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Rachel Johnson’s Golden Oldies: Walk on the vile side

Regulars | November issue


I nurture a theory that the more famous and successful people are, the nicer they are. Whenever challenged, I say, ‘Richard Curtis’. As for rockers – well, far from becoming soured and spoilt, like old milk, I find many are sweetened by life. They are clever enough to credit luck and timing just as much as talent and hard work for their fortune and fame, and they feel – to use that horrible word – ‘blessed’. Every rock star I’ve met has been humbly charming despite decades of having to converse and commune with fans, which would drive anyone to drink, determined never to make old bones. I had breakfast with Bryan Adams in the summer (sorry about the namedrop) after he’d headlined Cornbury Festival in Oxfordshire. He was a poppet – despite the fact that: 1. He is a global superstar; 2. Someone had eaten the specially-prepared vegan repast...

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