Chrístõ was a little worried. It was so late at night it was very nearly morning, and his brother was not back in the TARDIS. He had wandered off with some friends after the main set had finished, a little before midnight.
Admittedly, he had been a little pre-occupied himself, but he had assumed that Garrick would have returned to the tent with the Theta Sigma characters along one side and, unexpectedly, Zeta Lambda on the other. This, Garrick claimed, was HIS Prydonian Academy nickname, and when the TARDIS had chosen its incongruous disguise for the 1971 Glastonbury Festival, it had represented both brothers. Chrístõ had been a little put out. It was still HIS TARDIS. But Garrick had been amused.
1971 had been chosen firstly because Chrístõ liked the music of that era and secondly, since the main object of the trip was to introduce Garrick to crowds, the mere twelve thousand music fans were a gentler introduction than the exponentially larger festivals of later decades. Christo had been pleased to see his younger brother enjoying the free-for-all atmosphere in the camp site in front of the place where the stage was being constructed right up to the last minute. He had been more than gratified when Garrick found his own group of friends in a nearby tent. He had spent much of the afternoon learning to play folk rock songs on an acoustic guitar lent to him by a pretty young girl called Dee who dressed like a stereotypical ‘red Indian squaw’ with a hand-woven dress, moccasins and a red feather in a headband. He had learned quickly to the delight of Dee and her brother, Luke and his girlfriend, Leanne.
When the professional musicians began to perform in the late afternoon sunshine, Garrick had sat with them to listen. Chrístõ trusted him to enjoy himself without constant supervision.
Something he was now starting to regret.
“Father will be so disappointed in me if I let anything happen to Garrick,” he told himself aloud. But it was Garrick’s mother, Valena, to whom he really didn’t want to explain any of this. He had a vision of her, with Julia by her side, giving him her own particular hard stare of disapproval and he didn’t like it at all.
He had started pacing the console room, followed by a disconsolately trilling Humphrey, who had picked up on his mood, when he finally heard the TARDIS door open. He looked around to see Garrick stumble inside, sliding his feet across the floor rather than walking on them until he came to an unsteady halt by the communications console. He looked – there was no other word for it – intoxicated.
Actually, there were some other words, but they assumed he had been doing far worse than drinking, and Chrístõ didn’t want to entertain that possibility, yet.
“Hello, brother,” Garrick slurred.
Where have you been?” Christo demanded without salutation or pre-amble. “And who were you with?” He rubbed his index finger over the boy’s collarbone, visible over his partially unbuttoned shirt. There was a smear of lipstick suggesting he had been with a girl, although, in fact, given they were in this particular time and place that wasn’t absolutely certain.
“I’ve been to the Tor, with Luke and Leanne and Dee,” he answered with a voice that was slowing like a wind-up gramophone from at least two decades before this one. “To see the sunrise. It was a good sunrise. Lots of colours. Green and red, yellow, blue, octarine, orosomine….”
“Octarine is a fictional colour from the Discoworld novels of Terry Pratchett,” Chrístõ answered. “And orosomine isn’t possible in Earth’s atmosphere. It only appears in the Gallifreyan sky over the poles during aurora events. Earth’s magnetic fields are too weak for orosomine or any shade close to it.”
“No,” Garrick insisted. “I saw it. It was beautiful. And it looked like a unicorn.”
“You thought you saw it. And I think I know why. Did your friends give you anything – anything that you ingested?”
Garrick shook his head, but that just made him dizzy.
“Lies, even lies told by head movements are beneath your dignity as a Time Lord candidate,” Chrístõ told him. “What did you do?”
“They called it weed,” Garrick admitted. “A sort of greeny-brown stuff, like soris-herb. We burnt it in paper tubes in our mouths….”
It was a sign of how stoned he still was that Garrick couldn’t even recall that the paper tubes were colloquially called roll-ups and the burning action called ‘smoking’.
“You’re a pure blood Gallifreyan,” Chrístõ told him. “You shouldn’t even be affected by such things.”
Or should he? Chrístõ had always understood that human or humanoid narcotics had no effect on the superior Gallifreyan biology. But who actually researched that fact and how? He dismissed the incongruous vision of senior Time Lords at human music festivals trying out substances. Even laboratory tests seemed too frivolous. It was possible that nobody really knew.
At least until now.
“You know how to remove dangerous chemicals from your bloodstream,” he told his brother. “I taught you that, ages ago. Do it now. Then we’re heading out.”
“Where?” Garrick asked as he began to concentrate his mind on expelling every extraneous substance in his body, and, as it happened, on it. The lipstick on his shoulder and upper chest formed tiny greasy globs of carmine that, before the other substances were forced out of his pores as a greyish-greenish-bluish chalky bloom on his skin, made him laugh a little hysterically and a little guiltily as he recalled how he got the lipstick smears.
“Don’t you dare mention that back at the Academy,” Chrístõ told him. “At your age the only two women I’d ever been kissed by were my mother and grandmother.” He thought about that for a moment. “Ok, and an aunt and one very sweet nursemaid on Ventura. But the point is they did it one at a time. I’m a married man and I’ve NEVER been kissed by two women in the same session.”
“They are nice girls,” Garrick insisted.
“I'm not sure girls who introduce naïve boys to intimacies CAN be described as NICE,” Chrístõ replied. He sighed. Married he might be. But did he have to be quite so strait-laced? It was only a little before Garrick was born when he had been at the Isle of Wight festival and enjoyed himself thoroughly. Now he was acting like a disapproving father.
But he had been of age to make his own mistakes. Garrick was only eighteen, a child by the standards of Gallifrey. It was his duty as his older brother to protect him.
“Ok, let’s go,” Chrístõ said when he was sure Garrick was back to normal.
“Go where? It's nearly five o’clock. Everyone is going to bed.”
“Well, if they do, they’ll miss the best set of the whole festival,” Chrístõ answered. “The show starts in ten minutes.”
Garrick followed his brother, obediently but extremely puzzled and not at all sure if Chrístõ was making sense. After lecturing him on the effects of recreational drugs it didn’t quire seem fair.
“Where in the universe do concerts begin at five o’clock in the morning?” he asked. The evidence of sound checks on the stage and a crowd gathering in front of it suggested that Chrístõ was right, after all. Or he wasn’t the only one who had lost his sense of time.
“Glastonbury, on June 23rd, 1971, is where in the universe it happens,” Chrístõ explained. “Yesterday, building the stage ran late, so the bands started late. But the local residents insisted that they finish at midnight, so Bowie is starting his set, now.”
“They didn’t want music after midnight, but being woken by it at five isn’t a problem?”
Chrístõ smiled at his brother’s question and admitted he wasn’t sure about the logic, either, but it was a unique experience for them both.
“And who did you say is going to be playing?”
“David Bowie.” Christo repeated. “You know him. I played the Ziggy Stardust album to get you to sleep when you were a toddler.”
”I thought his name was pronounced ‘Booewy,” Garrick answered. “Like Attican Booewy from the Saga of Arcadia.”
“Your understanding of Gallifreyan epic poetry is spot on,” Chrístõ answered. “But I’m really going to have to work on your twentieth century Earth rock music.”
“Knowing about that won’t be much use to me at the Academy,” Garrick pointed out.
“It’ll remind you there is so much more out there than the Saga of Arcadia,” Chrístõ promised.
The crowd still wasn’t huge by the values of Glastonbury in later years. The strange start time and the fact that this was slightly before David Bowie had reached the peak of his rock legend status conspired against him, but that didn’t seem to matter very much. There were expectant cheers as an almost diffident young man with soft, shoulder length hair and slightly feminine features stepped up onto the stage modelled in scaffolding and plastic sheeting on the Great Pyramid of Giza. An insistent drumbeat built towards the first guitar riff of ‘The Supermen’.
The audience were gripped, though possibly none of them as thoroughly as Garrick who listened in fascination to lyrics slightly imperfectly based on the philosophy of Nietzsche. In his mind the three-and-a-half-minute song expanded to something like a six-hour Gallifreyan opera with characters dressed in leonate fur, leather and iron – male and female alike – hitting notes far higher than the human voice range.
And it was almost as if he had slowed down time in his head so that it actually lasted that long.
As the only audience to this opus, Chrístõ was startled to find his attention returning to a sunny morning in England as “so softly a supergod dies”.
“Softly?” Chrístõ queried telepathically as the Glastonbury audience applauded enthusiastically despite their own imperfect understanding of German philosophy.
Garrick smiled and turned his attention to the next song. Chrístõ touched his hand gently.
“Let’s just enjoy the music at its own speed,” he said. “And don’t worry too much about what the words mean. Nobody else, is.”
