A bartender/playwright friend of mine asked me to go with him to see his girlfriend’s gig at the Cobden Club in Kensal Town. He didn’t really want to go, so I did him a solid and met him there. It was hopping that night, with hammered Londoners bumping into each other, making out with each other, and spilling beer all over the place: a pretty common scene in that town.
I went to the bar to get some lubrication and observed the growing mayhem around me. The band we came to see went on, and were totally rubbish. They sucked. The kind of band that makes you turn around and head straight for the bar. My friend found me and shrugged his shoulders, giving me the “ sorry bro “ kind of look.
We decided to stay put and keep drinking there. We were basically cattle downstairs, while the Shih Tzus (private members) were locked in upstairs. I played a gig there once before, so I had toured the building already.
I went to the bathroom with my bottle of Grolsch, and in the middle of the His and Her’s area, a bald man was sitting, warming up on the sitar. The instrument’s strings and tone coiled around my head, massaging my brain as I leaned against the doorway, closing my eyes to briefly disappear into his jam. A few minutes later, as I opened my eyes, Mick Jagger was 6 feet away walking towards me!! A huge bodyguard trailed him.
Everyone at the club ( me included ) rejoiced with a “ Holy fuck, did you see that??!! “