This gig reminded me very much of my very first proper solo shows, thirty years ago at Le Troupeau in Paris, not least because of the always reassuring presence of Simon Phillips, who took these photographs. A tiny subterranean vault, stuffed with people of all nations, pressed up inches from the little stage; it was quite intimidating. The place was so full that a few pals who came down never even managed to penetrate the room where I was playing. Things veered alarmingly off-set at one point and I found myself singing about talking elephants and doing the Bo-Diddley in the middle of a set that was supposed to be calm and restrained. These things do, of course, happen. Saw lots of lovely friends, drank beer, got paid and had a delightful sandwich.. I think we'll call that another three points.