It's balmy early summer in the Cotswolds and we're driving along its narrow country lanes in search of shaving foam for John Lydon.
No, it's not how I envisaged spending my Bank Holiday Monday either, but after arriving for an exclusive face-to-face chat with the punk legend at a secluded rural recording studio, me and my photographer Rob get told that there's been a mix up with the rocker's grocery shopping.
All of which means he's got nothing to help shed his facial fuzz ahead of our arranged photo shoot.
So, in order to avert disaster, we jump in the car and head off on a kind of pharmaceutical mercy mission - narrowly avoiding grouse scurrying between the hedgerow - to get him what he needs.
A Budgens mini-mart in the limestone market town of Northleach saves the day and back we go, only to find Lydon standing resplendent on the farmhouse forecourt, looking suspiciously clean shaven and stroking a cuddly toy antelope.
Or it could be a gazelle.
"You're too late," he shouts, patting his chin, as I run towards him holding a can of Gillette outstretched like the baton in a relay race.
"I hacked it all off already - I used butter.
"They only have Kerrygold around here though," he whispers conspiratorially. "Don't tell the Country Life people."
Ah yes, those infamous butter commercials from 2008 (which I wasn't going to mention) for which the former Sex Pistols frontman got branded a 'sell-out', even though he cunningly used the cash to revive Public Image Ltd , the acclaimed experimental band with whom he's celebrating four decades of envelope pushing.
"40 years? That doesn't mean much to me really, that's just the passing of time," he says, sparking up the first of many cigarettes he'll smoke in the next hour.
"What's important are the songs, they are my stories and the voice of experience talking - not only mine but of each band member that's come and gone through the ranks.
"And what a wonderful revolving door that's been, largely due to financial restrictions placed on us by record labels who have no appreciation for the finer things in life."
Indeed, PIL - who play The Tramshed in Cardiff on Thursday, June 21 - have been through the mill since their formation in 1978, stymied almost every step of the way by major record company bureaucracy.
'Truth is I'm terrified before every gig'
"Now having our own label has made an enormous difference, put it that way," says Lydon, who disbanded the group in '92 after Virgin refused to stump up the money for them to tour.
"Now there's no skullduggery, no whispering into other people's ears - all that stuff which creates tension and friction, which is usually the point where the superstar element creeps in and egos get in the way.
"Childish, but it happens."
Not so the group's current line-up - guitarist Lu Edmonds, drummer Bruce Smith and bassist Scott Firth - which has remained constant since PIL's return in 2009.
"Each member of the band is completely different from the other in every way, and it's that which makes it work," adds the 62-year-old icon who's overseen the compilation of a new career-spanning PIL box set entitled The Public Image is Rotten (Songs From the Heart).
"It's like society itself, it's best if it's varied - all shapes, creeds, colours and sizes, please!"
With Lydon, as ever, the glue that holds it all together.
Don't let that unflagging drive and self-belief fool you though.
"No, I'm riddled with doubt," he shrugs.
"But that's what songwriting is - a cure for that.
"Truth is I'm terrified before every gig.
"I go through the same thing each time, that feeling of not wanting to let people down or make a fool of myself.
"It totally tears me apart, and after the gig the depression slides in because I'm so exhausted and the only only thing which comes to mind is how awful I just was.
"But once on the stage none of that exists. I leave all that in the dressing room and it's just a shame I have to go back to it at the end of the evening."
'Education is such an important thing'
So even he - sneery old Johnny Rotten, the punk firebrand who scandalised the late '70s and sang "And we don't care" on God Save The Queen - suffers from the same dark nights of the soul as the rest of us?
"Course I do, everyone's the same," he smiles.
"Even when I was shovelling s*** as a young lad I still had doubts about whether I had the stamina to keep it up.
"I got kicked out of school, you see, so my dad got me a job labouring on Guildford sewage farm for a year so I could pay for my own further education.
