July to September :

DIARY 07/08/07

Warsaw: The Rolling Stones. Big buzz. I've been in so many countries and played so many shows in the past 34 years that I've lost count - long ago.Who counts, anyway? Just to have a job, an audience to play to, is a bonus. What once I took for granted, as a right, I now cherish and accept with all the humility learnt through those years of peaks and troughs. Nothing like a rotten trough to teach you a little humility.

Then The Stones come along, and we all feel a frisson of childish excitement. Grown men have emailed, "How great is that!" and "Need anyone to carry your bags - gratis?" etc. By "grown men", I mean long-standing friends from the music world and journalism. Who should know better, but hey, who does? And why should they, really? The Stones - something else. It does something, doesn't it.

And they are fantastic. All rock fans should see them once at least, and this time seems the best. They are steaming. The stage-set is fabulous, the ideas boggling. Great set-list, too. You can throw millions at some people and they can still cock-up. Those around The Stones seem top pros and all decent people,too. It comes from the top, attitude. Those working for you will act according to The Boss's own way of acting. Mick is The Boss, the man at the top, and he must be a decent bloke all right.

Played within the confines of a proper race-course in Warsaw - felt quite at home, dressing-room built within the Tote betting hall. Watched The Stones from a VIP area after our own 45 minutes,, next to the mixing desks, and got a feel for their passion, an amazing passion considering it's been so many years. I was 12 when they came to the hospital ward in Carshalton Beeches on a good-will mission near the Christmas of 1963. They won't remember. And I didn't get the chance to mention it. But it was on my mind.

In St Petersburg, I got a few days alone, visiting the Hermitage Museum for hours and hours, trawling the streets and lanes and the canal and riverside paths. It was not enough time. But I am not convinced there can be enough time for such a place.

I passed through room after room in The Hermitage: Matisse, Picasso, Van Gogh, on to Titian, Rembrandt and Rubens, with Rodin on every other stairwell; I rested occasionally in huge window bays; sat and looked down into Palace Square and on the Friday, the day before we played, they were building the set. Iron frame and wooden paths in all directions away from backstage; tents by the dozen, a makeshift city being constructed for an event involving one band, and a wee supporting act. It looked on Saturday, backstage, like Glastonbury.

Ronnie Wood came to my dressing-room at around 7.20 (4.20 UK time) because he'd been sent the message that "Steve will be watching The King George from Ascot live on his laptop". Charlie Watts came, too. We shouted home Dylan Thomas, with Woody's mate Eddie Ahern riding, and and a fair wad of my cash on its back.

Charlie was impressed with my travelling telly feature. "'Ear, 'ow come 'e's got it, and you 'aven't?" he goaded Woody. Woody stood next to me, leaning on the table-top, ciggie burning, smoke drifting. And I'm about to play in 25 minutes. Smoke! Never allowed anywhere near, not anywhere backstage, not for 15 years. But it was Woody. A Rolling Stone. Gimme a break. I relaxed and smiled about it. Good bloke. You could forgive him a lot. Said to Mick and Keith, "Thanks for having us aboard for a couple." Mick said, "Good to have yer" and Keith laughed a gravelly, groan laugh, and smiled at himself. See? Attitude comes from the top. These guys are the top in their team, and their attitude towards us was kind and generous. To play for them and their huge audience, especially in places I had never played before, was a gas! To be treated with respect was a bonus. I won't forget it.

The Bedford Rhythm Festival came soon after - smaller numbers, but we played with a killer passion. The sun shone and the numbers swelled as we got into the set; the lights, post-dusk, brought "Sebastian" to life outdoors for a blessed 10 minutes.

Malaga (Estepona Rocks Festival) Friday and Pinkpop Classic Saturday. Then a family holiday, from Sunday. Airports suck, but there's no alternative in my life. Grown-up kids coming, too, with their partners. What a bonus.

SCUBA, food, hot sun, cool pool, and scrabble on the terrace.

Guitar at hand.

Always.

Always moving. A rolling stone gathers no moss, right.

DIARY 22/07/07

The Beckett experience was interesting. Very interesting. Met several Beckett aficionados, those who met him, worked with him, directed his plays, written books on him and his work.

Jim Knowlson gave me a copy of his "Beckett Remembering/Remembering Beckett". I can't put it down. Jim is a lecturer at Reading University and founder/keeper of The Beckett Archive. His kind words regarding our production were gratifying.

Stan Gontarski is a Professor of English at Florida State University, editor of the Journal of Beckett Studies, and was there on opening night with Jim. Stan has directed Beckett. He came a second night and interviewed Mike Bennett, the other hand in the plays, and myself for the journal. Some honour. His generous compliments on our work were a joy to hear. When I set out to learn my lines, the one abiding factor was that I wanted the Beckett people, the real aficionados, to be satisfied. We all felt that way.

The plays are difficult, and we struggled to get a grip on some of the dialogue and allusions. But there are many interpretations, and maybe that's the way Mr B. wanted it.

I planned on a quiet year, taking time to rest a little and write new songs.

Then the phone rang.

The Beckett project took over my life, practically, for a long time, and then The 'Stones called. Warsaw and St. Petersburg, supporting the biggest there is. Honoured.

I've got a city centre hotel for 3 nights in St. Petersburg, flying on from Warsaw, and intend to do it all. There's the Hermitage Museum and a thousand outstanding buildings; architecture of great beauty, and canals.

The songs are coming slowly because of all these commitments, but coming they are. We ought to be recording in October, for a Spring 08 release.

Calling the CD "Wide Screen", I think. Or "The Road Home", which my agent prefers. I'm not sure yet. Dates are being held for May and June in the UK, then we expect to take a run round Europe for a few weeks.

I need a holiday. I need some sunshine. But watching the devastation around the midlands from flooding makes me weep.

I only need a holiday. What do those poor thousands need?

DIARY 08/07/07

Lines learnt.
Blocking assimilated.
My sojourn in the world of Thespia begins.
It won't last long. Let's make it memorable.
The Beckett words continue to amuse and surprise.
He can take a pause and offer a pay-off line that nails the target with a dead eye.
Tickets have moved slowly. Sad to report. They say The Arts gets big walk-up. But I like advance sales. They bring comfort.
Perhaps the producers expected a more significant cross-over from my music fan-base.
But I have had plenty to concern myself with, learning the lines and developing two quite separate characters.
And the interviews. They will move tickets eventually.

It seats 330. Nice space (that's the pro term for theatre).
Not a big room then.

Then out with Mick 'n his mates: Warsaw, 60,000. St Petersburg 50,000. Those are big spaces all right.
And that's arguably the most beautiful city in all Europe, St Pete's. I'll let you know. Little or large, they all come alike to me after all this time. And, you know.....I can't tell you which I prefer. As a player, that is.
Financially, the big ones count for far more.

Writing songs. Always writing songs. Have committed myself to a March/April new CD release. We tour May and June throughout the UK and Europe. I wanted a quiet year this year, but the phone keeps ringing. Good life.