Garrick laughed softly and tried to do as Christo suggested, but so many of the songs in this set had similar themes and, after all, the two of them came from a world where people KNEW they were gods among mortals. No wonder the boy was intrigued.
The set ran for a little over an hour including talking between songs about philosophy, banning the bomb and how much David really appreciated those people who had made the effort to come and watch him perform. When the last notes of Bombers – an obviously anti-nuke somg – faded away even Chrístõ felt he was suddenly cooing down from a chemically induced high, and he had never even tried such things.
“What now?” Garrick asked. “Bed?”
“Breakfast,” Chrístõ answered. “Wait right here while I get food. Don’t wander off.”
He went to the TARDIS where he had already packed food and utensils for a campfire breakfast. He stepped out again to find Garrick’s young friends waiting with him.
“So this is your brother, the square,” asked the young girl called Dee.
“I'm not a square,” Chrístõ responded. “I’m here, aren’t I? Digging the music. I’m a scientist and I know what drugs do to people, that’s all.”
“Scientists kill people,” Leanne remarked. “Bombs and chemicals.”
“I'm not that sort of scientist,” Chrístõ again protested. Leanne might have continued the argument, but her boyfriend interceded.
“Hey, peace out. Garrick said you’re doing breakfast. So are we. Let’s get a campfire going, together.”
The idea pleased Garrick. The party sat between the two tents, one genuine, decorated with CND symbols and psychedelic swirls of colour, the other merely disguised as a tent with the Greek symbols of two occupants as decorations.
Breakfast was a strictly vegetarian affair. Nobody was eating bacon in this field. But Leanne proved to be very good at turning a little butter and egg and some cold potatoes from last night into hash browns cooked over an open fire. Chrístõ provided healthy seeded bread rolls and organic honey for afterwards and a superior blend of fresh coffee that percolated in a stainless-steel pot.
As the food was prepared Chrístõ was greeted in a friendly fashion by somebody who totally proved that he was no ‘square’.
“Do you have room for one more at breakfast?” asked David Bowie. “Everyone I was with last night seems to have gone to sleep and I’m feeling hungry.”
Luke invited him to join them while trying not to sound starstruck. All the ideals of the hippy, free love, egalitarian world were here in these Somerset fields, but there was still a perceived gap between the audience and the musicians up on the stage.
But even stars had to eat. He took the plate Leanne offered him and the coffee poured by Dee and thanked them both.
“How do you know Chrístõ?” Garrick asked.
“We met a few years ago,” David answered. “When the only places you could play rock and roll were the Jazz clubs. Was it the Flamingo in Soho or Eel Pie Island?”
“Probably both,” Chrístõ answered. “I hung about that scene for a while. Then there was Chiselhurst Caves in 1964.”
“That sounds far out,” Luke admitted. “But I’d never have been allowed to go. I was only twelve.”
“It wasn’t my best, really,” David admitted. “I hadn’t really found my musical self back then. But it was an amazing place to play.”
Chrístõ smiled at the idea of David Bowie, who would reinvent himself at least twice a decade all his life, ‘finding himself musically’ before responding to a question from Garrick, who had just found out that Chrístõ had actually spent most of the night in the farm kitchen with Bowie, his lead guitarist and various other vaguely band-connected people, all drinking and smoking and talking about rock and roll until the sun came up.
“And you complained about me up the Tor having one little bit of substance,” his brother complained telepathically, not wanting to disturb the surreal ambience of a celebrity campfire breakfast.
“I drank cider, which I am legally old enough to drink,” Chrístõ responded. “And don’t go on about it in front of your friends. I’ve just established that I'm definitely not a ‘square’ with your friends. Let’s keep it that way.”
Inevitably, as a second coffee pot was set on the replenished fire, Dee fetched her guitar. Even more inevitably, David took it from her and played acoustic versions of his best electric guitar compositions so far in his career.
He also played a tune that brought a puzzled frown onto his face as he tried to work out what it was and why it was in his head.
“Don’t do that again,” Chrístõ told his brother, again telepathically, as the first ever performance of Starman ended. “Interfering with artistic genius is prohibited by the Laws of Time.”
“I'm fed up of rules and laws,” Garrick declared just a bit too petulantly for a Time Lord Candidate.
“Not as much as you will be by the time you graduate. But if you stop interfering with rock and roll history, I promise to get you away from it all as often as possible.”
