Jo Wood - It's Only Rock 'n' Roll - Thirty Years with a Rolling Stone

For my children, Jamie, Leah, Ty and Jesse, because I love them.

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Picture Section

Copyright

About the Publisher

I have to thank Catherine Woods, who I thoroughly enjoyed writing this book with. To Carole Tonkinson, my editor, and all at HarperCollins for their hard work and patience. My agent, Eddie Bell, who got the ball rolling. Emily, for all her help and for being so wonderful. Amy, Trudi, Dolly and all in my office. Alan Dunn and my touring family. Lorraine, my long-time friend and her family, who I adore. My wonderful friends, Keith, Patti and the Richards gang, and Keith’s manager, Jane Rose, who is my great friend. Dympna my oldest school friend. My mum and dad for my life. My grandchildren, my nephews and niece, my brothers and my sister, I love you all so much. To Fran, Meg, Kate and Mairead. To all my new friends, there are too many names to mention, you know who you are. Katy England for styling and to all those I have loved and laughed with. And finally to Ronnie, who was a major part of my life; I thank him from the bottom of my heart for my rock and roll fairy tale.

I was already awake, lying in bed, enjoying the last few moments of peace, when my alarm went off. I glanced over at Ronnie, but he didn’t stir. It was midday, and I could see from the light pouring between the curtains in our bedroom that it was another beautiful English summer day.

I grabbed my robe and tiptoed downstairs to make myself a coffee. It was Sunday, and the house was completely quiet. I guessed Leah and her boyfriend, Jack, must still be upstairs in bed – and, looking out of the window, there seemed to be no sign of life from the little cottage in the garden where Tyrone was living.

As I waited for the machine to brew an espresso, I felt a little leap of happiness at being able to reach for my cup from my kitchen cupboard. It was so wonderful to be back in our own home in London after nearly two years on the road.

A Bigger Bang had lived up to its name: it had been the Stones’ most epic tour yet. The boys had played China for the first time, and in Rio, an unbelievable one million people had come to watch their show on Copacabana beach. Keith had fallen out of a tree while we were on holiday in Fiji, scaring the hell out of us and leading to the cancellation of some dates while he recovered from brain surgery. But now here we were, back on home turf – and tonight was the very last show of the whole tour.

I had a quick shower and got dressed (black top, black miniskirt, black tights and black Dior biker boots – colour is banned when you’re working backstage) – then did my hair and put on loads of black kohl and mascara, the makeup essentials I’ve been wearing since my teens and could probably apply in my sleep. There was no time to make much of an effort with my appearance: I had to make sure everyone was ready to leave the house at 2 p.m. and get Ronnie to the venue in good time for the sound check two hours later.

By now the kids were stirring. Leah chatted to me in the kitchen while I made Ronnie’s breakfast – a cup of tea, poached eggs and toast – then took it upstairs to him on a tray. He liked simple food, but never ate much. It would drive me crazy when I’d spent hours making an amazing meal and he ended up pushing it round the plate. Recently, Kate Moss joked to me that he was anorexic …

‘Honey, time to wake up,’ I said gently. ‘I’ve brought up your breakfast.’

I got a sleepy grunt in return.

I heard the crunch of car wheels on gravel and looked out of the bedroom window to see a black Mercedes and a minivan pulling up outside the house. I waved to Gardie, Ronnie’s Australian security guy, as he got out of the Merc. Show days in London were always madness because everyone, including friends, family and acquaintances, wanted to come to the gig. Today there would be Leah and Jack, Ty, Jamie and Jody, Jesse and Tilly and all the grandkids – hence the need for the van.

As Ronnie showered and dressed, I packed his gig bag: a spare T-shirt for after the show, a towelling robe, extra backstage passes for any unexpected guests – all the essentials. For the past 20 years I’d worked as Ronnie’s PA on all the Stones tours, so the only thing he had to worry about was getting up on stage and playing the guitar. The tours had got so huge, so spectacular, that they had to be run with military discipline. It was a far cry from when I had first hit the road with the Stones in the late seventies. The 1981 Tattoo You tour of the States had been particularly insane. Fuelled by coke and a virtual pharmacy of pills, we’d stayed up for days at a time, drinking and joking and having such a laugh. My motto was: ‘If it isn’t fun, it isn’t worth doing.’ I don’t remember much of that tour, but we’d been so out of control that, when the time came for the boys to hit the road again (not until 1989: Mick and Keith fell out over Mick releasing his solo album), Mick had decided that we had to start being more professional.

‘Ronnie needs a PA,’ he’d said. ‘You’re with him on tour the whole time, Jo. You’ve got the job.’

‘You mean I get paid for going on tour? Oh, yeah!’

‘Yes, but you have to do your job properly,’ said Mick, pointedly. ‘No being late with the packing.’

I squirmed. During the Tattoo You tour we had fallen asleep following a three-day party. Security had burst into our hotel room just moments before we were due to leave for a gig to find the place trashed, with Ronnie and me passed out in the middle of it. That night the boys were three hours late and the audience were going wild by the time they finally made it on stage.

‘Don’t worry, Mick,’ I said. ‘You can trust me.’

From then on I was on the payroll – and was never late with the packing again.

I checked my watch: 1.55 p.m. Time to round up the troops. ‘Come on, everyone, let’s go – let’s go! Have you all got your backstage passes?’

The kids and grandkids piled into the van, Ronnie and I climbed into the Merc with Gardie – and we were off. From our house in Kingston to the O2 arena it was far quicker to go by water rather than by road, so the cars dropped us at the pier in Putney where a boat was waiting.