vociferous voices and a shopping trolley for a percussion section, The Fearties raucous blend of spaghetti-western and hobo blues sent the crowd rabid, and by the time The Pogues appeared, the red walls couldn't have reverberated louder. 'Waltzing Matilda' certainly inspired the strangest effect when, amid collective screams, a frenzied woman clambered on stage and played Gypsy Rose Lee to gog-eyed starletch Spider Stacy.

The next three nights, in Toulouse, Bordeaux and Orleans, saw a further scramble of howls, shrieks and uncontrolled delight. "I think the humanity of the band comes across, and people pick up on the spirit of that," says Philip. "It's something that a group like The Band seemed to have and if you look at 'The Last Waltz' you can see the sort of family atmosphere that they had. OK, they ended up completely screwed up because they'd been on the road too long, but there was a comradeship that is very important.''

After a five-day stint of summer festivals in Finland, they hit Lyon. Spider, now in the threes of glandular fever, felt less than his live-wire self, but couldn't resist the sound of Kilmarnock soul. He rushed on to The Fearties' set, singing 'Drunken Sailor', impulsively followed by Mad Guitar Chevron and crazed drummers, Ranken and Scully, who ran to the back, battering everything they could lay their hands on.

The tour reached its zenith at Maison de la Mutalite in Paris, where The Pogues were swamped by an insatiable press and a glowing record company. The latter voiced its appreciation with a massive cake baked in the shape of an anchor; later presented (without ceremony) to someone misguided enough to steal Jem Finer's beer.

Within 10 days, The Pogues were to embark on a three-week tour of north America but, back home, their live work continued. June 17 saw a birthday appearance on Whistle Test and a dramatic recovery in Philip Chevron who had, throughout the French trip, been racked by severe depression. "I really did have some nightmarish times," he says. "I became quite irrational and uncontrollable. There wouldn't be any particular thing that would spark it off; that was the frightening thing. But in situations like that, to use an old cliché, you know who your friends are, and it was well and truly driven home to me that - with the exception of my family and three or four other people who really matter - my friends are in this group."

Their Whistle Test set included 'The Body Of An American', 'Dirty Old Town', and 'Streams Of Whiskey' - sounding as inspired as when it was written nearly half a decade before. "It sums up the devil-may-care, romantic side of our attitude," says Shane. "Well it sums up part of it. The fact that we don't give a shit; but not in a negative way. At the time I wrote it, I believed that drinking a lot of whiskey was a good thing; that it led through one of the doors of perception. And it does. What I don't actually believe any more, is that whiskey is the best way."

The rest of the week took The Pogues to Margate, Nottingham, Glastonbury and Sheffield. This time, rather than reverting to the usual hired van, they travelled by coach; and Murray's extravagance even stretched to a specially drafted tour manager named Joey Cashman, a friend of Philip Chevron's who knew the rest of the band. Once again the party included The Fearties, who not only acted as support but also provided a cameo Pogue show by break-dancing their way through 'Jesse James'.

On June 24, The Pogues flew to Washington, DC, and discovered that, since the experimental tour in February, their profile had shot even higher. Writing in that month's issue of SPIN, Glenn O'Brien said: "Although they play Irish traditional music - more or less - this band will blow you away. They're hard. They play with fantastic intensity. Seeing them changes everything."

They were met by Massachusetts Bill, who abandoned courier duties to act as tour manager, and at the wheel was Lyle - a diamond driver from Nashville, Tennessee.

The opening show was a high-spirited affair at the city's Nightclub, which saw Spider sporting a split forehead. He claimed that he had fallen out of bed the previous night and nobody felt disposed to inquire further. The damage was promptly repaired by a self-styled Trauma Technician, who embroidered four stitches in Stacy's skull.

While The Pogues were in Philadelphia, Frank Murray was in New York where, on the eve of their Ritz debut, ticket sales were incredibly high. Later, he visited their euphoric publicist who confirmed that the show was sold-out, and gushed, "The Pogues are going to be my U2." Murray remained stoical until after the gig. But not only did The Pogues attract 1500 to the prestigious ballroom, they sent them into excelsus. "New York audiences are so blasé," said Frank, suitably impressed. "You have to work really hard to get them going."

The band certainly did their utmost: Spider seized a beer-tray and - without a second's heed on the Trauma Technician - bashed his brains through 'The Battle Of Brisbane', while James and Terry gave 'The Old Main Drag' the full works with accordion versus concertina. "Terry is really good for playing off," says James. "I never believed in this much; it's something that rock journalists write about, you know, Keith Richards and Ron Wood. But on 'The Old Main Drag' and 'Jesse James' we're both playing around the same chords yet Terry makes me play something different. So in a way it's like a competition."

After the show they headed round the corner to Tramps, a popular Irish bar famed for the blues. The drinks flowed freely but, by dawn, Cait's conscience was pricked. "What do you think we get paid for!" she demanded. The majority subsequently returned to the hotel, although several escaped for another round. "The Pogues," quipped Terry, "the only band to take the breathalizer before a gig."

Woods and Murray's post-gig getaways had by now evolved into legend, and it was less than shocking to see them finally turn in at breakfast time. Later that day, the others got even by baptizing Terry 'Tonto' and Frank 'The Lone Ranger'.

Although they easily adjusted from Greenwich Mean to US Eastern, Pogue Time remained a law unto itself. Home or away, their departures were invariably delayed by at least an hour, and the trip to Trenton was no exception. When they eventually left, the party was all but lifeless. One notable exception was Jem who picked up a guitar and learnt a highly stylized version of Prince's 'Kiss'. "Most of the tunes I make up are the result of me Sing to work out how to play something else," he says. "My ears are so bad that I just make loads of mistakes and end up with completely different tunes altogether. It's really handy."

Trenton might be New Jersey's state capital, but from The City Gardens it was strictly a one-horse hole. The hall itself was new and spacious, generously accommodating two bars, a likely magnet for the weekend rednecks.

Cait was quickly surrounded by a large quota of ingratiating fans and, though polite, she had visibly had enough of Trenton. "I love Los Angeles," she says, "and fortunately that was right at the end. That's what got me through all the shit, 'Oh, we're going to be in LA in two weeks; don't leave, don't leave.' I was counting off the days." After the soundcheck, Half the troupe ensconced themselves in Trenton's finest asset: a long bar called Romeo's, cheap and friendly and a perpetual haunt for local cops.

Back at The City Gardens, Mojo Nixon and Skid Roper, support for the whole tour, took the stage. Their offbeat mixture of blues, gospel and de-railed rock 'n' roll, was a winner with the studded rhinestone set.

Later, The Pogues' impact was best measured by those willing to forsake a place at the bar in favour of amassing by the stage. When the show was done, the band entertained college radio with a series of over-the-air impressions - Jem as Prince, PV a convincing Ronnie Drew and Spider doing a Highland crossbreed of his own. Hey, these Pogues are really crazy! "One more," urged the reporter, "Just one more!". A second's silence. Then Jem spoke, deadpan: "Get the fuck out of Nicaragua."

After a day-off in New York, it was onward to New Haven. They were joined by Joey Cashman who, on his way to a month's holiday in Providence, caught the band at The Ritz and was subsequently asked to roadie instead.

Toad's Place was close to Yale University, and proved typical of New Haven: a thoroughly American mixture of pool room and dance hall. As soon as the band arrived they launched into a lengthy series of interviews, and many of the questions inevitably centred on the Irish angle. "The Irishness is more in the feel now of what we do than what we actually play," says Philip. "it seems to me, though, that we can say until we're blue in the face that a) we're not Irish and b) we don't play Irish music but no one will believe us. I think the Americans will always regard us as an Irish band whatever we do. We could put out an electronic music album and MCA would stick a shamrock on the sleeve! It's not worth getting upset about. All we're trying to get across is that there's more to us than the Irish aspect."

Two nights later they filled Boston's Metro with an atmosphere that was as close as Massachusetts was likely to get to Ireland. Despite serious sound problems, audience and band were one: united in wild abandon, brilliant music and sheer good will. The Pogues returned for four encores and finally disappeared to deafening approval when Cait grabbed the mike and told Boston, "We love you". What they had tonight could never be lost.