“That would… be an acceptable contract,” Garrick answered.
“Now who’s the square?” Chrístõ teased. “You just need to say ‘deal, bro’.”
He thought about that for a moment. “Actually, no. Don’t ever call me bro’. But it’s a deal.”
The lingering breakfast slowly wound down. David thanked them for the food and coffee, as well as their laid back friendliness and went to find his band. Everyone else settled where they were on the grass and fell asleep. Even Chrístõ, after being up all night, was ready to relax.
He woke about midday, judging by the position of the sun and his own innate awareness of time. Luke was shaking him urgently.
“I can’t find the girls, and I think your brother went with them,” the young hippy was telling him.
Chrístõ stood up at once, trying not to panic. There was no reason to think that there was anything wrong. Perhaps they had gone to get milk from the farm.
But there weas something that made him feel uneasy, a difference in the ambience of the festival field.
“It’s weird,” Luke said, while Chrístõ was still working things out. “The place feels quieter… as if there aren’t so many people here.”
That DID frighten him. he remembered the Isle of Wight festival of 1969 – two years ago in human time, more than twenty for him – where he almost lost two friends, several dozen other people and Bob Dylan, who had all been kidnapped by flesh eating aliens.
No, this wasn’t quite the same. There wasn’t the sense of fear and loss and confusion.
“Hey… guys….” Chrístõ and Luke both turned as David Bowie approached them. “Did I hear you say you’ve lost somebody? Only I can’t find my keyboard player and drummer. We’re meant to be packing up to head back to London. The kits all in the van, but they’re nowhere in sight.”
“They’ve gone to the Tor,” Chrístõ said, with perfect clarity and certainty. Both Luke and David looked at him curiously. “Look… I can’t properly explain, especially not to you, David. But my brother and I are telepathic. And he left a sort of note in my head, a psychic note to say that he’s going back to the Tor with the girls – to see the colours again.”
“That’s… totally far out,” Luke said,” Psychic… I mean…. Wow.”
“Utterly far out,” David agreed. “But… what does he mean by colours and why have so many people gone… including my guys?”
“I don’t know,” Chrístõ answered. “But we have to go get them. I have to take care of Garrick.”
“Dee is only fourteen” Luke admitted. “I promised she would be ok.”
“My car,” David decided. “Come on.”
They followed him to the designated car park, where they climbed into a sparkling new 1971 Audi Coupe which might have slightly disappointed Luke who had ideas about the sort of car a rock star should drive, but which was perfectly good for getting along the narrow country roads between the festival site and Glastonbury Tor.
“Your sister is fourteen and you let her smoke mind altering drugs last night?” Chrístõ asked Luke. “Call me square again, but….”
“I didn’t,” Luke confessed. “Sher’s my kid sister. No way I gave her anything. Or your brother either. It was herbs – I mean, ordinary herbs – tarragon. I told them it was the real thing and they acted like they were stoned. Leanne, too. They all said there were colours in the sky. I didn’t see anything except the sunrise and I had taken the real thing.”
“I’ve never tried kitchen condiments,” David said. “But I’ve never seen colours in the sky on anything you can smoke. It would take something more pharmaceutical for that. You’re sure the kids weren’t on something harder?”
“I swear,” Luke protested. “I wouldn’t have let her. She wanted to see the bands, enjoy the vibe, you know. But I didn’t mean for her to do anything serious.”
“So… all three of them thought they were taking drugs last night but they weren’t,” David concluded. “But they still thought they experienced something.”
“They DID experience it. I saw them. It was the craziest thing.”
“It’s not chemical” Chrístõ said. “It’s something out there…. Something….”
“Something from space?” David asked.
“I…” Chrístõ was suddenly uncertain about how much he could say to two humans, especially one with such a proven talent for turning experiences into mind-blowing music.
“Are YOU from outer space?” David asked, next. “You and your psychic brother?”
“I… we….” Chrístõ began.
“Far out!” Luke exclaimed. “You ARE, aren’t you? I knew there was something. I knew you were either aliens or from the future… from after the atomic wars, maybe, come to warn us.”
Even David, who had devoted so much of his music to dire warnings about nuclear proliferation looked sideways at Luke for coming up with such a possibility. Chrístõ shook his head and wished he could tell both of them that they would make it to the twenty-first century without such a war, but there were rules.
