I am the chair that refused to talk to Neil Diamond back in 1971. I refused because he was such a pretentious, self-absorbed putz! I could see he was in one of those dark moods again, all morose and wrapped up in self-pity, and I wasn't in a mood to encourage it. "I am!" he cried. To one one there. Except me, the Chair. Neil was actually sitting on me at the time, strumming his guitar fretfully, between scribbling down more angst-ridden lyrics. "I am!" he cried again. I, the Chair, maintained my stony silence. "And I am lost!" Neil went on. "And...and I don't even know why!"

"God, that's good..." he muttered, scribbling it down in his little book. "This is gonna make me millions. Bored housewives all across America can relate to this one!"

I could see Neil was getting excited. Good. Maybe he'd get up off me and go out or something. One can always hope.

No such luck. He spent another hour polishing the lyrics, and he made a point of focusing on the fact that he couldn't get a word out of ME. I refused to be moved or manipulated. I never said a thing to Neil. I was onto his little game.

Well, that was many years ago. I have been sat upon by hundreds of people since, good bad and indifferent, some even more annoying than Neil, but I have not compromised my right to be what I am. A chair.

A chair that speaks when he's bloody well ready to and not a moment sooner!

Now you know. After all these years, The Chair has spoken.