"Creatively and musically, it's been a fantastic year. Personally, it's been a disaster." Gruff Rhys, Super Furry Animals cello-voiced singer, raises his shaggy head with a wicked smile. "But we won't get into that."
  We're huddled in a north London pub on the sort of dark, cold, pre-Christmas afternoon when you can see the moon as you're eating lunch. Gruff and the visibly hyperactive drummer Daf Ieuan have just been on an MTV Europe programme called - scarcely believably - "Up For It!", causing panic with a few teatime drugs related comments, and at a guess, having a few drinks when the cameras weren't rolling. Talking about their brilliant 1997 doesn't come too high on their list of priorities - you suspect at present they might not fully remember the last five minutes, never mind the last 12 months, and anyway, all they really want to do is think about the future. Or at least about the evening ahead.
  But this is the band who have gone from an eminently likeable psychedelic space cadets to a gang of placid casual geniuses in the blink of an album. "Radiator", their fabulous second long-player, is a thing of great beauty, a shake-and-stirring cocktail of Stevie Wonder and Pavement, ELO and Supergrass, Aerosmith and Nick Drake, ranging in subject matter from goat-eating bats to Einstein, class war to astroturf. As you'd expect, they're not about to put their success down to anything so dull as making the music they want, man, or getting the heads together in the country. Not SFA.
  "It's been a year of going completely bonkers because Hale-Bopp dominated the early part of the year," announces Gruff.
  And you think it was down to a comet, hmm?
  "Well, can you think of another reason?" growls Daf.
  "People who I know who are quite sane have gone completely off the rails this year and are just starting to calm down now," asserts Gruff.
  When you have such a volatile year as the one SFA have enjoyed, it's not altogether surprising they choose to cast a suspicious eye on the cosmos. Apart from visiting Colombia to film the video for "Demons" and recording their album, other issues have loomed large on the Super Furry consciousness.
  "At the start of the year Bunf was busted almost immediately. We started recording the album in January and on the way up he was busted, and that set a tone for the year of extreme paranoia. As a band, we seem to have a strong eggshell around us. We're very thick-skinned, musically and personally."
  "We're Welsh, you know," shouts Daf, a bit unnecessarily. "We're hard."
  And this is where the round-up of the year loses its way a little, and talk of Welsh devolution comes in.
  "It's a fucking joke," spits Daf with utter, utter disgust. "Best joke of the year. A nation where there's only a 6,000 majority in favour of devolution, they're fucking cowards. It's not a Welsh trait, not being able to stand up for yourself. I was so fucking disppointed. It was a fucking disgrace. I can't understand why everyone in Wales just didn't vote yes. I just don't understand it [He glowers out the window at unwary passers-by before revving up for the kill]. Six thousand votes! What a shit country. I was so embarrassed. That's why I live in London."
  Gruff smiles his beatific, give-me-all-your-money smile, and bless him, tries for a conversational hand brake turn. Screech.
  "It's been a good year musically. Although I don't like voting for my album of the year."
  At the mention of the word "vote", Daf's ears prick up again.
  "Don't vote, don't vote. If you vote, you just encourage the fuckers. Don't vote for labour, don't vote for Plaid Cymru, definitely don't vote for the Tories. They're wankers, the fucking lot of them."
Gruff: "Aaaahhhh. . ."
Daf: "I'm into paying taxes but I don't vote. I can't vote for the Labour Party, because they are fucking Tories and I can't vote for Plaid Cymru because they're fucking Tories too. . .[He's now shouting very loud indeed. Innocent afternoon drinkers are shuffling nervously in their seats in that, uh-oh, lunatic-on-the-bus-type way]. Tony Blair is a politician, he's a twat. Politician equals twat."
  A triumphant flourish. The people on the next table sidle quietly away.
  "Heheheh," goes Gruff, with some pride. Then apologetically adds, "there was a general election, so it's topical."
  He groups for another serious topical issue.
  "Er, what's the difference between Princess Diana and Michael Hutchence?"
  Needless to say, he fails.

Early 1998 will see the release of a new SFA EP, called, if Daf's to be believed, something like "Tell The Police To Fuck Off". This year's trip to Colombia has also given them a taste for continent- hopping, and they aim to "conquer America from the south", starting with the far-flung Welsh colonialists of Patagonia.
  "They're all alcoholics," says Gruff. "All these towns in Patagonia refused to give Princess Diana the red carpet treatment when she visited there a few years back because they said if it wasn't for her family, they wouldn't be there."
  "Princess of Wales? She was about as Welsh as a fucking kebab," snarls Daf.
  Gruff, smiles again. It really is a verys soothing smile.
  "I think 1998 is going to be a dream year," he offers.
  Whether Gruff's dream or Daf's nightmare, you'd be wise to plan on sharing it with them.