I was already feeling shaky, from being shockingly hungover, having overdone it the night before and not eaten much. We arrived at the gig (already charged, well practised and rather quite loaded up on Leffe), and there were some old guys playing. It was like the Eastbourne zimmer-frame relay team, very subdued, toned down, soulless. Then I appeared on stage, playing Jimi Hendrix's Voodoo Chile (slight return part 1), and it was as though I had discovered fire to these old folks, audience and prior bands alike. I was another Prometheus, forethought, bringer of the fires of heaven. They didn't know what hit them.
Anyway, there were some relatively interesting people there, with whom I had much in common (though no fellow classicists, sadly) and the evening passed amicably. I was, as always at these kinds of events, the star of the show. I may not be modest, but I am honest.
Max.
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