“What is it?” demands the LTLP, casting searching glances at the unusually-shaped package
“It is some drum sticks. From Pink Floyd’s Nick Mason,” I explain, turning them over in my hands in wonder.
Drumsticks!!! From Pink Floyd’s Nick Mason!!! I am both taken aback and lost in amazement. It is great being an author, comfortable in such celebrity circles. But I am not too big to acknowledge that I am a huge fan of this man who, in many ways, defined the Pink Floyd sound, ensuring that their songs went ‘bom, tish, bom, tish, bom, tish, bom, ba-bom’ rather than ‘bom, tish, bom, tish, bom, tish, bom tiddle-dee-omm-pomm bang boo.’ (I apologise if this is a bit technical; I am trying to draw a balance.)
The drum sticks are signed, with a little message. Honestly, this is the best thing that has happened to me, ever. I resolve to be cool about it, however, and not get carried away.
Later, I go to bed, having practised some air drumming. They would be excellent drum sticks, even without their huge celebrity connection. They make the air sound massive, like a wall of post-psychedelic four-four sound. But I am determined not to get carried away.
My dream that night is that I am the drummer in Pink Floyd. This is a bit odd, as I do not normally dream, and they already have a drummer (who has sent me some drum sticks – see above), but obviously he has been sacked and replaced with me. Paradoxically, I am using my Pink Floyd’s Nick Mason drum sticks to do the drumming with, and luckily I seem to be a much better drummer in my sleep than I am in real life. It is brilliant. We play all their album tracks. Fortunately, I am still being cool and not getting carried away with things.
Disaster!!! One of the drum sticks breaks during a fill in ‘Comfortably Numb.’ The bulby bit at the end snaps clean off, leaving me with one intact drum stick, and a celebrity-signed piece of wood. At this point I wake up with a horrible jolt and there is sweat pouring off me, presumably due to the exertion of drumming in my sleep.
At this point I weigh up whether this is very very sad or not. I decide not, as I am a very grounded person, and not the sort of man to get carried away with some silly Pink Floyd’s Nick Mason drum stick fantasy existence; honestly, this sort of thing I am quite blasé about as it happens all the time.
Later, I see Short Tony in the pub.
“I got some drum sticks from Pink Floyd’s Nick Mason,” I tell him.