There I was without a band. They didn’t show up. They were on a blag. The blag got hot.
I had only managed to secure one ticket. I had an accordian player – the wonderful George Bell – in one of the fields but no one else. It was flight or fight. Do or die. Kill or be killed.
After much deliberation & hugs from some sweaty naked people up in the tee-pee field I decided to press on and began flapping about asking Tom, Dick & Harry if they knew of any guitarists, bassists, anyone really and Sir Rich Posh-ratz pointed me in the direction of a handsome young whippersnapper by the name of Charlie. Jay from Beans on Toast introduced me to his banjo player Bob who unfortunately was busy so he introduced me to his guitarist mate Bob. George Bell called me. I told him that we had two random guitarists. He turned up at the Rabbit Hole all blond hair and squeeze box. We stood in a lock up. Maff the drummer from The Egg showed up with drum sticks and a hangover and then last but not least Samuel Miller and his trumpet were drafted in.
We had a band. We had a lock up in which to practise. We had twenty minutes before we were due on stage.
The rest is history.