As Audrey and I were returning from the Co-op this morning, I was worrying whether I was a sex addict – I realised that, on average, I think about sex two or three times a day – when OAP drummer Reg popped his big head out of the newly-refurbished Starlight Café and demanded we join him inside for a refreshing cup of Earl Grey.
He was wearing a white cotton tabard and a matching cap. ‘I’ve got a part-time job here,’ he explained, ‘to help me pay the bills.’
As we were chatting and he was waiting for ‘the eleven o’clock rush’ he couldn’t stop drumming his fingers on the new pine counter. ‘That’s rather annoying, Reg,’ I told him.
‘I know,’ he sighed.
(All drummers do such things constantly. Don’t ever take a drummer to a Chinese Restaurant; as soon as he gets hold of the chopsticks there will be prawn balls everywhere.)
I asked Reg about the odd décor in the quiet little Derbyshire café – log furniture and red embroidered tablecloths featured heavily which gave the place a vague Alpine feel; I half expected a tiny man in leather shorts to appear clutching a bowl of sauerkraut and a glistening pink sausage.
‘Nothing to do with me, Davy,’ he said. ‘I would have gone for black and chrome, like my old Premier kit.’
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