28th March 1978

The man would not sleep.

Keith had been sat in the studio for almost a full day when you turned up, headphones over messy, dark locks, tape deck piled high as he fiddled with random buttons on the controls board.

It’s at least 1AM, and yet the boys are still here… well, they’re not all here. Mick, Bill and Charlie have all fucked off to nowhere, and Ronnie is passed out on a plush leather couch, leaving no room for you to perch yourself down. But Keith is working. He always is.

There’s a huff, and an awfully loud clatter as Keith throws off his headphones, and then a clink as his rings meet the metal of his lager can, a gulp as he takes a big swig.

“I know you’re there, love, m’not deaf…”