Put it on your Christmas list. I came across this passage detailing the recording of 'Exile on Main Street' in 1971:"In those early days at Nellc?te we?d do our promenades down by the harbors, or to the Caf? Albert in Villefranche, where Anita would drink her pastis. We were obviously conspicuous in those parts, but we were also pretty hardened and unworried by what people thought. Violence happens when you least expect it, though. Spanish Tony, who came down early on, saved my life a couple of times?either literally or not?and in the town of Beaulieu, on one of those outings near Nellc?te, he saved my hide. I had an E-Type Jaguar that I drove down to Beaulieu harbor with Marlon and Tony aboard and parked in what was pointed out to us?by what appeared to be two harbor officials?as the wrong place. One came across and said, ?Ici,? beckoning me and Tony into the harbor office, so Tony and I wandered over, leaving Marlon in the car for what we imagined would be a couple of minutes, and we could see him.
Tony smelled it before I did. Two French fishermen, older guys. One had his back to us. He was locking the door, and Tony looked at me. He just said, ?Watch my back.? He moved like a flash, shoved a chair into my hand, jumped on the table with another chair and tore into them, splinters everywhere. These guys were wined out of their heads; they?d had a big lunch, some of it still on the table. I just trod on the neck of one of them while Tony did the other one in. Then Tony came back for my one, who was scared shitless, so Tony gave him another smack around the head. ?Let?s get out of here.? Kicked the door open. It was over in a matter of seconds. They?re on the floor moaning and whining, claret everywhere, broken furniture. The last thing they were expecting was an assault?they were big sailors, no pussyfooting, and they were going to fuck around with us, slap us about. They were planning to have some fun with the longhairs. Marlon?s sitting in the Jaguar. ?Where you been, Dad?? ?Don?t worry about it.? Vroom vroom. ?Let?s go.? What moves from Spanish Tony. It was a ballet; it was his finest moment. That day Douglas Fairbanks had nothing on him. It was the swiftest move that I?ve seen happen, and I?ve seen a few. I took a lot of leaves out of Tony?s book that day?when you smell that trouble coming, act. Don?t wait for it to start."
A few moths later:
"Switzerland was my base for the next four years or so. I couldn?t live in France for legal reasons or in Britain for tax reasons. In 1972, we moved up to Villars, in the hills above Montreux, east of Lake Geneva?a very small and secluded place. You could ski?I did ski ?right up to the back door. The place was found for me by Claude Nobs, a mate of mine who started the Montreux Jazz Festival. I made other connections: Sandro Sursock became a solid friend. He was the godson of the Aga Khan, a lovely bloke. There was another one called Tibor, whose father was connected to the Czechoslovakian embassy. Your typical goddamn Slav. Randy little bastard. He lives in San Diego now and raises dogs. Sandro and he were friends. They waited around the exit of the local girls? college and they?d take their pick. They were rolling in it. And we?d all roar around in cars?in my case an E-Type Jaguar."
He love's his motors - E-Type, Bentley S3 Continental Silver Spur (aka Blue Lena), 1947 Mercedes Convertible and a 20ft Riva speedboat and I am only as far as 1971. Wonder what happened to the E-Type?
Mick seems to have had less luck:
Success - found a photo of him and Anita:
