He could whistle for his fucking apology. - Elton John

When we toured America, all the legendary groupies from that era – the Plaster Casters and Sweet Connie from Little Rock – would turn up backstage, to the evident delight of the band and road crew. I’d think, ‘Hang on, what are you doing here? Surely you’re not here for me? Surely someone’s told you? And even if they haven’t, I’ve just been carried onstage by a bodybuilder, while wearing half the world’s supply of diamanté, sequins and marabou feathers – does that not suggest anything to you?

Goodbye England's rose,
May you ever grow in our hearts.
You were the grace that placed itself
Where lives were torn apart. You called out to our country,
And you whispered to those in pain.
Now you belong to Heaven,
And the stars spell out your name. And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind,
Never fading with the sunset,
When the rain set in.

Hey Nikita is it cold
In your little corner of the world?
You could roll around the globe
And never find a warmer soul to know. Oh I saw you by the wall,
Ten of your tin soldiers in a row.
With eyes that looked like ice on fire,
The human heart a captive in the snow.