Since 1980, and despite numerous member changes, Strewel Peterson has consistently made an unlistenable noise.
Considered by some to be the perfect accompaniment to eating slug pellets, and by others as a handy, slightly less painful alternative, to smearing themselves with honey and hanging around a wasps' nest. The Peterson, as no-one ever calls them, are now down to a one man band, with an even smaller audience.
Do not listen to any of these songs unless you are: a) very brave, b) tone deaf or c) that weird chap who spent the whole of Cropredy festival in 1993 dancing alone to the sound of a car alarm.
