Have you ever read the original Icelandic constitution?’ asks the Reverend Max Ripple. He enquires as casually as anyone else might ask if you watched Coronation Street last night.

This will surely be what Ken Testi means when he remembers driving Deaf School around and being amazed by their conversation. It wasn't the standard mix of sexual boasts, money grumbles and competitive farting that you grow to expect on a rock band minibus.

The Icelandic Constitution? I confess it's been a while. Remind me.

‘Well,’ our man of the cloth continues, ‘it's about 8,000 years old. And it starts off something like, “You will lose your hair, you will lose your teeth, you will lose your eyesight, you will lose your house.” And so it goes on.

“And in the end you will have your reputation.”

‘Which is a hell of a basis for what's real. A lot of people over the years have this idea when you mention Deaf School that it's still around. People don't always notice when things evaporate; in their minds it's still going. The myth is more powerful than actual experience.’

The Reverend is of course correct. Whether or not Deaf School are currently together in any physical way, their reputation is mighty. The band's existence seems somehow perpetual. In between their several reunions there was even a musical about them, at the 1998 Brighton Festival. There is now talk of another Deaf School musical. Whether or not any band members are actually involved, the sheer idea of Deaf School finds a way to manifest itself. It's a strange phenomenon.

If Deaf School were so special, why were they not world-famous? It's a question the band still ask themselves. There is a thirty-five-year post-mortem in progress. Yet things are probably better the way they are. There were no overdoses, no celebrity meltdowns or million-dollar lawsuits. They are not overshadowed by their younger selves, doomed to be half-recognised in supermarkets. They were each free to move on with their lives and did so with great success.

Rob Dickins, who became the Sex Pistols’ publisher, remembers their manager Malcolm McLaren coming into his office: