A Chuck Berry riff crackles over the beautiful gold 7". The cheekiest piano since the theme from Hi Di Hi is augmented by a delightfully Marc E Smithian refrain of "Let's wrestle, let's fucking wrestle". This is good time rock n'roll as envisioned by a sozzled Swell Maps, only cheekier, much cheekier.

The golden sleeve and vinyl is the fruit of three charming tearaways from East Finchley.  "It’s something we came up with in my bedroom as a joke,” says singer/guitarist Wes. Leopard skin headed drummer Darkus ads: “"I think we were trying to play a Chuck Berry song."

“Yeah, we were all sat around going 'let's do one like Lou Reed’ or something and then it came out like that... I don't want it to be the song that people associate us with, sort of why we released it as a single so we don't have to put it on the album."

The three meet me off the tube station. Bass playing Mike wears an open dressing gown and boxers. "We met Darkus and decided he'd be the best person to play the drums despite the fact that he couldn't play the drums but it kind of makes sense seeing that none of us can play our instruments." He still doesn't own drums, but the band, which at various points has featured Mike's ex girlfriend, as well as his sister on drums at the age of 6 or 7, seems to positively exude creative power on the edges of DIY.

“Its weird, I think people call it a DIY ethic and we just kind of go along with that but it’s more that it’s just what we can do." We are now in the garden, I am handed a live chicken to hold as Wes explains: “It's not that we think 'shit, we're being too produced on these records’, we just get to a thing where we think it’s as good as we want it to be and it’s like ... I think 'ethic' is a bit strong, it’s what we are. DIY is a taste. Like we rehearsed today, we did three new songs in an hour. We don’t spend a lot of time doing it and it sounds great to us."

What cuts across from their louche demeanor being these chaps ain’t drawing on any macho conceits as far as bands name goes, Let’s Wrestle is a David Shrigley reference, this is art not sport. Yet despite their five star hospitality and charm (how many bands invite you round to play cards?) there is a drunken, rock beast lying dormant at the core of Let’s Wrestle, ready to erupt drunkenly on stage at any moment. Starting false but fruity rumors about Johnny Borrell being racist and wrongly mistaking audience members for being pregnant may be explained away by booze, “I can’t help it, it’s not nerves it’s just free beer.” Or as Mike admits: “To be honest, we start more trouble than we get.”