ESCAPING THE TAX MAN
Paul Thompson is the drummer for Roxy Music. Paul’s one of the good guys. He’s a lovely Geordie boy, but getting a sentence out of him is like pulling teeth.
Paul and I lived together for a while on the Isle of Man to escape the tax man. After six weeks on the island, I ran back to the tax man and begged forgiveness. I don’t care who gets upset. Don’t fucking go there, unless you’re a motorcycle fan or a Norman Wisdom fanatic—which I happen to be, but I still wouldn’t go back there.
Paul’s mum was great. She was one of those ladies like your aunt or grandmother, who, though not dyslexic, just got words wrong. We were once driving from Carlisle to Newcastle on the A69 (you’ll notice there aren’t many freeways up north), and the first leg was through dark, twisting roads, about eleven at night. Halfway there, we see the orange glow of Hexham, and she uttered the immortal words:
“Ooh, our Paul, thank Heavens we’re back to civil aviation!”
Lovely!
P.S.: I’m telling you this because it happened in a car.