For his part, Joe finds it all hard to believe. It was an early UK tour when he first realised people were travelling long distances to see the band, and since then he’s tried to cultivate as personal a relationship with their fans as possible – throughout our time together he regularly stops to talk to fans, many he knows by name. He doesn’t read the AF Gang group regularly, part of a wholesale decision to stay away from social media, but is shown all of the most powerful stories that are shared on the group.

He is most comfortable thinking of the band as a catalyst for a following which has now escalated into something bigger than them, strongly countering any notion of being a figurehead. He started the band for the same reason Lindsay started the group, he tells me, to be part of something greater, to not feel alone. “It’s a community of people, who are jaded by being made to feel shit,” he continues. “People are saying: this is boring now. I want someone who believes in something on the radio, I want broken men on stage. I don’t want good-looking clothes horses from London, I want chubby fuckers from Bristol.”

He’s got a point. For an emergent act IDLES are unusually rough around the edges: all over 30, with unruly beards and their fair share of balding scalps – discounting guitarist Lee Kiernan that is, whose hair falls reliably in front of his face as he thrusts himself around during every set. Onstage they often descend into orchestrated chaos, Dev’s towering figure see-sawing over his bass while Mark Bowen roves and writhes, wandering into the crowd and playing his guitar like he’s trying to escape it. At their centre Joe commands his audience completely – “All the women to the front,” he directed the crowd at a recent London show, only for rows of men to part like a shoal of fish. It’s unruly and inclusive: a safe space for complete release. “You could be in IDLES,” as he later puts it to me, “it’s easy, we’re shit.”