We're sitting in the Butlers Wharf Chop Hose overlooking the Thames.
It's November 23rd, my birthday and it's a cold Sunday afternoon.
Rain bounces off the board walk outside, but we're snug on the inside.
Graham organised a small intimate lunch, a great lunch as it tured out.
Martin and I got into our usual ELO v KISS arguement.
I know, but it's something we do.
I know in my heart of hearts that in a Celebrity Deathmatch special, Jeff Lynne would kick the ass of Gene Simmonds.
I was taking the piss out of their make up.
''But'' countered Martin ''Between 198- to 199- they didn't wear any make up and it didn't affect their ability..''
A moment later he realised what he had said.
Oh, how I laughed..
