There was a knock at the door of Room 517 of the Rubens Hotel around noon. Mary Beth and I were packing, getting ready to check out predictably late-ish. It was Peter Banks, chitarrista extraordinaire, fresh from his tube ride down from Barnet. We hadn’t seen each other in six years—the first time I traveled to London. I gave Pete two black and white prints I had brought with me: one, a nightscape, the other a Ferry image.
Five flights down in the hotel lounge, we began a liquid lunch. Sauvignon Blanc for me + vodka tonic for Pete x 2 apiece. A bit later I had a not-so-great and over-priced avocado club sandwich. Years ago, around 1974, Pete would come to The Rubens (situated very near Buckingham Palace) to meet the guru Mayer Baba, someone Pete Townshend had recommended. Take Baba, add O’Reilly, and you get a huge rock classic.
I suggested we move to the front of the Rubens lounge where soft natural light washed over the small tables and chairs. While I made some portraits, Pete showed me a scar on his left hand, the result of an electric shock while on stage with Yes in 1969. One of the guitar strings, charged with current, singed a top portion of his finger.
We wrapped up around 3pm, then walked together to Victoria Station where I boarded the Gatwick Express heading to the airport.
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