Two days later it was time for Canada. During their second night at Quebec City's Summer Festival, The Pogues were faced with an all-seated crowd of 2,000, most of whom would never see 50 again. "It was totally different from the normal audience," remembers Jem. "Ninety five per cent of the people there were very straight and conservative, but they were quite warm and clapped politely. Then about half way through we told them that we didn't mind if they danced, and at the end a lot of them were standing up and cheering and we got quire a few encores. It was a good experience 'cos there was no way you could say that we were playing to a captive audience; we really had to work to get across. It also proved that the music appeals to anyone."

Back in the States, their appearance at the Columbus Music Theatre ended in exploding egos and a wrecked dressing room, an incident not unconnected with the band's early evening consumption of mescal. The rare discovery of miniature bottles meant mescal-soaked worms for everyone, and Shane and Spider rabidly indulged in four worms each.

The remaining dates took them to Detroit, Chicago and Los Angeles. Before appearing at Chicago's Vic, they headed for Briar Street Theatre to watch Frank's Wild Years, the stage production written by Torn Waits and his wife Kathleen Brennan. Since Waits was doing two shows that night he was unable to catch The Pogues live, but he joined them on an after gig bar-hop.

Their jaunt encompassed a late night session around a backbar piano: Cait and Elvis delivered a couple of duets and James played an offbeat tango but for the most part it was Waits playing and The Pogues singing.

"The Pogues were in town and came to see the play," says Waits. "Then Kathleen went to see their show. She flipped. You have to give them awards for standing up first of all and anything that follows . . . afterwards we all went out to a bar and got up and sang and played all night. Yeah, The Pogues are something else."

The tour closed on July 14 with a sold-out show at the Hollywood Palace. But The Pogues went home on a controversial note. MCA had pulled 'Hot Dogs With Everything' from the Love Kills soundtrack, following objections to the 'obscene' lyrics. The record company felt that the 'risqué' song would fall short of United States decency laws, and rather than just taking it off the non-American version of the LP they played safe and removed it altogether.

By this time, the Pogues were less than happy with MCA marketing. Mid-way through the tour, they had learned that the record company's art department were using the Cover of 'Poguetry in Motion' to do Shane a favour - they had filled in his teeth. Murray immediately ordered them to stop. "Americans are obsessed with dental hygiene," he says. "They spend more money on their teeth than they do on their brains."

Murray's anger was further fuelled when he read in a Los Angeles newspaper of 'The tawdry release of The Pogues album 'Rum, Sodomy And The Lash' by MCA."

"It's very hard to get American record companies to think," he sighs. "They like formulas: hard rock, soft rock and so on. And someone from MCA had obviously listened to the album in an office - without being aware of our status in Britain and Europe - and just thought, 'What the fuck is this? Take it off' They also had this Irish band called Cactus World News and they were trying to promote them because they thought they had another U2. We did two tours in America: packed out all the places we played and got very good press, and now I just feel that those tours were a waste of time. There was no reflection in record sales, simply because MCA wasn't trying to sell the record."

Meanwhile in London, Stiff were on the verge of collapse. They had been in serious financial straits for several months, and it was only by outflanking their creditors and transferring their assets to a new company (Stiff Records) that they managed to keep afloat. The long list of creditors did not, however, include either The Pogues or Kirsty MacColl. "That," says Frank, "is because Frank Murray is their manager."

Following the premiere of Sid 'n' Nancy on July 20, Alex Cox was all set for his next project. Financial limitations had forced him to postpone the planned documentary on Nicaragua, so he decided to feature The Pogues and Joe Strummer in a spoof spaghetti-western instead. Titled The Legend Of Paddy Garcia, the movie was scripted in three and a half days by Cox and actor Rick Rude, and was to be shot in Southern Spain during August. The Pogues consequently spent the rest of July in the rehearsal room preparing more film music.

Simultaneously, 'A Pair Of Brown Eyes' was given alternative treatment by American singer/ songwriter Peter Case. He chose MacGowan's song as the final track on his critically acclaimed 'Peter Case' LP. "The bloke hasn't got a clue what he's singing about," sneers Cait. "He's done it 'cos it's a nice melody and he thinks it's cool. But he just doesn't know what he's singing, so it's like a foreign language."

O'Riordan considered their own version of 'Brown Eyes' to be the best song ever recorded. "Shane's got such a brilliant, emotive voice," she says. "If we had a different singer - even if it was someone who could write the same songs - then maybe we wouldn't come across. 'Cos Shane's voice is so bloody emotive that whatever he's singing: sentimental shit, hard shit, his own shit, shit shit - he can really put it over."

On August 2, The Pogues travelled to Birmingham's National Exhibition Centre for the YIVA! Festival, an Oxfam/Artists Against Apartheid benefit for the oppressed of South Africa and Namibia. It was an all-day event featuring eight. other acts and a handful of media celebrities. The Pogues were accompanied, as usual, by Elvis Costello who was also to appear in Alex Cox's film. By now, Cait and Elvis were verging on the glossy couple ranks of Bob and Paula and Mick and Jerry. "We're the Sonny and Cher of the eighties," Costello told the tabloids, "and I'm Cher."

During YIVA!, which was to be the band's only English date for four months, Cait momentarily considered the disadvantages of being a Pogue, and said: "The biggest drawback is putting up with these drunken bastards, when they are drunken bastards. Sometimes they're absolutely loveable. They're the Virgin Mary and Pope John Paul all rolled into one at the same time, but sometimes. . . It was fine when I was as pissed as they were - or even more drunk - but now that I'm a refined, mature young lady, I find it all a bit wearing: "No," she added, "I love them. I wouldn't be without them."

Sandwiched between Ruby Turner and Feargal Sharkey, The Pogues received YIVA!'s loudest welcome, and a routine stroll through a short set left few disappointed. "Thank God for The Pogues!" cried Sounds. "Thank God for The Pogues!" echoed NME. No such praise was offered for the redredged King, who had insisted on headlining and were promptly bottled to the back of the stage.

As a prelude to Spain, The Pogues returned to France for a l0-day round of summer festivals. The sites ranged from an outdoor Celtic celebration in Brittany's Lorient to the Roman amphitheatre at Nimes and a bullring in the southern town of Mont-de-Marsan.

Their next port of call was Almeria, a coastal town on the edge of Spain's Sierra Nevada. Less than 20 miles away stood Mini-Hollywood, the desert setting for Laurence of Arabia and The Greatest Story Ever Told but, more significantly, the Wild West backdrop to Sergio Leone's classic westerns, The Good The Bad And The Ugly, For A Few, Dollars More and How The West Was Won. Alex Cox first visited the site as a 17-year-old schoolboy and ardent fan of Leone. He had returned every year since, most impressed not by the celebrated Hollywood towns but by a little used set called Bianco Town, originally built for a Charles Bronson movie in 1972. "I always wanted to make a movie, in that place," he says.

Having written The Legend Of Paddy Garcia for The Pogues, Joe Strummer and a select clique of actors, Cox and Rude took the script to an agent called Jesse Beaten, who persuaded Island Pictures to cough up the one million dollar budget. After renaming the Film Straight To Hell (a more 'full-on' title) cast and crew went into a low-pay partnership, and although Island own the movie in the United States, it is Cox and Co who have the rights for the rest of the world.

Straight To Hell was unquestionably influenced by Sergio Leone but owed an even greater debt to Giulio Questi's Django. "Django was this spaghetti-western hero," explains Cox, "who'd get his hands cut off, have his neck broken or his tongue cut out; really terrible sadistic things would happen to him and yet he'd always triumph in the end. And Straight To Hell is actually ripped off Django Kill, which is the story of this horrible town where the townspeople are worse than the out-laws. It's full of lynchings, gratuitous sadism, cannibalism, homosexuality, and all kinds of good stuff."

