The words took a long time because I couldn't think of anything and the more I tried the less I came up with. As a result it ended up being a very frustrated song about how come it's hard to think up stuff because you end up going "what's the point" cos someone else is bound to have thought of it a hundred years ago and everyone would just go "shut up, Ben". So if it sounds like tedious adolescent whining, that just goes to show.

I also had a lot of trouble with the guitar solo which always seemed to come out a bit Phil Collins, and in the end I did about ten tracks of stupid things and eventually made the solo on the record by sampling the good bits and looping them over and over again. If you listen closely, right at the beginning of the solo there's a strange and frightening growling which sounds like the roar of Cerberus (the twin-headed dog that guards the entrance to Hades), but is actually the sound of me rolling a big tin of dog food up and down the guitar.

The strange beeps are the only surviving bits of an excellent Theremin solo I did. Nobody else thought it was excellent.

Matt: I thought it was excellent. The problem is that ghostie-noises,no matter how excellently performed, are a bit useless in a pulsating rockerama such as "I don't know". Sorry, but there it is.

This was one of those songs which happens really fast and thrillingly and makes Ben and I zoom about, shouting. Then a bit later you realise that you haven't quite finished it, and it takes about two months to sort it out by which time it has gone all cold with a skin on. Still, it seems to have worked out OK. Ultra-minor rock verse followed by ultra-major Pop chorus. Bound to be a hit. Please.

I'd had that little phrase you hear in the chorus for ages and I swear I had no idea how much it was ripping off "Soul Man". It's just a coincidence. It is! I mean it.

It was probably because of being back in the family nest that inspired the lyrics which are about being a sulky teenager in suburbia, and that thing where you sit around moaning with your friends so much that that's all you can think of to do.

You should have seen my bedroom when I was fifteen. Never ever think that if you get a load of red and grey paint and splash it around white walls that it will come out really cool and everyone who comes round will think you're artistic and interesting. IT LOOKS SHIT.

Matt: This will always be a Christmas song for me. Matt, Ben and me playing in Matt's mum's lounge as we've done thousands of times since we were kiddies - a bright winters day - a dodgy soul riff - a sudden, surprising rush of ideas and it was all over.

For the demo we recorded the drums, electric piano and guitar live in Matts lounge, the bass my Mum and Dads kitchen and the vocals and piano in the dining room. We were so impressed with the results that we decided to record our whole album on the 4-track in our parents houses. But we didn't which just goes to show that, er, that it just goes to show that.

Matt: When I get into my bed I generally have to laugh madly for a few minutes because I really, really do like it. I really like the feel of the duvet engulfing me. I really like the feeling of cool pillows on my face. I even quite enjoy the smell. I like being in bed on my own. I like being in bed with someone else. I like being in bed with loads of people. God I love it in bed, I could go on and on and on and on and on and on about it. In fact I have.

The worst thing you can ever do in bed, is to get out old love letters and read them in the hope that this will make you feel happy and nostalgic. Nostalgia is sent from hell. It entices you with promises of oh-so yummy memories and then screws your stomach into a burning knot of helpless self-pity. Do not do it. That's what 'Whirler' is about.