…By which I mean John Lydon and not some euphemism for my ill-tempered husband. It started more than ten years ago in Santa Monica when I unwittingly bummed a cigarette off of him outside a now defunct record shop on Main Street. Husband put me up to it— I don’t even smoke. We were in the early days of our courtship and, despite the fact that I had no idea who I was asking for a cigarette, husband was mightily impressed with my chutzpah. And Mr. Lydon did in fact oblige me with a cigarette.
Now news has arrived through the Twittersphere that Mr. Rotten has returned, this time to a room in the inn just up the road from our cottage in the Cotswolds. It seems he is recording at the studio of our local rock star and will be in residence for the next two weeks. We are scheduled for a return visit at the tail end of his stay, and no doubt husband will be busy cultivating opportunities for another chance encounter. Guess I better take up smoking in preparation.