It was The Pogues who were cast in Hell a Django-style townsfolk. They played the McMahons: a large clan who neither drink, smoke nor swear but suffer from terminal addiction to caffeine and killing. Under a formidable family motto of 'La Vida No Vale Nada' (Life Is Worth Nothing), they wreak trigger-happy havoc in Bianco Town: plundering Kaw-fee and annihilating strangers. Besides The Pogues and Straight To Hell's four stars -Joe Strummer, Courtney Love, Sy Richardson and Dick Rude - the cast was sprinkled with Grace Jones, Dennis Hopper and Amazulu.

Offset, Shane was becoming increasingly fascinated by the people and the place. He never tired of the Almerian mayhem, and was even prepared to swallow his vegetarian sensibilities and watch a bullfight. He also picked up on the Andalucian poet Federico Garcia De Lorca. "His poetry reads beautifully, and it was his area we were in. He was a popular poet in the same way that a lot of Irish poets were, in that he wrote in ballad form and wrote about what was going on among the people. His poetry doesn't come from intellectual thought, it comes from the connection between emotion and seeing and feeling. The other thing about him is that he was a faggot, and during the Civil War the fascists went round pulling out all the Republican sympathisers they could find, and they got Lorca and shot him along with a lot of others, but because he was a faggot they rammed the gun up his arse and walked away laughing. But Lorca predicted his own death: he said that his body would disappear and that's exactly what happened and they never found it. He's a big folk hero in Spain and a brilliant poet."

The whole area seemed to emit a very strong sense of the dead. "You can feel it the same way as you can feel it in Ireland," says Shane. "All the hatred, all the suffering, all the blood, all the crazy dancing and singing- the soul of the country is still there." It was in Anda lucia, using a Spanish guitar, that MacGowan wrote the beautiful ballad 'Lullaby Of London': 'May the winds that blow from haunted graves never bring you misery/May the angels bright watch you tonight and keep you while you sleep.

"It's basically about a bloke being pissed, corning home and stumbling into his kid's bedroom," he explains. "The kid is freaking out, he's afraid of corncrakes and stuff like that, so the dad is just saying, 'Don't get fucked up; that hell and those demons have gone.' Obviously they haven't but you've got to say that to the kid or he'll be even more screwed up later on."

Although The Pogues had started the Straight To Hell film score back home, it was in Almeria that Shane composed 'If I Should Fall From Grace With God' and finished his delirious rhapsody 'Rake At The Gates Of Hell'. "They're both cowboy death songs which I wrote for the film. The whole idea of 'Rake At The Gates Of Hell' is very violent and romantic. It's the sort of thing that your classic maniac gunslinger would be thinking, about anybody who'd ever done anything to them, as they were waiting to go. It's inspired by Marty Robbins, you know, doom and death in the hot sun. And 'If I Should Fall From Grace With God' is inspired, I suppose, by gospel/country songs where they have one verse about God and the rest of it is about killing all the others."

Shot at buck-making pace, Straight To Hell was wrapped up in three and a half weeks. The sun scarred crew were exhausted, but the irrepressible director was already planning a Back To Hell follow-up.

On their return to Hitsville UK, The Pogues found themselves in the Top 40. MCA had lifted 'Haunted' from the Sid 'n' Nancy: Love Kills soundtrack and released it in single form on August 19. Whiffing the heavy scent of publicity, the banned 'Hot Dogs With Everything' was slapped on the B-side of the 12 inch. But lyrical obscenities failed to compensate for tame Pogues and 'Haunted' was slated by many of their fans. Packaged in the famous garbage scene still from Sid 'n' Nancy (and a back cover portrait of Cait), the band insisted that this wasn't The Pogues proper. "It was something that we did for the film and they decided to release it as a single. It wasn't really us," shrugs Spider.

'Haunted' failed to climb the charts and the band took a two-week break before going into rehearsal. Terry, Shane, Philip, James, Spider and Cait spent some of this time recording a charity LP with the London Irish Live Trust (LILT). Formed by Ron Kavana, LILT's main aim was to do a series of gigs under the general theme of a peaceful solution to Ireland's troubles through integration. Initially, LILT toyed with the possibility of setting up a trust for children orphaned as a direct result of the troubles but then they heard about the Belfast Charitable Trust For Integrated Education and saw it as the obvious channel.

After a successful benefit concert, LILT recorded seven of Kavana's songs under a collective title of 'Irish Ways - For The Children', and aimed to involve as many Irish artists in the project as possible. Consequently, the five Pogues played and sang on all the tracks, with Terry featuring on four and Shane singing the stand-out song 'Irish Ways (Callin' Me Home Again)'.

In the meantime, a European tour was lined up for November, but Darryl decided that although he might work with The Pogues in the future, he wanted to revert to playing himself. "In the early days of The Pogues," he says, "there was more of a camaraderie about everything. The six of them, with me driving and everyone mucking in together. But as the organization got bigger, I just ended up humping amplifiers around. Somebody has to do it, sure, but there seemed to be an ever decreasing circle of opportunities. And whereas everybody else, like Scully, had a job where they could express themselves, I had nothing apart from the odd chance to play bass."

It was 14 months since he had formed The Troubleshooters with Dave Scott and James' close friend and former Dolly Mixture, Debsey, and they were all keen to record a single and do regular gigs. After telling Frank that he hall decided to leave, Darryl telephoned Joey Cashman and offered him his place. Joey took it.

Joe Cashman had first picked up a saxophone in 1978 and started playing in a series of bands in his native Dublin: The Fast Skirts, The Mod-1's and DC9 who achieved relative fame as Tokyo Olympics. Joey later got involved in film, working on a series of videos and building up his own portfolio. On arriving back from The Pogues US tour Joey found work as a sound assistant on Alex Cox's Straight To Hell, and was biding his time for future film work when he was offered Darryl's position with The Pogues.

When the band returned to their Eezihire rehearsal space at the beginning of October, Cait failed to appear. So Jem asked Darryl, who was showing Joey the ropes, if he would fill in on bass. By the end of the first week, Frank had managed to contact Cait in Los Angeles where she was accompanying Elvis on tour. When Murray told her that she was required in London she coolly responded, "Send me a tape," but said she was on her way.

On October 9, Spider got married. His bride was Terri Lynn Moore, better known as Cheyne: the New Yorker who first captivated him some seven months before. Following the July tour of the States, Cheyne new to Spain, and Spider proposed an immediate wedding. Anxious to avoid a Madonna/Penn spectacle, the couple opted for a private ceremony at Burnt Oak Registry Office which - since the other Pogues were in rehearsal - was attended by just Terry, Frank and Ferga. One minor detail was overlooked and the confetti had to be delayed while Murray dashed home for a cheque book. Their wedding afternoon was spent back at Eezihire (where James was celebrating his 32nd birthday) and their honeymoon in Camden Town.

Cait showed up the following week, but at the end of her second day she caused speculation by announcing that she was taking her bass home to practice. Two days later she called Murray from Los Angeles, and told him she would not be rejoining the band. Since Costello And The Attractions were to be on tour for several months, the news was hardly a surprise.

"I think the decision that she made is a normal decision for any man or woman to make," reasons Terry. "She actually faced up to the choice of being with the man she wanted to be with or being with the band, and when decisions get down to personal levels like that then I think personal life takes precedent."

And - with the exception of Shane - The Pogues accepted that Cait had made her final stand. "It was good that it happened when it did," says Jem, "'cos we'd only just started rehearsing. But I think it's better that someone leaves than hangs around without their heart in it. For a while you sometimes got the feeling that the heart wasn't there, and it would probably have become intolerable. Although it's still sad when someone that's been there from the start goes, especially in a band like this which was based on a group of friends."

Fortunately, there was Darryl, who was invited to return to the fold and command bass, at least until Christmas. Their European tour was to feature a completely revamped set and - with it now just three weeks away - they had a hurried go at the new material. This included 'Rake At The Gates Of Hell', 'If I Should Fall From Grace With God', 'Turkish Song Of The Damned', 'Lullaby Of London' (which they then recorded for a Janice Long session), a couple of Filler instrumentals and Terry singing the traditional 'South Australia' and a medley. An altogether more raucous and characteristically Pogues mix than the year's record would have indicated.

"We'd been playing the old set for ages, so it was really jaded," admits Shane. "There was a lot of quite complicated numbers in it from 'Rum, Sodomy And The Lash' so we just decided - well, we didn't decide anything - but that's the way it came out 'cos we were all really pissed off with the old one."

