Paul's Red Square concert in 2003 was an unrepeatable moment in time. So much anticipation, so much history framing the occasion. I was there for the usual reasons, and especially happy to be hooking up again with John and Pab.

At the end of the show, Pab asked me if my girlfriend de jour and I would fancy a post-gig drink, and of course we said yes. OK, he said, we'll see you later (meaning him and John).

About an hour later, we couldn't get any sense out of anybody as to where the crew 'party' was, so we just headed over to the hotel.

Trying to get sense from the hotel staff was even harder. They were very Russian. Then we were told...'yes, you want the top floor'.

Into the lift... up we went. reached the top floor and it all looked very executive in the corridor. The nearer we got to the distant sound of clinking glasses and mumbled chatter, the more I had the feeling that we might just be in the wrong place.

Edging our way through the door I was met with an astonished look on John's face which roughly translated as "What the fuck are you doing HERE?", followed by one of "Well you're here now... what-ev-er!"

Unwittingly we had gatecrashed Sir Paul's private after-show party. A small but perfect gathering.

Not sure why I'm writing this this, other than I don't think I ever explained to John how we came to make the cock-up in the first place. But it was an innocent cock-up, honest guv.

Nevertheless, John (and Pab) must have tipped the wink because we were made welcome in the end. (So now you know, Mr, Baker)

More stories (better ones) will follow.