Pete Way lives in an end-terrace house with broken windows in Birmingham. The house is in the process of being restored by builder friends who pop in occasionally but always seem to have more lucrative work to do. The broken windows were caused by a contretemps between Way and a stepladder.
“Can you take a photo of Phil’s house when you go see him?” Ways requests. “He won’t let me visit, you know, and I’d like to see what his house looks like.”
Way lives with his lovely American missus Rashida (wife No.5) who to this day battles to keep her husband on the straight and narrow. She’s naturally suspicious of anyone who hung around with UFO in the 1970s – which means Classic Rock comes under scrutiny. When Way gets us a can of fizzy drink out of the fridge he jokes: “Geoff enjoys his Coke, you know.” Rashida knits her brows. She is not amused.
Way is concerned about his forthcoming medical, which will determine whether he’ll be allowed back into America to tour with UFO. “I’m down to a bottle of wine a day,” he claims, “but my hands still shake a bit. I’m worried they’ll ask me about the scars on my arms. And I’m scared they’ll examine my groin because I used to inject there as well.”
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