My Lemmy story: 1982(or thereabouts). I was in a crowded pub in Victoria. I had just bought two pints of beer. I turned away from the bar carrying the very full glasses, and tripped over something. I looked down to discover that I’d just spilled a substantial amount of beer onto the largest pair of motorcycle boots I’d ever seen. I looked for the owner of the boots. I looked up, and up, and up. Finally, with my head tipped back as far as it would go, I saw the owner’s face. Very scary. “Sorry,” I said.
“Ooh, no. It was all my fault,” said the very tall biker. “Can I replace your drinks?”
“No thanks,” I said, and scampered away as fast as my little legs could carry me.
The tall biker was, of course, Lemmy. A scary-looking bloke, but a very nice man underneath it all.