The day I met Chuck Berry and had an Animal between my legs

Something someone said recently prompted me to recall a truly groundbreaking incident in my past. I think it was “Oi! Lois, you gerbilling bushbaby! When are you wombatting well going to start blogging a bit more regularly, eh? You sit there, feeding off everyone else’s, enjoying the fruits of their far more regular labours, and what kind of parrot do we get – no parrot at all, that’s what! Still, p’raps that’s a good thing. Tchoh, I give up!” All right, all right, keep your lobstering hair on! Many years ago, that great purveyor of rhythm and blues, Chuck Berry, was appearing at The Winter Gardens in Bournemouth and a friend and I had front row tickets. He (along with many other great black Merkin blues singers) was our hero at the time. We arrived at the theatre in the afternoon to see if we could catch a glimpse of the great man. To our utter delight, he had decided to take a walk through the Lower Pleasure Gardens to the Lucullus Restaurant at The Pavilion (near the seafront), where, having been followed by an adoring group of fans (not many, only about 7 or 8 – other members of the public didn’t seem to know who he was), he sat down for a nice cuppa. We sat opposite him and gaped and I got his autograph AND….AND…lit his fag (not his friend, obviously)! I kept the cigarette end for ages afterwards! The support band was The Animals and, after their performance, there was a break. To our surprise, the band came out from the wings, into the main body of the theatre and plonked themselves down on the floor in front of us, waiting to watch Chuck Berry! So I got their autographs AND… AND… I had Alan Price between my legs. So there!