No One Knew What They Looked Like: Pink Floyd and the Press
Chris Charlesworth, Q, 2004
THE BOX ARRIVED in Melody Maker’s offices in December 1970, just in time for Christmas, addressed to Michael Watts. It was a sturdily constructed hardwood cube, painted dark red, about the size of half-a-dozen hardback books piled on top of each other. It was very heavy, and Watts approached it with caution, gingerly drawing back the catch that held down the lid. THWACK! It zapped open with the speed of light and a boxing glove on a powerful spring shot out.
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