At the same time, MacGowan bought a bouzouki (which cost £100 and took one minute to tune) and set to work on a series of new numbers. "The bouzouki is a very easy instrument to play," he says. "You can play three times as fast as a guitar player, so it takes all the bullshit out of being a guitarist and I found that I could play practically anything on it."

Their new set was to include 'The Broad Majestic Shannon', the ballad written for Tommy Makem and Liam Clancy; and they simultaneously worked out a jazz funk song, 'Driving Through The City', which Shane wrote for Grace Jones while they were filming Straight To Hell.

Meanwhile, Christy Moore - who had always been acknowledged, alongside The Dubliners and Clancey Brothers, as The Pogues greatest influence - began a major tour of England. Among his own gems was an interpretation of 'A Pair Of Brown Eyes'. "This," he told his audience, "is a song written by my new Hero: young MacGowan out of The Pogues."

The end of the month also provided a rare privilege. The Dubliners, recording a double LP to commemorate their 25th anniversary, asked The Pogues to guest on a couple of tracks. Their kindred soul was consequently united in Elephant Studios on October 29'and 30. The chosen songs were 'The Irish Rover' and 'The Rare Auld Mountain Dew', with MacGowan and Ronnie Drew splitting the vocals. "I never had to sing as fast in my life!" says Ronnie.

Both tracks were produced by Eamonn Campbell who had been involved with The Dubliners since the late sixties, and had been particularly close to the late Luke Kelly. Flayed by the strains of 'Rum, Sodomy And The Lash', Eamonn told his son Paddy, "I'd love to produce for that band" - a year later The Dubliners were giving him the opportunity.

"I must admit that I felt apprehensive," says Eamonn, "especially when I walked into Elephant Studios and there were 14 people there. But it turned out to be the best thing I've ever produced. They're a great bunch of lads; the finest you could meet."

The Pogues and Dubliners were equally elated by the finished tape, which more than matched the occasion. "Tex Mex," glowed Terry on hearing 'The Rare Auld Mountain Dew'. "No," quipped Shane, "Tick Micks." "I think The Dubliners understand us and we understand them," says MacGowan. "We both take the piss out of ourselves but we both take the music seriously in the end."

The following Tuesday, it was back to hell: this time for 23 dates in France, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium and Holland. The tour began as it was to continue, when - with lost echoes of the Finnjet Ferry - Spider and DJ collapsed from the bar into their cabin berths. On reaching French soil, no amount of knocking could waken them and The Pogues had no choice but to face their Brest audience without a whistle-player and with the monitors left to chance.

The errant pair managed to make it to the second night in Saint-Male, but two days later the whole party failed to arrive in Berlin. As the hours ticked by the German tour manager (whose last encounter with The Pogues led to a nervous breakdown) steeled himself to the fact that the band were going to miss their first and most important date.

It turned out that there had been a serious error in the tour itinerary and consequently - through no fault of their owl - The Pogues had missed the flight to Berlin. There was no alternative but to take another two days off, and fly directly to the next gig in Hamburg instead.

The tour hit a highspot, on November 14 in Munich, when The Dubliners joined The Pogues for an encore of 'The Irish Rover', 'The Rare Auld Mountain Dew' and 'The Wild Rover'. The audience responded with a shower of well-intentioned missiles. These included several shoes, one of which scored a direct - and very painful - hit in Andrew's crotch. "The whole thing was just mad," remembers Spider.

"The Dubliners, in lots of ways, were Pogues before The Pogues," says Terry. "The only thing that I sadly miss about working with them is that Luke Kelly isn't around. Luke was a particular friend. Every Saturday we'd play football together in Dartmouth Square. We'd play amongst ourselves, but there was always a match."

Early the next morning, The Pogues dragged themselves back to their coach and made for Zurich. After a bleary-brained pit-stop at a service station, they continued the journey southward. But, on reaching the Austrian border, it was discovered that although Joey's ubiquitous leather jacket was present, Cashman himself was not to be found. Joey - increasingly useful since he could already distinguish between a mandola and a mandolin - had been left in the service station with only a pair of jeans and a Sandinista sweatshirt to his name.

There was nothing for it but to retrieve the wanderer. So, while The Pogues piled into a nearby restaurant, the coach backtracked to Munich. Three hours later, the driver returned without Joey, and another six hours passed before Cashman eventually turned up in a state-sponsored taxi; having spent the best part of the day in a Bavarian police station.

A mad dash through Switzerland followed, with The Pogues finally reaching Zurich some two hours after their scheduled show, but still managing to satisfy the disgruntled crowd with a belated burst of 'The Irish Rover' and a very dicey set.

In the third week, it was back to France for another nine dates, including a Southern stint in Nice, Montpellier and Toulouse. By this time, most of the problems with their new set had been overcome, and Toulouse saw one of their best performances of the tour. But it also came dangerously close to being their last.

Heading towards their hotel hl the post-midnight hours of that rainy, windswept night, the coach got stuck on a narrow country lane. The driver attempted to forge their way through but, seconds later, everyone clutched in mild horror as they felt themselves slowly begin to topple. Miraculously the fall stopped at a precarious 45 degrees, where they remained until a repair service towed the coach upright.

The trek reached its summit in Paris, on November 24, when they played to 4,000 people at Le Zenith. In just 12 months, their Parisian audience had increased more than tenfold, and The Pogues were surrounded by press and fans alike. "That tour turned out to be an even bigger sell-out than ever," says Terry. "Which is surprising when you consider that we should have had an album out but didn't."

After Paris, they descended into the pits of Rennes, Rouen and Le Mans. The latter show was marred by a bunch of sieg-heiling fascists who, in a scene reminiscent of Hitler's 1985 birthday celebrations in Berlin, insisted on making their presence felt. The Pogues met them with verbal challenge and, when the rest of the crowd backed the band, the minority bleated out.

The remainder of the tour brought four nights in Belgium and Holland. Their penultimate date in Deinze, just south of Ghent, was to have been attended by two coachloads from London. The trip was organized by the Brighten-based Mead Gould Promotions, with concert ticket and return journey at an all-inclusive price of £45. But one of the coaches never made it to Belgium. It was turned back en route when the promoter decided the entourage were too drunk to continue. This was denied by angry falls who were not given a refund; but the press were quick to reflect the incident on "Ireland's booze/rock" Pogues.

By the last night in Utrecht, a month on the road had taken its toll, and everyone was desperate for home. "Sometimes it's just complete hell," says Andrew. "It's always really exhausting, so you have to cope with that to begin with. But it's not just the physical demands, a lot of the time you're really fucked up in your head too: you don't know where you are, you don't know why you're there, you're fed up with all these complete arseholes that you have to deal with, you're lonely and you're bored. I mean, the bad side of it is really bad - it's worse than anything I've ever done and I've done some pretty vile jobs in the past. But the good side of it is much better, and also you know that you just have to do it, and somehow or other you get through. You may play like a pile of shit, but you still do the gigs, and the more you do the better you get at doing it."

Back from hell, but not for long. The Pogues were given 36 hours before starting another round of England, Scotland and Ireland. Terry escaped to Cavan to celebrate his birthday with his family but, whatever happened next, the band decided that this tour would be followed by a. three-week break.

"I've got to spend some time at home," said Terry. "I haven't been home since October, which isn't the easiest way to have a family. So I personally need a few weeks just to sort out my home life and reassure the children. That's the nice thing about this band: with all its abnormalities, it has a sense of normality that is very prevalent."

The Back From Hell Tour got underway, on December 4, in the stately surrounds of Kilburn's National Ballroom. It was The Pogues first London appearance in nine months and, not surprisingly, saw a haze of publicity, a guest list of 500 (Cait and Elvis among them) and a sea of green flooding to its tinselled rafters.

First night nerves were increased by sound problems and the show itself was far from spectacular. But while Frank Murray seethed backstage, neither audience nor press appeared to notice: downstairs was a delirious jungle of heads, arms, shoulders, scarves and Tricolours; and the papers followed with rave reviews.

