I was at Nic’s place for three months for free, and he told me that it was the end of the line and I had to move out. I told him, “Please give me another week, and I will be gone by the 13th of January.” He said, “That’s okay, but this is the last day.” I had some connections in Garratt Lane with a guy called Pete Lamont , who ran three rehearsal rooms in an industrial building opposite Sainsbury’s . I had been there watching bands every now and then; some bands let me sit in a bit, and some even allowed me to jam a little.
I told Pete about my problem, and he said, “Listen, I will speak to the landlord here. Maybe you can stay in the studio for a week or so, but you need to keep quiet. Nobody must know except the landlord, me, and you. There are no showers; you can use the toilet, and you can sleep on a camping bed here in my office.” I said, “Thank you very much. I don’t need a shower; I can sort myself out.” He said, “Okay, you can move here on the 14th of January.”
I told Nic that on the 14th of January, I would be gone. He said, “Okay, no problem,” and I moved out of Nic’s place on the 14th and into the rehearsal studio. Now, things became quite cool because Pete gave me more and more responsibilities. I cleaned the studios, set up equipment, moved amplifiers from one studio to another, took bookings, and collected money from people. This was really good for Pete because he was a busy drummer and was dating a girl, so he could spend more time with her. Since I was living there anyway, this was a huge help for Pete. I sorted the fees he collected from bands and kept some of the money, and he paid me bits and bobs for my work. But that didn’t really matter because I had free accommodation. Plus, during the day, nobody was in the studio, so I could do my gigs and busking in South Kensington.
The days went by, and life was pretty cool. Money rolled in, and now I could spend a little bit more on food. I found a microwave on the streets, cleaned it so I could warm food, and even found a rice cooker, which I fixed. I could cook for myself. By 11 p.m., all the bands would leave, I’d close up the studios, and I’d get a good rest. In the morning, nobody bothered me, and it was quite okay there.
One day, Martina sent me a text message asking me to come see her because she had a surprise. I rode my bike to Haldane Road, and she said that Nick told her the National Histogram Mboozeum wanted to give me an interview.