"I loved it, by the way, and managed to save quite a lot of money - so I ended up with rather an extensive record collection, which, amongst other things, was what I always wanted.
"But education is such an important thing because you can't go out into a world like this one without being fully loaded.
"See, to me words are like bullets, while telling the truth became my suit of armour."
He glares at me, eyes wide and bulging.
"So they can shoot those poison arrows at me all day long and they'll just bounce."
It's ironic then that, whilst being caught lying can provoke anger, nothing enrages people more than giving them 100% honesty all the time.
"Yes, unfortunately, that IS the truth," he sighs, slugging back a can of beer and letting out a belch loud enough to rattle the slates on the farmhouse roof.
"Could I have compromised more in my career? Well, the opportunity was always there and, God knows, to do so would've helped me and my band enormously.
"But I just can't, not if I want to be at peace with myself.
"Take my mum and dad, bless 'em - they're both deceased now but they're still up here" - he taps his forehead and ash from his cigarette rolls down his black waistcoast.
"I can't let them down. Or my friends, my culture or the planet.
"There's enough liars out there as it is, all of whom are doing a very good job.
"I don't need to be one of them."
Near death experience
Lydon's parents - Irish emigrants Eileen and John - were also instrumental in bringing him back from the verge after childhood meningitis left him in a coma and with no recollection of who he was for four years.
"The doctors recommended my mum and dad keep me in a permanent state of anger to help bring my memories back," he says, shaking his head.
(Indeed, the lyric 'Anger is an energy' - taken from PIL's 1986 hit Rise - has been Lydon's mantra ever since.)
"They had to administer tough love when all they probably wanted to do was wrap me up in cotton wool and look after me.
"But every time they'd come near me to give me a hug I'd lash out because I'd no idea who they were.
"Must have broke their hearts to have to do that."
That near death experience gave the formative Lydon the chance to reinvent himself too, and he set about expunging the parts he didn't like.
"Yes, I may have been only eight, but children are a lot smarter than we give them credit for, you know.
"Problem is they get the intelligence beaten out of them by the system as they get older.
"In my case most of the old John came back, just less shy. Shyness was getting me nowhere and I was sick of being ignored.
"I'd be in a coma, drifting in and out of consciousness and unable to move. In my head I was screaming to be heard, but to no avail.
"I wanted no more of that."
Regarding the importance of memories I show him some recently unearthed pictures of the Sex Pistols' notorious Caerphilly gig from 1976, which was met at the time by angry protests from local Christian groups and concerned young mums.
"Look at them lovely colours," chirps Lydon, shifting excitedly in his seat as I arrange the shots - taken by audience member Dave Smitham - on the bench in front of him.
"See my expression there?" says the singer, slipping on his glasses to get a better look.
"That's pure astonishment that anyone was there to watch us at all, because we never gave ourselves any hope really.
"We had no faith in the management either, that was like a pantomime waiting to fall apart."
One photo in particular tickles Lydon's funny bone - it's an image of him holding the mic in one hand and the stand in the other, a true messianic rock star pose.
'We're like the bloody Antiques Roadshow these days'
"That's hilarious," he chuckles. "Because, look, I've actually got the mic lead all tangled up and I'm just trying to unravel it.
"I'm not trying to do a Roger Daltrey or anything, it's just me being clumsy.
"I love this - you can see in my face how annoyed I am. I'm thinking, 'I must look like such a f******* idiot up here'.
"I did try to 'do a Daltrey once' though" - he mimes swinging the microphone above his head - "nearly knocked myself unconscious.
"Can I keep these?" he adds, waving the images in his hand.
"Ooh, thank you!"
More and more people are finding old forgotten rolls of film in the attic, Lydon explains, leading to an upsurgence in never-seen-before Pistols memorabilia.
"We're like the bloody Antiques Roadshow these days," he says, arching an eyebrow.
"In many ways though I was too young to really remember it all.
