HANOI ROCKS ARE NOT (SIGH) GONE
It’s more or less a day off for Mike Monroe. Apart from calling in to his management offices in an apartment just off one of London’s main thoroughfares to attend a couple of press interviews, he has little to do but nurse a recent ankle injury and reflect on the recent traumas of Hanoi Rocks—and just where they go from here.
HANOI ROCKS ARE NOT (SIGH) GONE
FEATURES
Andy Hughes
It’s more or less a day off for Mike Monroe. Apart from calling in to his management offices in an apartment just off one of London’s main thoroughfares to attend a couple of press interviews, he has little to do but nurse a recent ankle injury and reflect on the recent traumas of Hanoi Rocks—and just where they go from here.
Day Off or not, Monroe is always dressed to kill, and today is no exception. His long blond hair is topped by a military cap of dubious origin, his make-up is faultless, highlighting his intense large eyes and delicate bone structure. Long hands peep out from the voluminous sleeves of his salmon pink minstrel’s blouson, striped trousers are tucked into matching knee boots. One hand has black varnished nails, and as he moves, his soft speech is often covered by the rattling of his vast array of bracelets and bangles. Mike Monroe’s image is on duty seven days a week.