"It's great, actually, the support we've got for someone who hasn't really put a record out all year," says Jem. "But I don't know how we got away with that one. If I'd been reviewing it, then I'd really have laid into us."

Following two sold-out shows at the Hammersmith Palais, Shane paid a flying visit to Dublin to be photographed with Ronnie Drew for the Christmas cover of Hot Press. He was driven from the airport to the photo-session and quickly back to the airport by The Pogues' Irish publicist Terry O'Neill. After dropping MacGowan off the car was involved in a serious collision and, although O'Neill escaped with reparable damage, the passenger side was a total write-off. Shane returned to London, mercifully unaware.

In Glasgow, The Pogues popularity had never been in doubt and their return to Barrowlands on December 12-13 gave the Ballroom a new attendance record. By 7.00 p.m., Gallowgate was alive with music. Tonight it wasn't the usual Saturday sing-a-longs, but the songs of MacGowan arranged by all and sundry. Amid the unwearying strains of 'Sick Bed,' 'Brown Eyes' and 'Sally MacLennane' in the Barrowlands Bar, was Sean Conboy who had travelled from Birmingham for his 74th Pogues gig.

When The Pogues hit the boards, Barrowlands was more impressive than ever: a fanatical forest of green and white, stretching and spreading and finally engulfing the entire ballroom, and reverberating every chorus from 'The Irish Rover' to the wild one. The crowd's fervour was not without its drawbacks. The scene was interpreted by some as an open celebration of sectarianism, a view further emphasised by the sight of a bloodied Rangers fan.

This put The Pogues in a precarious position even though they collectively spanned a broad religious spectrum (from pagan to agnostic to lapsed Catholic) and had done little to incite such passion other than play what was essentially Irish-based music and simply be The Pogues. Ironically enough, the band returned to their hotel to find that Rangers Football Club had chosen the same venue for their Christmas party.

Five days later they were bound for Holyhead, and the final leg of Back From Hell. It was to be The Pogues first Irish date since Self-Aid and a visit to which everybody had been looking forward.

Their first date was a sold-out show at Dublin's Olympic. The majority of the crowd were as pant mayhem. The majority of the crowd were as drunk as they were young, and it took complete darkness and an intro-loop of 'Year Of The French' to hush them into any kind of order. With just a minute to go, Paul Scully shrieked in disbelief from the sound desk. Somebody had run a dastardly hand across the controls and, in one second, had laid waste a two-hour sound check. That was only the beginning: he spent the next 70 minutes mopping a continual spray of beer from his precious equipment.

But if the Olympic proved a nightmare for Scully and the Pogue sound, the audience were unperturbed. They sang along with inspired ardour and, during 'Dirty Old Town' and 'The Auld Triangle', the band was barely audible at all.

The following night saw another sell-out and further madness at the SFX, though a late-night session at the Pogues' spiritual home, Blooms Hotel, proved more entertaining than the actual gig.

Dublin was the best place in the world for The Finnish Rover (a Guinness and vodka cocktail invented by MacGowan) and there was no bar where it tasted like this. After several Revers, Eamonn Campbell produced his guitar and led James, Jem and an increasing circle of Irish musicians through 'That's Alright Mama,' 'His Latest Flame' and 'Peggy Gordon', while Shane poured the essence of Luke Kelly into 'Dirty Old Town'

"Shane sang that for me," smiles Eamonn, "Luke was my best friend. I was with him when he died, and carried his coffin. And it meant the world to me just to hear Shane singing his song." The songs went on for several rounds, and Blooms was packed until dawn. This was to be the last day of the tour, and The Dubliners were scheduled for a guest appearance at The Pogues' final show in Dun Laoghaire.

In the afternoon, however, Shane - who never seemed to sleep before noon - emerged with a severely gashed nose, the result of an early morning fracas involving a basketball player, a Blooms' dustbin and the MacGowan charisma. In the absence of a make-up artist, PV promised to go easy on the stage lights.

The venue was an old dancehall, The Top Hat, and Back From Hell hit the ultimate end when The Dubliners appeared for a second encore of 'The Rare Old Mountain Dew' and 'The Irish Rover'. By the time they entered the third round with 'The Wild Rover', there were 19 Pogues on stage: Frank, Cheyne and Paul Scully's son Robin dived for drums, lensman Tom Collins grabbed a mike and even PV abandoned his lightshow.

"I enjoyed it tremendously," says Ronnie Drew. "I thought all the young kids would be wondering what the auld fellows were doing up there, but they didn't. It was marvellous."

The band took a three-week Christmas break but were back in Dublin on January 13 for a TV appearance on Mega Mix. Then it was back to rehearsal until February 3 when they started recording the soundtrack for Straight To Hell. With Paul Scully and Dave Jordan producing, they slapped down 'Rake At The Gates Of Hell', 'If I Should Fall From Grace With God', an instrumental titled 'Rabinga' and a cover of 'The Good The Bad And The Ugly'. The latter was to be the title track but it turned out to be so faithful to the original that it was pointless. After a couple of wrought suggestions, Jem said that they should record a hip hop version instead. With the notable exception of DJ and James, there was little enthusiasm for Finer's notion until Andrew telephoned to say that he couldn't make it to the studio and they had no choice but to use a drum machine. The resulting track was topped up with cider-fuelled shrieks, slabs of heavy metal guitar and wholesale pickings from the Morricone original, and later mixed with bits from the previous day's recording.

In the meantime, The Pogues had been given another screen role in the Comic Strip's Eat the Rich: a black comedy featuring middle-aged anarchists and minced-up yuppies. The star-strewn cast included the Comic Strip regulars plus Fiona Richmond, Motorhead, Paul McCartney, Sandie Shaw, Bill Wyman, Koo Stark, Jools Holland and Hugh Comwell. Shane, Terry, Frank and Spider grabbed cameo roles as a bunch of terrorists (and a Celtic scarved journalist), while Joey worked on the sound team.

Although The Pogues were ready to start recording their third LP, Frank Murray was no longer prepared for it to be released on Stiff. He believed that - despite Dave Robinson's claims to the contrary - their floundering label did not have the finances to back such an important record. Consequently February was 28 days of hanging around. "It was a real drag," says James. "I thought, 'This is the year when everything is going to happen' and suddenly there was bugger all going on. It was like waiting for a bus - you know it's going to come but you don't know when."

March 6 brought the first rumble when The Pogues flew to Dublin for a special edition of The Late Late Show. It was a night for tall tales and great voices as The Pogues, U2, Christy Moore, The Fureys, Stockton's Wing, Jim McCann and even Taoiseach Charlie Haughey helped Ronnie Drew, Barney MacKenna, John Sheahan, Sean Cannon and Eamonn Campbell to celebrate 25 years of The Dubliners.

There was rare footage of the late Luke Kelly singing 'Scorn Not His Simplicity', an emotive rendition of 'Springhill Mining Disaster' from U2, Christy Moore belting out 'The Black Velvet Band' and The Pogues teaming with The Dubliners and Christy for 'The Irish Rover'. But the highlight came when Ciaran Bourke (now semi-paralysed through hlness) recited a tribute to Brendan Behan and the entire cast echoed 'The Auld Triangle'. "The whole thing was really moving - it just sent shivers down your spine," says Jem, "and I think we all felt really proud to be there."

After a night of the usual in Blooms, The Pogues returned to London and started preparing for Saint Patrick's Day: when they were to play in front of a crowd of 5,000 at Brixton Academy. Keen for a novelty factor, on this their fourth annual show, someone suggested that they should hire the appropriate gear and pose as New York police vets. The idea was quickly agreed and Andrew and PV set to work on a huge backdrop of the Manhattan City skyline.

"I didn't like the idea when it first came up," says James. "I thought the idea of dressing up as police was too macho, and I do worry about what else something means apart from looking good. Ever since Cait left I've been really aware of The Pogues being all blokes, although I'm not too worried so long as, as a group, we don't start pushing forward male attitudes."

The band built up to the 17th with a hat-trick of Round Saint Patrick's dates and it was during this period that Murray recruited a new backliner and Pogue called Charlie MacLennon. Better known as Big Charlie, he started working with Alex Harvey in 1968, toured with Thin Lizzy - as personal manager to Phil Lynott - throughout the seventies, and had spent the last five years working for Joan Armatrading.

