Clapton_ The Autobiography - Eric Clapton [84]
What it was about, for me, was drinking and escaping my responsibilities as a bandleader, so I could just hang out and play for sheer enjoyment, and the music reflected this. Very homespun and mostly acoustic, it was in just this spirit that the song “Wonderful Tonight” was written. I wrote the words for this song one night at Hurtwood while I was waiting for Nell to get dressed to go out to dinner. We had a busy social life at that time, and Nell was invariably late getting ready. I was downstairs, waiting, playing the guitar to kill time. Eventually I got fed up and went upstairs to the bedroom, where she was still deciding what to wear.
I remember telling her, “Look, you look wonderful, okay? Please don’t change again. We must go or we’ll be late.” It was the classic domestic situation; I was ready and she wasn’t. I went back downstairs to my guitar, and the words of the song just came out very quickly. They were written in about ten minutes, and actually written in anger and frustration. I wasn’t that enamored with it as a song. It was just a ditty, as far as I was concerned, that I could just as easily have thrown away. The first time I played it was around the campfire up at Ronnie’s, when I was playing it for Nell, and playing it for Ronnie, too, and he liked it. I remember thinking, “I suppose I’d better keep this.”
“Wonderful Tonight” ended up on the album Slowhand, the first record I cut with Glyn Johns as producer, in the spring of 1977. Over the years the name “Slowhand” had stuck, and was especially popular with the American band members, maybe because it had a western ring to it. Glyn had a terrific track record. Best known in England for his work with the Stones, he had also worked with the Eagles and really understood American musicians. He was a disciplinarian who didn’t like people mucking about or wasting time. When we were in the studio he expected us to work, and he’d get frustrated if there was any goofing off. Even though we were all getting stoned and drunk, we responded to that quite well. He brought out the best in us, and as a result that album has great playing and a great atmosphere.
Nell and Dave Stewart and I designed the artwork for the album, which is credited to “El and Nell Ink.” Among the various snapshots pasted across the inside cover, including one of me and Nell kissing, is a photograph of a smashed-up Ferrari, a reminder of an incident that very nearly led to my premature demise. I collect Ferraris, an obsession that goes back to my friendship with George. One day in the late 1960s he arrived at my house in a dark blue Ferrari 365GTC. I’d never seen one in the flesh before, and my heart melted. At that point it was like seeing the most beautiful woman on earth, and I decided there and then that even though I couldn’t drive a car with a manual gearbox, I was going to have one, too. He gave me the number of the dealer, and I called them and got driven over to the showroom in Egham, where I ordered a new 365GTC like George’s, for the princely sum of four grand. They delivered it to Hurtwood and asked me if I’d like to test-drive it, to which I replied coolly, “No, I’m too busy. Just leave it, thank you very much.” So they left it in front of the house.
I had no license and had only driven an automatic, so I set about teaching myself to drive using a clutch, in that Ferrari on the drive at Hurtwood. I loved that car, and when I was in the Dominos, I toured in it, with Carl and me driving all over England. Then I bought a Daytona and a 275GTB, followed by a 250GT Lusso. In those days I had garage space for only two cars, so I would buy and sell and buy and sell.
The crash in the picture took place soon after we got back from touring Australia. I had been drinking on the flight, all the way home, and it was still in my system. As soon as I was home,