Clapton_ The Autobiography - Eric Clapton [82]
Nell met Guy and Gordon, my old school friends, and once again they became part of my network. We were an outgoing couple, and we started to collect other couples. Local married couples became part of our social circle; some were drinkers, others just liked to come around and have dinner. My life suddenly changed from being very introverted to becoming part of this golden duo, holding dinner parties and going out to premieres and things like that. It was much the same for Nell, who had been holed up for years in the gothic gloom of Friar Park with George. It was a fantastic time for me, getting to know all my Ripley friends again. We started something called the Ripley Spoons Orchestra. We’d all go to the cricket club, where Chris Stainton would play the piano and there’d be ten or fifteen people all playing spoons and having a great singsong. For a while, Nell and I really felt part of the community.
During this period, Nell asked if I would meet a man who had begun dating her youngest sister, Paula. The idea was that, as acting head of the family, I was supposed to give this guy the once over, to ascertain whether he was worthy or not. This suited my grandiose view of myself, and I went up to town to have lunch with him. His name was Nigel Carroll, and I liked him instantly. We had a lot of things in common and became good friends, and of course he got the thumbs-up from me.
He was pretty much in love with Paula, and I could tell that he was a capable and honest man, but unfortunately for him, she wasn’t ready to settle. It was tragic, because Paula had a little boy, William, whom Nigel had become very attached to, and when the affair ended he was brokenhearted. I asked him if he would like to come on the road with me to take his mind off things, and for the next several years he was my personal assistant.
I still saw George, who never lost the habit of coming around to play new songs he’d written. One Christmas Eve he came over, and when I answered the door, he squirted a water pistol in my mouth, and it was full of brandy. For some time we had this edgy relationship going on between us, and he’d often make sarcastic little remarks referring to Pattie’s leaving. He wouldn’t hide it under the carpet. Sometimes we’d laugh, and at times it would be uncomfortable, but it was the only way we could go on. One night we were sitting in the great room at Hurtwood when he said, “Well, I suppose I’d better divorce her,” to which I replied, “Well, if you divorce her, then that means I’ve got to marry her!” It was like a scene from a Woody Allen film. Over the years, our relationship developed into a sort of cagey brotherliness, with him, of course, being the elder brother. There was no doubt that we loved one another, but when we actually got together it could get quite competitive and tense, and I very rarely got the last word.
Toward the end of 1976, an invitation came in to attend a big party celebrating the demise of The Band. It came as a bit of a shock. I had no idea that they were disbanding, but I remember Robbie grousing about being on the road, back at Shangri-La Studios. It was a tremendous honor to be asked to play. A lot of very respectable players were scheduled to perform, including Van Morrison and Muddy Waters, not to mention Bob himself. The new hotshot director of Taxi Driver, Martin Scorsese, would film it for posterity, and The Band were going to play their final set, with a host of guests getting up onstage. The show was at the Winterland, the big rock venue in San Francisco that had flourished throughout the sixties alongside the Fillmore. Pattie and I flew over a couple of days before and started some hard-core partying. It was great to meet up with Robbie and Richard again. Needless to say, Richard and I got along famously. We were cut from the same cloth, and I loved all the other guys; they were like family to me. The gig was great, except at the beginning of “Further Up the Road” my guitar strap came