A man who had many changes in his life. When he was the Radio Medway folk jock, he gave me two tickets to Cambridge Folk Festival. I went with Pete Lewis who rapidly took up his habits with complaisant young women, so he occupied the tent and I had to sleep in my car. The sun came in the windows early and woke me so I prowled around the campsite until I smelt bacon, which turned out to be Jacqui (who I had fleetingly met once before) whose kids had woken her up early. I played her Hagstrom, and broke the G string. I had run out of money but managed to scrounge a complete set of new strings in the Melody Maker tent. That meeting led directly (but later) to Jacqui being my other half for 25 years. Do I say "Thanks Martin", or not?

Does anyone want to tell the story of the gangster's moll, or the policewoman, or his 750 flathead Harley, or shall I drip-feed them in (or stay schtumm)?