Those were the heady days of youth, when my brother was lead singer in a band and I was chief roadie and daft dancer. We had been out on a bit of a long night on the ale, so long that our hangovers had not really kicked in yet and there was still much merriment in the morning air.
Tim made us a round of bacon sandwiches and I think a cigarette with interesting ingredients was being passed around the room also. I told you, rock and roll!
Suddenly, the phone rang and my brother John picked it up with a mischievous glint in his eye.
In his best Sir John Gielgud voice he said: "Good morning, Tim Butler's barber."
On the other end of the line, a very confused Tim's rather conservative father-in-law asked if he could speak to Tim's wife Liz (I don't remember whether they were actually married at that time). John quickly handed the phone to Tim with a look of horror on his face.
"Oh hi Bert, yeh, just some mates larking around," Tim excused John's faux-pas.
When Tim put down the phone, we all fell about laughing for about half an hour.
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