When I was playing and gigging in London in the late '60s, a bass-playing mate of mine got invited to rehearse with four other blokes to form a sort of good-time, jug band.

So, one Sunday afternoon, we drove along to this flat in Cromwell Road and met up with the other musicians. After a chat, etc., we sat down and one of the guys rolled a spliff. They passed it round - but neither me nor the bassist were interested - and we dipped out.

Some minutes later, the four of them were giggling and talking nonsense or dropping asleep - not a note played, and afternoon wasted.