The Pogues opened and closed their Saint Patrick's Day sets with 'The-Irish Rover' and chose the big day itself to release the version which they had recorded with The Dubliners, and which had been remixed by Dave Jordan.

By the following week, 'The Irish Rover' had shot straight into the Top 40. But before the charts were announced, Spider was making his way to Nicaragua. He was to appear alongside Joe Strummer, Dick Rude and a host of other Straight To Hell stars in Alex Cox's Walker - a film documenting the life and times of William Walker, the American soldier who declared himself President of Nicaragua in 1855.

While Stacy flew to South America, his colleagues headed back to Ireland to co-star with The Dubliners on the Tom O'Connor Roadshow. They arrived in Derry on the eve of the show, drank their way through to the morning and made a bleary-eyed lunchtime appearance in the Town hall. Afterwards the Lord Mayor invited the bands to have a drink in his plush chamber. What he failed to account for was both the size of their ever-increasing entourage and their limitless capacity for alcohol. "I suppose he meant a civilized drink," smiles Jem, "but he had loads of bottles of spirits and there was all of us, The Dubliners, and people like the writer Eamonn McCann, and I think he bit off more than he could chew."

The afternoon tipple rapidly evolved into a fully fledged session with drink, music and more drink. But it was a Brendan Behan song which finally proved too much for the Mayor. As 'the auld triangle went jingle jangle' he threw off his civic chain and fled the building.

Several hours later, Terry Woods, Ronnie Drew and Barney MacKenna decided to make their way to Dublin and Barney - who was the most sober of the three - was nominated to take the wheel. MacKenna failed to realize that the car was an automatic and mistook the brake for the clutch several times.

Not surprisingly, they were barely 200 yards down the road when the RUC pulled them over and, without bothering with the breathalizer, carted them off for a night in the cells. Waking in the early hours of the next morning, Ronnie turned to Barney and in all seriousness enquired, "What sort of fucked' hotel is this?"

"You're not in a hotel, you're in the cells," returned Barney, before sniping. "Sing 'The Auld Triangle' now, you little bollocks."

The trio managed to find alternative accommodation for the following weekend, when the two bands blasted Saturday Live with 'The Irish Rover'. By a neat quirk of coincidence, the show was hosted by Ben Elton - the same presenter who, three years before, had suggested to South Of Watford viewers that The Pogues were destined to play The Hope And Anchor an itrfirritum. But, this time round, Elton gave the band an unashamed and long overdue plug.

Three days later, 'The Irish Rover' was touching on the Top 20 and they were invited to appear on Top Of The Pops.

Lining up alongside Curiosity Killed The Cat, The Pogues and their bearded mentors were as novel a bunch of pop toppers as the BBC was likely to get and - when they took the stage for rehearsal - the entire floor crew burst into applause. "This place has changed a fair bit since I was last here," remarked Ronnie Drew, as he cast an eye around Studio Six. "When was that!" asked the floor manager. "1967," replied Ronnie, to general laughter.

The Dubliners bridged the wait in their 20-year gap in the BBC Club (where they were admirably entertained by the barnlan and his vast repertoire of John McCormack songs) before being herded back to Studio Six where a BBC executive was urging the 'live' audience to enjoy themselves and shoeing the best dressed ones in front of the cameras and, at 7.00 p.m., it was time for Janice Long to beam in the 'big surprise'.

After the show, the champagne flowed freer than ever and, by the following week, 'The Irish Rover' had risen to number eight. "Top Of The Pops was a laugh," says Jem, "but personally I found the show and the whole thing of being in the Top 10 quite meaningless."

Something that meant more, to Shane, at least, was the single simultaneously reaching number one in Ireland. The band marked their achievement with an Easter appearance at Dublin's Gaiety Theatre.

They flew across on Saturday, had a quick rehearsal on Sunday afternoon and were to be televised live on RTE at 10.00pm. But five minutes before they were due on stage, it suddenly occurred to Frank that not only was Jem missing but he wasn't going to turn up. A last second reshuffle ensued with Terry grabbing Jem's banjo and passing his own cittern to the attendant Philip Donnelly.

Afterwards, they returned to Blooms Bar - where they found Finer. Apparently, he had gone for a post-rehearsal drink with Shane, decided on a quick kip in his room and eventually awoke at 11.58pm. "it was all dark and I couldn't work out where I was," says Jem. "Then it dawned on me that I'd gone to sleep at six o'clock and the television show had been at 10. At first I thought, 'Oh no!' Then I just burst into hysterical laughter because it was all so completely absurd. I'd gone all the way to Dublin, done the rehearsal but missed the whole caboodle. So I just went downstairs to the bar and everyone came back and laughed at me."

The band spent the following weekend in France. They were billed to support James Brown at a festival in Bourges, but the Godfather pulled out at the last moment and The Pogues ended up headlining over Trouble Funk and Johnny Clegg. Spider was to have joined them in Paris, but was delayed in Nicaragua and flew in week later instead. He had spent the past six weeks in Managua and Granada, in the screen role of a mercenary. "I was just sort of being there," he shrugs. "I got punched in the face, clubbed over the head with a pistol; pulled a sword on some Nicaraguans and marched the President to his execution - and eventually got to die of cholera."

While he was there, though, Spider was inspired to write a song, full of pride and passion, which he tentatively titled 'Walk Tall Nicaragua' and which he sang to the tune (or thereabouts) of 'James Connelly'. "One of the things that I sensed really strongly was that the Nicaraguan people have suffered for a long time under a repressive government, and also endured all sorts of other problems, like earthquakes. And now that they've got rid of their dictator and are trying to do something for themselves, they're being bullied by the Americans. But, even if the Americans invade and take all the major cities, those people will never surrender: they'll just shoot the stars and stripes to shreds."

Straight To Hell was scheduled for June release and, by way of a byline, Frank asked Def Jam supreme Rick Rubin to remix their hip hop version of 'The Good The Bad And The Ugly'. Rubin, however, failed to share their enthusiasm for the track: he said that the tempo was more disco than hip hop and suggested that they slow it down by using a heavy metal drummer. Brian Downey, of Thin Lizzy renown, subsequently laid down a drum solo, and the track was mixed at Elephant Studios by Dave Jordan. "Brian did an excellent job," says DJ, "but when Jem said, 'Let's do a hip hop version' he had as much idea about hip hop as anybody else. And, by doing exactly what Rick Rubin told us to do, I think we completely missed the point. What we had in the first place was a great track - it was completely mental but it was definitely The Pogues."

By this time the ongoing discussions between The Pogues and their record company had broken down completely and, in order to keep Stiffs hands off the record, they decided to pay for the recording themselves.

Consequently, on May 9, they started recording their new LP at last. The venue was RAK Studio in London's Saint John's Wood and the producer was Steve Lillywhite. Lillywhite, who had climbed his way up through the studio ranks (from teaboy to engineer to producer) had worked with a whole series of Celtic bands including U2, Simple Minds, Big Country and, of course, his wife Kirsty MacColl.

It was while he was in Dublin, doing some remixes on U2's 'The Joshua Tree', that he met up with Murray and casually asked who was producing the next Pogues LP. Murray had replied, "We don't know. Do you want to do it?"

Recording went like a dream: in the first week they laid seven backing tracks and after just 11 days the first half of the record was almost completed. "Waiting around for four months was really frustrating and, in a way, quite demoralizing," says Jem, "but as soon as we got into the studio everyone really leapt at it. And - without slagging off our previous producers - having an actual producer rather than a musician producing has made an incredible difference. Steve doesn't mess around with the arrangements he just gets them to sound the best they possibly can."

The band's enthusiasm and respect for Lillywhite was more than reciprocated. "The thing about The Pogues is that you can't really compare them with any other groups," says Steve. "There's so many people and so many different influences; James' influences, for example, don't come anywhere near where Shane's influences come from and Jem gets it all completely different again. But, at the same time, they're very much a band and I always tend to do my best work when I'm working within a family type configuration. They've also got a very definite idea about how the songs should sound, and I'm just here putting it all to bed."

