Ten years later, I decided to drop in. I was then 21. It was an arctic-cold night, and Keith, dressed incongruously in a pair of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, opened the door. That was the evening’s first surprise. Nobody seemed to be working the home’s security, and I remember thinking it odd that someone who had a couple of well-provisioned mansions in the West Indies would choose to spend the winter in rural Sussex. A kind of richly deserved scowl crossed Keith’s face when I announced that I was “just a fan.” Apart from that brief, scarcely perceptible contraction of nose and lips he expressed no further welcome. Dark-eyed and grizzled, he looked impressively wasted. However, a voice from the room behind him then called out, “Let him in.” (…)
Still funny:
