A couple of years ago I was attending a show of my paintings in Boston.
     Through the shambling throng of champagne-sipping artistic pilgrims filling the crowded gallery I glimpsed a familiar figure. It was Wayne Wadhams, who I hadn't seen in donkeys' years. Wayne had been the engineer, producer and general musical guru twenty odd years previous when, as a rather rancid musician, I had decided to record a selection of my best songs before hanging up the guitar and returning to the palette. Music had been a thrilling ride but it seemed, at that juncture, my future would more fertile in painting.
     We had breakfast the following morning.
    "Wouldn't it be fun to finish the recording session that we started back in 1972!" His remark though casual held a certain serious tone.
    "Well, it certainly would," I replied. "But that was twenty seven years ago!'
    "Oh," said Wayne, "I have all the original tapes. I stored them in my vault.' He smiled.
    "I'll be a monkey's uncle!" I was thrilled at the prospect and certainly flattered.
    "If we are going to do it , we had better do it sooner than later." Wayne's look was disturbingly direct. There must have been something more to this scenario.
     There was. Turned out that he was, in fact very ill and wanted to complete as much of his personal agenda as he could while he was still able. My recording session was one such item.
     I scratched around and came up with the funds. A month later, after a gruelling schedule with many early mornings and late, very late nights, the CD was finished.
     Brilliantly, cleanly and delicately engineered with great style and sensitivity.
     It is rare that one has the chance to relive, to revisit, to modify the past. To sip again from a long forgotten cup. To taste and glimpse all the joy and freedom of one's youthful years when the world was young.
     I shall be eternally indebted to Wayne for pulling the project together.
     But more than that, for simply being Wayne.