The Yardbirds came in to the Crawdaddy Club a week after the Stones finished their Sunday night residency. They had done it for almost a year, I think, and then we did it for a year. It was better when they were playing there because when they went they took half the crowd with them and it took us quite a while to build up our own following.

If you hand me a guitar, I'll play the blues. That's the place I automatically go.

My selective memory of what drinking was like told me that standing at the bar in a pub, on a summer's evening with a long, tall glass of lager and lime was heaven, and I chose not to remember the nights on which I had sat with a bottle of vodka, a gram of coke and a shotgun, contemplating suicide.

I don't know if I believe in luck. I think I'm very fortunate.

They found our hero in the gutter with a diamond ring and a gun.

Music became a healer for me.

Would you know my name, if I saw you in Heaven?