Although there were a number of differences between these Pogues and those who had recorded 'Rum, Sodomy And The Lash' - Darryl, Philip (and Andrew on a full rather than a two-piece kit)- the most significant addition was Terry Woods. He gave the band an extra dimension both in terms of the arrangements and the songs themselves.

Himself and Shane had worked out a startling number, tracing several centuries of Irish oppression and injustice. It begins with the lament like strains of Woods' 'Streets Of Sorrow', which refers in particular to the Irish revolutionary Michael Collins, and builds into the murderous incomprehension of MacGowan's 'Binningham Six': 'There were six men in Birmingham and in Guildford there's four/that were picked up and tortured and framed by the law/ and the filth got promotion but they're still doing time/ for being Irish in the wrong place and at the wrong time . . .! You'll be counting years, first five, then 10 growing old in a lonely hell/ round the yard and the stinking cell/ from wall to wall, and back again.

"It's about people getting framed up by the British system of justice, or whatever you want to call it," says Shane. "It specifically mentions the Birmingham Six and the Guildford Four but there's also a verse about the eight guys who were recently done by the SAS. Basically, it's about anybody who's been locked up without any real evidence against them."

Among the other new songs was the tacky summer sound of 'Fiesta', jazzed up with a brass section of Joey Cashman, After Tonite's Eli Thompson and Brian Clarke, and former Pride Of The Cross man Paul Taylor. Jem had based the tune on Almeria's infamous Chochona song, while some of MacGowan's lyrics were a paraphrase of Lorcas's 'Ballad Of The Accursed': 'El veinticino de agosto, abrio sus ojos Jaime Fearnley .. ./Y Costello el rey del America y suntuosa Cait O'Riordan.' "It's just about a bunch of wankers going to Spain during the summer," shrugs Shane.

At the end of May, Steve Lillywhite had to forsake The Pogues to produce Talking Heads in Paris, but Murray had already lined up a busy 10 days in Ireland. Their first destination was Cork, where they were to be filmed by a French TV crew for the prestigious Johnny Hallyday Show. But the weekend turned into a complete farce when they were driven all the way to Killarney, merely to sit in a pub and mime to 'Sally MacLennane'.

From Killamey it was up the country to Dublin to host an RTE TV special. The Pogues' invited guests were naturally enough The Dubliners and, as a special aside, Joe Strummer was there to perform a couple of songs with Terry. But when it was time for Strummer's spot, the rest of the band persuaded him to let them play too and a raucous mix of 'I Fought The Law' and 'London Calling' ensued. The Pogues own performance was, however, wrecked by an uncharacteristic spasm of nerves and the recording needed serious surgery before it hit the air.

After consecutive weekends in Kenmare and Bremen, The Pogues returned to London to attend the premiere of Straight To Hell. The movie had already been slated by most of the critics: Filmnight's Barry Norman had commented, "It took Alex Cox and Dick Rude three and a half days to write this script. Frankly, I'm amazed it took them so long."

But Straight To Hell's star and self-proclaimed publicist Courtney Love deflected the flak with, "If you don't like obnoxious children and you don't like dogs that piss on your carpet and you haven't got a sense of humour then you're not going to like Straight To Hell."

Two days later, The Pogues faced a crowd of 70,000 when they were lined up with Lone Justice and Lou Reed, as support to U2 at Wembley Stadium. The next six weeks continued in similar style with further U2 dates in Dublin's Croke Park and Paris' L'Hippodrome, followed by a week of festivals in Italy and Finland.

On July 18, the band staged a Picnic In The Park, in London's Finsbury Park, but it rained throughout the afternoon and the event proved more of a Glastonbury mudbath than a picnic. Nevertheless The Pogues attracted a crowd of 8,000 and the melee of stumbling bodies, flying shoes and ripped clothing was more exuberant than ever.

The following Monday, The Pogues were back in RAK Studio and managed to lay eight backing tracks in a matter of days. Among the new material was 'Thousands Are Sailing', a Philip Chevron number, linking the current exodus of young Irish men and women to America with the mass flights of the past. Written in the satire vein as his Radiators' classic 'Faithful Departed', Chevron managed to capture all the dreams, fears and tears of the reluctant exile. 'In Manhattan's desert twilight in the death of afternoon/ we stood hand in hand on Broadway like the first men on the moon/ and 'The Blackbird' broke the silence as you whistled it so sweet/ and in Brendan Behan's footsteps I danced up and down the street. . ./And we raised a glass to JFK and a dozen more besides/ when I got back to my empty room I suppose I must have cried.'

Meanwhile, MacGowan had come up with 'Sit Down By The Fire' and collaborated with Finer on 'Bottle Of Smoke'. The former is a late night tale that revs into a rampant jig and tempers the spooks and ghouls with the vintage refrain 'Good night and God bless, now fuck off to bed.' "It's the kind of story they tell you before you go to bed, just to freak you out completely," says Shane. "It's about all the things that can get you in the old, creaking house as you lay there in the dark. It's a typical Irish bedtime story."

'Bottle Of Smoke', on the other hand, is a glorious commentary on an unfancied racehorse. "It's basically about the Cheltenham Gold Cup," says MacGowan, "going to the races and betting a lot of money on an outsider. But it wins, of course, otherwise people would accuse us of being pessimists. With a name like 'Bottle Of Smoke' how could it lose!"

The Pogues had also come up with three new instrumentals: Woods' 'The Battle March', MacGowan's 'The Ballinalee' and a Carolan-type tune which was referred to simply as 'The Instrumental' but which Shane had privately christened 'Shanne Bradley'. "It's a tune which I made up on the bouzouki a few months ago," he says. "Carolan used to write songs for men and songs for women, and sometimes he wrote them for himself, like 'The Ode To Whiskey'. But generally they were for a patron or someone that he was obsessed with or loved. And this is just a very graceful tune, which is named after the woman that I was thinking about at the time."

For the next six weeks, the band recorded from Monday to Thursday and gigged at the weekends. Their dates included a headline spot (over Chuck Berry) in Geneva and a place on U2's Edinburgh bill "The Pogues write great songs and make brilliant music," said their bassist Adam Clayton, "and we're delighted to have them with us." Although U2 wound up their three-month European tour at the Cork Festival, it was The Dubliners and not The Pogues who were chosen to support them. The Pogues played on the following day's bill - with Christy Moore, The Wolftones and Status Quo - but turned in a less than perfect performance, and Shane was particularly slated for forgetting the words to 'A Pair Of Brown Eyes'.

In the studio, however, MacGowan sang each song like it was his last. With Steve Lillywhite at the controls, he shot 'If I Should Fall From Grace With God' with a new vitality and transformed Chevron's 'Thousands Are Sailing' into his own. "Certain people are special," says DJ, "and special people when they're on form are devastating. And that's the way Shane is. Most of the time I just think . . .'Wanker' but when he really goes for it, he's something else."

MacGowan's Cork blunders had already been forgotten by the time the band returned to Ireland, on August 23, to headline the Tralee Festival where they were billed under the ridiculous heading of 'The Unique Shane MacGowan And The Pogues'.

While most of them proved consistent losers at the races, the unique one got lucky with a visit from the reigning Rose 7.who was gracious enough to sign their postcard to Tom Waits. Waits - a Rose Of Tralee advocate since 'Rain Dogs' and before - had just released the studio version of 'Franks Wild Years' and was plugging The Pogues as his favourite band. "I love The Pogues," he said. "Like out of a Hieronynlous Bosch painting. Mythic. Mystical. In their very own drunken fashion."

Back at RAK, Shane shared vocals with Kirsty MacColl to capture 'Fairytale Of New York' on record at last. Set in a New York drunk tank on Christmas Eve, it's the story of an old couple, bound by indelible memories and living on unutterable dreams. 'I could have been someone, whines Shane. 'So could anyone,' retorts Kirsty, 'You took my dreams from me when I first found you.' 'I kept them with me babe,' he sighs, 'and put them with my own, can't make it all alone, I've built my dreams around you.'