"Thrown in at the deep end with no experience and no one to really give me any advice.
"It was sink or swim, but having already beaten death I was more than ready for it."
Having long resided in California - he became an American citizen during the Obama administration - I ask if he misses the weather back in Blighty.
"No, I HATE the seasons - you can get all four in one day here in England," he snorts.
"I much rather the climate in LA and originally went there to sort my health out.
"I live in Venice Beach area, which is a bit like Blackpool crossed with Southend, except the sun's always out.
"I'm prone, you see, to respiratory diseases - I get a head cold and that becomes bronchitis , which then goes on to become flu and ultimately pneumonia.
"One of the worst experiences I ever had was eating undercooked cabbage whilst having pneumonia. The wind nearly killed me.
"It took my breath away, quite literally."
He gets less hassle in The States too.
"The people there are a lot looser and hardly bother you.
"Occasionally I'll get mobbed at the supermarket but that alright, it's not done in a spiteful, vindicative way like in England."
He leans closer to my tape recorder.
"Notice I didn't say 'Wales' there."
'That's what democracy has given us, the right to be wrong'
As a noted fan of Barack Obama, what does he make of Trump's America?
"I'd like to say Donald Trump 's misunderstood, but I don't know," Lydon shrugs.
"He's not a man of great belief, he's a businessman - and you should never trust the world in the hands of a businessman.
"He's selling a brand - himself - it's just self-aggrandisement."
But John, didn't you call him 'the Sex Pistols of politics'?
"I was wrong about that, the Pistols were a far smarter outfit and I fear I may have denigrated our virtuous work there.
"Is there any virtuosity in Trump? Is he a virtuoso?
"Most likely, like most politicians, he's just angling for his own ends. But, in many ways, his disruptiveness has been creative.
"I love to wake up in the morning, stick the telly on and go, 'Right, what's he done this time'?
"It's nuts, some of the stuff he comes out with."
Brexit takes a bashing too.
"Separation is not an answer," says Lydon.
"Breaking up from Europe? I see that as a foolish move towards the disintegration of the planet as a whole.
"Us and them? What a nonsense.
"The thing is, I don't think either side gave full details of what could or couldn't happen with Brexit, and as each new bit of information emerges the popular vote seems to be turning into an unpopular vote.
"But isn't that what democracy has given us, the right to be wrong?
"Britain existed before the EU and it'll exist after it - there'll just be a bit of financial ruin in between... perhaps.
"Truth be told, I don't see anyone in Europe doing that well for themselves, really.
"It'll be the ruination of many a musician if the walls go up though - art doesn't work well with barriers, let alone with import and export taxes on musical equipment.
"But there it is - you can blame a whole bunch of Tories for that, along with Corbyn - or 'Dustbyn' as I call him.
"Jezza sat on his fat f****** hands for too long over Brexit. He reminds me of someone who belongs in the mediocre student union of some duff college."
So, to echo a line from arguably the Pistols' greatest moment, can he see 'No future' at all?
"Dunno. Maybe, we need these chaotic things to happen in order to get us to that better place," says Lydon, as we wander over to a nearby rehearsal space - a cavernous converted barn - to watch him and the rest of the band run through blistering version of PIL's anthemic This Is Not A Love Song.
"There's a lot of buttholes out there in need of a serious clearance, because this state of 'shitsdom' has been maintained far too long."
So John, are you telling me that you and PIL are the enema that's required?
He turns and gives me that withering Lydon stare which, for nigh on half a century, has caused a million journalists to break out in a cold sweat.
Then, suddenly, there's a grin.
"Eurggh, no!" he laughs and cracks open another beer.
Public Image Ltd play Cardiff Tramshed on Thursday, June 21. Go to www.tramshedcardiff.com for details. The box set - The Public Image is Rotten (Songs From the Heart) - will be released on LP and CD on July 20. For more information, visit www.pilofficial.com
