After a local performance of the Transports, in which I'd played the part of Henry Cabell and been quietly pleased with my 'Black and Bitter Night', Peter strode up to me to offer what I hoped would be the compliment I could dine out on:

"I really like your... [pause - what's he gonna say? singing style, maybe?] ... shirt!"

Well it was a rather attractive Hawaian print.

On our arrival at the house in Keighley for dinner one evening, he greeted my wife and I with:

"Come in... do you mind if I smoke dope? Because if you do, you can always go home now."

The same evening, after a bowl of excellent gumbo (accompanied by scratchy recordings of New orleans jazz) he presented the main course with the words: "Red beans and rice - it was good enough for Louis Armstrong, so I'm sure it's good enough for you!"

The saddest Bellamy moment arose after I'd complimented him on a barnstorming performance the last time I'd seen him. With a wan smile, he picked up his diary and, holding it up for me to see, leafed through empty page after empty page, without saying a word.

I was on one of the teams for that quiz at Redditch, an event he admitted cheerfully had no significance as a contest, but was designed solely to force the audience to listen to source material. I think I'm right in claiming that I was the first to guess the identity of the obscure blues singer / bottleneck guitarist featured in an obviously ancient 78 rpm recording from the Deep South, as Peter himself. He'd faked the whole thing, including scratches, clicks and surface noise - it was pretty convincing.