Well, this did present something of a problem. After going home thoroughly ashamed of my wonton decadence during the recording for Kenya I came back to the studio to find another group of percussionists setting up for what was clearly another session brimming with crazy latin dance rhythms.
So what did you do?
Well, I contemplated a visit to the studio head in order to confess that I didn’t feel up to completing my duties effectively. I wanted to march in and admit that a previous session had reduced me to a quivering mass of hedonistic excess with no dress standards, but I thought: no. No Simon, that is not conduct becoming a gentleman of your breeding and education. These people have entrusted you to maintain a standard of cleanliness in their studio and if you turn your back simply because you lack basic self-control then you will be letting them down in no uncertain terms.
So you cleaned for the session?
I bucked up and fulfilled my duties as an employee of the studio. But as an added precaution I filled my ears with cotton wool and then wore earmuffs. I appreciate that might have seemed a drastic measure but I felt steps had to be taken to maintain my standards.
Did it work?
Well, my top button remained resolutely fastened and my Windsor knot was never lowered so I count that as a victory. Although it did pose something of a problem when the fire alarm sounded and I remained in a cocoon of silent, blissful ignorance. The building emptied of all occupants but I remained quietly mopping and humming Wagner. The first indication I had that there was any kind of problem was when firemen burst into the studio and squirted me with a hose. One minute I was a dedicated worker amusing himself with the strains of Der fliegende Holländer and the next I was a startled cleaner being propelled across the room by a torrent of cold liquid. I emerged soaked to the skin with one of my earmuffs over my nose but with my dignity intact, which I think, in the end, is the main thing.
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