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Sunday, May 29, 2011


     Those were the words that came out of Roger Daltrey's mouth when we asked if we could call a taxi to the train station.  As if the day we had spent on his farm wasn't enough to send you over the edge...Roger Daltrey was insisting on driving us..
      He went inside the house to check the train schedule back to London for us.  When he returned to where he had left us out back, he  gestured toward an older car that was parked past the stone wall that enclosed the yard.

      We gathered up our gear, and headed toward an old, black , beat up Mercedes.  Roger  went in to get his car keys, then came to meet us by the car.  He noticed there  was a bunch of stuff in the back seat and started clearing it all out...muttering to himself about who had left the mess....

      This was extraordinary to us.  Roger Daltrey, our idol, the rock god we had worshiped from the rafters, now standing in front of us, barefoot, shirtless... clearing a space for us in the car he was going to use to drive us to the station...
It was unreal...we show up unexpectedly at his home....we don't really know him, he doesn't really know us...and yet, he gives us carte blanche to wander his property for the day, then spends his entire afternoon with us, and tops it off by insisting he drive us.  How does one, no...two... even begin to process that...

      When he felt it was acceptable, he gestured for us to get in. Oddly, we got into the back seat...both of us.  Neither of us even attempted to take the seat next to him in the front of the car.   Roger got behind the wheel,  and headed down the road toward the station.

        No one spoke.  There was a clear and potent tension in the air.  He knew it...and we knew it.  We sat in silence staring at the back of his head.  Looking at the curls falling down his back, and following their path up to where the hair met his scalp....almost as if your eyes are boring an imaginary hole into the back of his was as if we were trying to take in every part of his being, and our being with him while we still could.  My eyes drifted upward, and looked into the rear view mirror only to see him staring back at me.... his gaze so piercing...those iconic, turquoise- blue eyes... and that hypnotizing Roger Daltrey stare we are all so familiar with.  It's almost like staring at the sun...forbidden.  Little did I know that as she sat next to me, she was experiencing exactly the same. 

     We arrived at the station and silently got out of the car.  Roger hung his still shirtless upper body slightly out of the window and slowly looked both us of us over from top to bottom.  The engine was running and at a complete loss for what to do at an incredibly awkward juncture, we thanked him profusely....We told him we'd love to see him again before we left, and he nodded....we headed toward the train tracks, and Roger trailed off into the distance.

     We waited until he was well out of earshot to talk about what had happened.  We couldn't process it all that quickly...overloaded, overwhelmed, tired and in absolute disbelief, we shelved the conversation until we had both had time to let the events of the day settle in.  

     The remainder of our stay in England was definitely filled with adventures that would probably send most people over the edge, but for us, nothing could even come close to what we had experienced.  We did some serious shit while we were there...

     We went to The Speakeasy, an underground club in London...and two guys asked us if we wanted to go to a party.  She said no way, I said sure, absolutely.  Probably not the smartest thing to do....take off in a car with two men you don't know....but we ended up at Ritchie Blackmore's house (Deep Purple), and were one of about 8 people there.  The house is a pretty far distance from London, all the way out in the countryside.  Ritchie Blackmore is one of the stranger people you could possibly encounter.   He's got a home rigged from top to bottom with all sorts of gadgets, designed to make his visitors uneasy.  Objects randomly fall from the walls, lights would turn on and off....the sole purpose to make you feel as though you were in a haunted house.

     Terrified, we ended up locking ourselves in the bathroom until the sun came up, and we slipped out and wandered the rural roads and rolling hills in Surrey, until we found the train station. Ironically, one of the other guys that had invited us to the party, also showed up at the station, a writer for Melody Maker.  We became friends and saw him when he was in New York...and recently re-connected for the first time since back then.

    We also decided to go to Trinifold, The Who's management company at the time.  We were blatantly lying when we told them Roger had sent us... that if we wanted anything, they should take care of us.  He never did of course, but we did walk out with a massive black and white poster that was so huge, it took two people to carry it.  Must have been 5 feet wide by 8 high...quite a sight when we carried it back through the airport...

     We did see Roger again.  We bought him a book on Renoir at The Tate Gallery and he loved it.  We could tell he was in an irritable mood when we went back....and for good reason.  One of their house guests had damaged part of his record collection and he was pissed.  So you have an idea of what not to do if you don't want to irritate Roger Daltrey...  So we didn't linger.  We didn't need to....

     We've often wondered what accounted for the dynamic that took place  between the three of us.  It is something we've never really grasped.   We still find ourselves asking the same questions ....why didn't he throw us off the property?  We were unexpected...we didn't know him well...only that one meeting in his hotel room in New York.  Why did he invite us to spend the entire day?   What was it about us that HE wanted to be with...he seemed to be at ease in our company....playful and silly one minute....deep, thoughtful and introspective the next....

     One thing is for sure...we never, ever approached him in a selfish way.  We have always respected his space and his time and most of all, his privacy....We never pushed him to sign autographs or take photos...just enjoyed him in our own way...and maybe he enjoyed us for that reason.  We're not quite sure....but certainly, our approach with The Who in the years to follow was the same, and we were fortunate enough to reap the rewards of it. 

    It took a long time for our feet to even come close to touching the ground after that trip.  And... as much as we'd like to find some clever way to put it into just cannot be done.  For was monumental.

     We were perfectly happy to return to New York City, and re-live every second of our time with Roger over and over again.  We thought we could cruise along like that forever...but things never go quite the way you plan them, do they?  Little did we know, that we were about to hit a fork in the road....a very formidable....serious
fork in the road....Enter...Pete Townshend.

     Stay tuned........



  1. wonderful read as always!

    can't wait to hear more!

  2. My dream lived by 3 wonderful girls!

  3. i stumbled upon this blog and spent the last hour or so reading through every post when i should have been studying for finals. i cannot BELIEVE how lucky you were and i cannot even IMAGINE what these experiences must have felt like. thanks for sharing, can't wait for more!

  4. Serena- just got your comment and thrilled that you found us...we put up new chapters every Sunday evening and the latest has just been did you find us??? Glad you did!

  5. Great blog. Whatever happened to the poster you were given? Was it a Maximum R and B poster?

  6. Ahhhh....the poster....oh yes, you can be sure it is still in our possession. Glad you're enjoying- please feel free to join us on Facebook for info about when posts are up- great pix from Who fans & links to vids and such! don't forget to "LIKE" our page! Thanks- The Glow Girls