With its bells, Broadway and thoughts as distant as Galway Bay, 'Fairytale Of New York' sounded like the Christmas record to end them all. The Pogues final recording was 'Worms': a 45-second fairy tale of an entirely different kind, rasped by Ranken and accompanied by Fearnley. This time round, the band's problem was not what to put on the LP but what to leave off. "Steve seems to have brought out the best in all of us," enthuses Philip. "He realized at the very beginning that we are highly individualized, and I can't think of any other producer who'd have been able to get the same results."

On completing the LP, Steve Lillywhite flew to New York to resume production duties with Talking Heads. But within three weeks The Pogues had landed two support slots to U2, at Boston's Sullivan Stadium and New York's Madison Square Garden, and Lillywhite subsequently asked James and Terry to guest on Talking Heads eclectic 'Naked'.

The Pogues themselves attracted the attention of everyone from Faye Dunaway to The Beastie Boys and Los Lobos. "You guys are like the Hell's Angels," declared MTV director Peter Dougherty. "Everyone wants to hang out with you but nobody wants to give you their Home address."

During this period, The Pogues learned that Dave Robinson had served legal writs in order to gain possession of their LP tapes. To complicate the matter still further, Frank Murray received a call from Island Records' Chris Blackwell saying that he wanted to buy the band out of their Stiff contract. The terms of a deal were quickly agreed but, by the time they supported U2 at Madison Square Garden, the deal was off.

On October 16, the battle between The Pogues and Stiff Records reached the High Court. But half an hour before their case was due to be heard Stiff stopped the writ. Dave Robinson had resigned as MD and was replaced by Chris O'Donnell who, unlike his predecessor, was able to form a good working relationship with Frank Murray.

It was decided that The Pogues should have their own record label and 'Fairytale Of New York' subsequently appeared on Pogue Mahone, pressed and distributed by EMI, and the band later negotiated a US deal with Island.

While 'Fairytale Of New York' was coupled with 'The Battle March Medley'/ 'Shanne Bradley' and rush released for Christmas, the band toyed with the titles 'Fiesta' and 'Pogue Mahone' but finally christened the LP 'If I Should Fall From Grace With God'.

In the meantime they returned to the road with a seven-date jaunt around Ireland under the Na Gopaleen banner of The Brother Wouldn't Look At An Egg. The trek included two nights in Terry Woods' home town of Virginia, County Cavan, and the entire population turned up at The Lake Hotel to catch their resident Pogue in action. Their Irish dates were followed by a one-off London date at Camden's Electric Ballroom, where a shambolic set was enlivened by a Joe Strummer encore of 'I Fought The Law' and 'London Calling'.

By this time, Philip Chevron was suffering from severe ulcer trouble and, on doctor's orders, agreed to drop out of their American tour; Frank Murray called the first guitarist he could think of. "It was funny the way it happened," smiles Joe Strummer. "I'd met Jimmy The Red, a well known drinker around Netting Hill, and he was telling me that he'd been to Narcotics Anonymous, had given up everything and was feeling great. So I decided to knock drinking on the head for a month, went home and was sat there feeling all smug with my new decision when the phone rang and Frank Murray said, 'Joe, you're gonna come to New York with us in three days time'."

Strummer's resolution was short-lived indeed when, on arriving in New York, The Pogues were driven to a downtown drunk tank to record a 'Fairytale' video. The real action began when the boys of the NYPD decided that the entourage weren't as sober as a film crew should be. But director Peter Dougherty managed to save the band from a night in the tank by propping Charlie (who was acting as Santa Claus) against a sturdy counter and getting Matt Dillon to guide Shane up a potentially precarious staircase.

The three-week tour took in Canada and the States, and culminated in two West coast dates with Los Lobos. "There's something about thrashing an instrument to the limit," says Strummer, "and what really appeals to me about The Pogues is the sheer physicality of the music. I loved the way we could really rock the house with a tiny little thing like a mandolin, rather than bludgeoning the audience into submission with a huge wall of sound. On 'Medley' we'd all gather round Terry Woods and he'd raise one eyebrow which was the signal to go double time . . . it was scary enough just to learn all that stuff let alone try and play it at 900 miles per hour."

Despite MacGowan's Radio One anomalies of 'You scum bag, you maggott, you cheap lousy faggott Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it's our last,' by the time The Pogues returned to London they were on course for a yuletide number one. They even changed the lyrics to 'Happy Christmas, you ass' in order to appear on Top of The Pops but were beaten to the post by the Pet Shop Boys cover of 'Always On My Mind'.

In Ireland, though, 'Fairytale Of New York' was an easy winner with even JP Donleavy now keen to meet MacGowan. The single topped the charts throughout January and the LP followed suit.

Since 'Poguetry In Motion' almost two years before. The Pogues vinyl silence had been shattered only by 'The Irish Rover' and 'Fairytale: 'Haunted' didn't count, both of which owed much of their success to sheer novelty. But, released on January 18 1988, 'If I Should Fall From Grace With God' was ample evidence of The Pogues widening scope and musical capabilities.

The record was a thunderous concoction of just about every roots style from folk, country and western, jazz and rock to Irish, Latin and an eccentric taste of the East. The latter influences are best exemplified by the dual MacCowan/Finer compositions 'Fiesta' and 'Turkish Song Of The Damned', while Finer shot a traditional Irish melody with hellbent jazz to turn 'Metropolis' into a bizarre variation of the Miami Vice theme.

While the increasing instrumental capacity of James Fearnley shone through Steve Lillywhite's production, the calibre of other Pogues was felt in Terry Woods' 'Streets Of Sorrow' and Philip Chevron's classic anthem 'Thousands Are Sailing'. With its rich images of 'the old songs,' 'fear of priest' and 'guilt and weeping effigies' the latter offered an imigrant's view of Ireland, but its dark undertones were counterbalanced by the unashamed sentiment of MacGowan's 'The road Majestic Shannon': 'I walked as day was dawning/ where small birds sang and leaves were falling/ where we once watched the row boats landing on the broad majestic Shannon.'

If 'The Broad Majestic Shannon' found solace in the past, then the preceding brace of bedtime stories were fashioned from its ghosts and spectres: with the lachrymose 'Lullaby Of London' providing a startling contrast to the dancing demons of 'Sit DowI1 By The Fire'. And although it was the accursed round of 'Birmingham Six' that echoed loudest, it was in the magical carousel of 'Medley' and the odds-on fervour of 'Bottle Of Smoke' that the full essence of 'Fall From Grace' was to be found.

As the LP shot straight to the top of the charts, The Pogues began a month-long tour of Australia and New Zealand, capturing an audience of 10,000 in Sydney alone, but managing to offend the natives as well as the Bi-centenary celebrating nationalists when one of the Australian stage crew unwittingly hung the Aborigine flag upside down

Returning home, they released 'If I Should Fall From Grace With God' as a single and began a four-week trip around the country, under the appropriate dub 'Nobody Tells Me Anything'. The tour culminated in a week-long stint in London where, in front of a total audience of 17,000, they unveiled their greatest show yet. Using the brass of their support stars After Tonite, The Pogues were able to Pace the fierce momentum of 'Medley' and 'Sick Bed' with slow burners like 'A Rainy Night In Soho' and 'Fairytale Of New York'. Besides Kirsty MacColl, their guests included Joe Strummer, Steve Earle (singing 'Johnny Come Lately' with Spider), Mary Coughlan and Lynval Golding leading a cast of hundreds through 'A Message To You Rudi'.

With such luminaries sharing the spotlight, Shane was able to concentrate on playing bodhran as well as guitar, and - as they headed for their sixth year of live action - The Pogues were more of a unit than ever.

"We've all been very lucky that we weren't successful when we were younger," maintains Philip. "We've had 10 years or whatever to learn about ourselves as individuals and by and large we can take things in our stride. We're not arrogant little whippersnappers who've just had a gold record -we've got a combined age of 265, and that makes us very old indeed. It probably makes us older than any other group in the world bar The Chieftains and The Dubliners."

The Pogues might be on the verge of international phenomena, but the story so far is simply a vivid testimony to the power of chance, the magic of charisma and the importance of attitude.

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