“I can’t tell you,” he said. “I especially can’t tell YOU, David. I think we’ve given you enough ideas for your next album, already. But… yes, we’re alien. Ok. We’re the good guys, not like in some of the films humans have made. But there are plenty of bad ones out there, who really do mean harm to this planet. And I am worried about all this.”
He was not the only one. Luke was frightened for his sister and girlfriend. He hadn’t yet asked what extra-terrestrial danger she might be in, and Chrístõ was hoping he wouldn't because he didn’t want to lie to him and telling the truth would make it worse.
“Why them?” David asked after a thoughtful silence. “Dee and Leanne, Garrick, my guys… and however many other people it affected. But there are still thousands on the field who don’t know what’s going on. So why those?”
“Please don’t make me say I don’t know, again. It might just be random. It might be something they all have in common... like blood type or something… Except….”
“Except you and your brother are aliens and he’s gone with them,” David pointed out. “I mean… you two must have different blood?”
“Yes, we do,” Chrístõ admitted. “But it’s not green or anything weird like that. And please don’t keep making me give things away like that. I can't tell you the whole truth.”
“Sorry,” David told him “It’s just… having a real live spaceman in my car is….”
“Far out?” Chrístõ suggested.
“So far out we’re on Mars,” Luke agreed.
Chrístõ was at least grateful that the Tor wasn’t very far away, because it limited the questions he might be asked.
As they approached the nearly perfectly conical hill that had once been surrounded by water in a long past, wetter era for this part of England, they were waved to a halt by an irate farmer who was complaining about a whole line of cars, vans, motorbikes and bicycles abandoned in the narrow road that, apparently, led to his fields. His tractor was stuck somewhere beyond the line.
“No more,” he said. “No more cars. No more long-haired louts tramping over the fields,” he insisted. “I’ll have the law on you all.”
“You have every right to complain about the cars,” Chrístõ answered. “Though I don’t imagine the local constabulary have the manpower to deal with them. But that is a public footpath over that style, as designated by the Countryside Act 1968, and length of hair is not a barrier to anyone’s rights. We will be going that way. If you decide to do anything about the cars that is contrary to common law, please be careful with my friend’s vehicle. It is new.”
With that, he nimbly crossed the wooden style, followed by Luke and David, who were both a little in awe of how he had handled the farmer.
“He has a point about the cars,” Chrístõ admitted. “But I didn’t like being called a long-haired lout since my hair isn’t especially long.”
“I was going to pull the ‘celebrity’ card,” David admitted. “But I haven’t been on Top of the Pops since Space Oddity, and he didn’t really look like a regular viewer anyway.”
“You’re just one of the louts with the rest of us,” Luke offered, and for now he seemed satisfied to be that.
There was something like a hundred people up on the Tor and half as many still climbing to join them. They, one time traveller, one hippy and one rock star seemed to be the last. Either the compulsion to climb had worn down or the farmer was putting up further resistance.
It was a steep climb but not especially arduous for young, fit people. They soon reached the summit with its ruin of the fourteenth century St Michael's Tower. Nobody had ventured inside the walls, but they were sitting in tight groups on all four sides. They were talking and singing and waiting expectantly, though nobody seemed sure of what.
“Dee!” Luke exclaimed and picked his way through the sun-warmed bodies to his sister. Leanne was with her and so was Garrick.
“What are you doing up here, all of you?” Chrístõ demanded.
“Waiting,” Dee had said. “Come on, sit down with us. It won’t be long now.”
They sat, because they HAD just climbed a hill. But they wanted explanations.
“Somebody is coming,” Dee insisted. “He told us last night… he told all these people.”
“Who did?” Chrístõ asked, before glaring at his brother. “And don’t you DARE say Ziggy Stardust,” he added telepathically.
“We don't know, but it’s going to be totally far out,” Dee said.
“I'm really starting to find that expression annoying,” Chrístõ grumbled. But nobody was listening. A hush came across the crowd and they looked up into the summer sky.
Then, from out of nothing came a sound, two notes that left in their wake a deeper kind of silence while the cloudless blue sky was suddenly a kaleidoscope of slowly swirling colour – every possible colour, even, he was almost sure, orosomine. There might even have been the fictional octarine. The colours moved about quite unlike clouds, regardless of prevailing winds.
Chrístõ looked away from the sky at the humans around him. They were all quiet, but they were moving their lips as if repeating a verbal message they were receiving. Luke and David were equally entranced.
