PAGE 16.

Post Script #1

The day after the Peter Frampton session, my two flight cases of drums were delivered to my home in Hertfordshire. Hours of unpacking, washing, cleaning, trying to put together all the paperwork, bills, receipts and fanmail that had accumulated over two months on the road and trying to adjust to the real world. By that, I mean the switch from 3000 people giving you a standing ovation to putting out the wheelie-bins on a Wednesday night!

The next day I went to a very well known hospital in London to have my hand looked at. I walked straight through the open doors of the hospital with a shoulder bag, passed through the reception area apparently invisible to all and into a lift that was carrying two patients on operating tables on their way to surgery and two builders in dirty overalls, carrying sand and cement in filthy buckets! It was suddenly apparent that all those forms, passports, security checks and paperwork in Paris and Amsterdam were done for a very good reason!

I flew to Portugal for a break and to do some work on an old farm house that Margaret had found. I helped to build a dry stone wall and cleared a lot of old dead trees with the intention of planting an orange grove.

Peter Frampton was playing in a stadium in Faro for the annual biker’s convention. There were about 2000 Easy Riders from all over the world on there gleaming Harley Davidsons. They looked immaculate in their colourful bandanas and black leathers.

We met at his hotel and were escorted to the venue and into the VIP area. Back on the road again! Peter and his band were sensational and I watched the show from the front next to the sound desk. After the set I found it difficult getting back stage as the security was very tight. I attracted the attention of what I thought was a policeman and showed my VIP pass. As he turned round to let me through I realized that he was a she and not exactly your average looking copper. Then I saw the look on the face’s of Peter’s band at my unexpected encounter. She was the next act on and they managed to get a photo of me with this rather tasty looking policewoman. Back to the hotel for a quick drink with the boys and then home to the farm house.

Working on the dry stone wall.	Clearing the scrubland in readiness for the orange grove I plan to grow.
The local workforce.	Orange trees.
The Frampton show.
Not your average copper!
Back at the hotel with the (Frampton) band.