Was it really 40 years ago today that it happened? I can hardly believe it.

I remember it so vividly. One of those moments when you remember exactly where you were and what you were doing when it happened.

I was 16-years-old and had just glanced at the mantelpiece in the back room of our large detached house in suburban Watford. I remember the colour of that mantelpiece and the objects that were on it to this day – including my brother’s radio.

There I was. Hair parted in the middle and not so much down to my shoulders as halfway down my back. Watford Grammar School blazer on. I was probably thinking about my upcoming O-levels or maybe Karen Taylor from Watford Girls Grammar.

I was listening to the DJ John Peel. Two minutes later my life had changed forever.

I can’t even remember what track it was he played. It was there, then it was gone.

But John Peel had played The Ramones and nothing in my life would ever be the same again.

Everything in the room was exactly the same, and I can even remember looking at the objects on that pinkish 1930’s mantelpiece and thinking how much the same they looked because now everything really was different.

I’m sure there will be all sorts of clichéd TV footage and archive interviews in recognition of the 40 years anniversary of punk rock.

I never went near a safety pin, I certainly never got near a pair of bondage trousers (tartan or otherwise), I never saw the Sex Pistols and I don’t think I ever even bought that album either.

I wasn’t a disaffected alienated youth on a working class estate in London. Rather I was a quietly spoken, middle class, suburban school boy from Watford who fancied Karen Taylor for goodness sake.

To provide background to the uninitiated, The Ramones were a band from New York.

It’s an unlikely marriage, let’s face it. But those two minutes were shocking and glorious.

Suddenly, like cartoon revelation from the heavens, I realised that music could be whatever you wanted it to be, that your mate’s band could be better than Jethro Tull, that the rules weren’t set in stone, that ideas counted more than technique and that anyone, yes anyone could be an artist. Even me.

I didn’t become an artist but I did get my hair cut – even if it did all fall out only 10 years later, that hair cut was massive. I’ve never looked back.