As a prank I wore a Beatles wig at the annual parade of the Army corps, when 600 boys in uniform were inspected by a General. I was marched off the parade ground and a Master put a basin on may head and shaved my scalp around it.
But if I couldn’t get to see the Beatles, the Stones would do. As soon as I heard that they were coming to play at the Granada cinema in Rugby I started a campaign for me and my friends to be allowed to go. I can’t remember what threats, bribes or blackmail we used, but we got permission, and seats on the second row. In a documentary film shown on BBC 2 tonight, called ‘Crossfire Hurricane’, its made out that every gig was mayhem, with hundreds of girls screaming and wetting themselves with excitement before rushing the stage. In fact it was nothing like that. No-one got up from their seats and the only act of rebellion, as far as I can recall, was when I threw my school cap onto the stage, with a note in it, intended for the lovely Brian Jones.
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