“Garrick? What are you hearing?”
“Can't you hear it?” Garrick responded. “I wonder why you can’t. everyone else can.”
“No, I…”
Yes, he could. He’d just been ignoring it until now. There was a message being sent directly to the minds of everyone on that hill. And, yes, it was from outer space.
Chrístõ was worried at first. Mysterious visitors to Earth were rarely there for the rock and roll. He was the only one as far as he was aware. And compelling groups of young, impressionable people to climb a hill was a good ploy for abduction.
Then he heard a voice directed at his mind, alone. It reassured him of the benign objectives of the visit. In return he reassured them of what he would do if they were lying.
Twenty minutes or more passed before the colours faded back to blue sky and another two-note blast signalled the end of the visit. Slowly the crowd stirred from their places and made their way back down the hill, to where the farmer yelled imprecations that were lost on the blissed-out groups who walked away or went looking for their cars.
David’s keyboard player and drummer had brought three girls with them, and they had to wait near the back of the queue until it thinned out a bit. The Audi Coupe as the last to arrive led the convoy back again.
“They’re called Síoraí,” Chrístõ explained, knowing it was far too late not to say something. “They’re a non-corporeal race - minds free from bodies. They’ve been to the Tor twice before – the last time giving some Druids a glimpse of what they’d been hoping for all along. They’re looking at humans to see if you’re ready to become like them. You’re not. You’re thousands of generations away from that level of pure intellect. Even my people are only in the kindergarten to them. But, anyway, it was a quick visit with the message to keep the peace, don’t nuke each other and stay cool, basically, and they’ll be back to see your descendants. And don't anyone dare use the phrase ‘far out’ just now.”
“It was amazing,” Dee said. “Why were we chosen, though? Of all the people around the festival.”
“I worked that one out, too,” Chrístõ said. “The Síoraí reached out to those of you who were open-minded and clear of thought. At dawn this morning that was you three who got spaced out on tarragon. Everyone else was drunk or stoned or sleeping it off. When they tried again a few more had sobered up enough to draw them to the Tor.”
“There’s a lesson there,” Luke said. “Everyone who took stuff to heighten their experience missed out.”
“A lesson well learnt, I hope,” Chrístõ told him. “And I’m NOT a square so stop thinking it.”
“What was that musical bit we heard?” Leanne asked. “Those two notes….going from low to high.”
“Technically, it was one note,” David said. “One note with an octave leap. It’s a quite effective way of drawing a listener into a song.”
Everyone looked at him for further explanation.
“The most famous example, not very rock and roll, but technically perfect, is Judy Garland in Wizard of Oz. When she sings ‘Some-where’ over the rainbow.”
Chrístõ gave a soft sigh as it dawned on him exactly what the note had been about.
“That bit was just for you, David,” he said. “When you put a two-syllable word to it and fit it into the tune you played earlier, you’ll have the second most famous octave leap in musical history. But credit Judy with the inspiration, not anything you saw and heard this week… or….” He sighed and gave away another dangerous historical hint. “Or you’ll be locked up in fright.”

It was a little over a year later for Luke, Dee and Leanne when two visitors came to their flat in Kilburn.
“I was wondering if you were watching Top Of The Pops tonight,” Chrístõ said as he and Garrick were welcolmed in.
“You’re a pair of space travellers and you came to wach our TV?” Luke wondered.
“I want to make sure musical history hasn’t been skewed by our mischief last year.”
Leanne made coffee and assured Chrístõ that her home-made biscuits had nothing illegal in them as they sat to watch the thirty-inch set from Radio Rentals. Top Of The Pops was colourfully psychedelic enough without enhanced sensations.
David Bowie had a new haircut and a costume and make-up to defy anything the studio set designers could think up. His live recorded octave-leap on Star-man would have made Judy Garland smile happily in her grave. And in the second verse, when he came to the line ‘I had to call someone, so I picked on you’ he pointed directly at the camera. Dee and Leanne both squealed in delight, as possibly every girl and plenty of boys did all over the UK as they all imagined he was pointing at them, alone.
It was a pivotal moment in rock and roll history and, as Chrístõ knew, a fixed point in time that could have caused fractures in the fabric of the universe if it hadn’t happened – fractures for which he would have been held responsible.
Far out,” he declared, then vowed never to use that phrase ever again unless it referred to astral navigation.