“..You hear him before you see him – the tell-tale clink of ice on glass – a glass that rarely leaves his right hand.
In it, always the same concoction: whisky and Coke.
It sees him through the day and keeps him – mercifully, as his entourage down the years will confirm – mostly nice and manageably mellow.
You smell him next – the moment a roadie opens the door to the soundproofed rehearsal room to wheel out the drum-kit case.
It’s an overpowering whiff of nicotine that quickly brings tears to the eyes.
And then, through the smoke, you at last see him, sat on a chair, the only static thing in a room full of activity -
- and you realise it couldn’t ever have been anybody else..”
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