Crimson, I have a little tale to tell about Peter Noone. In the late sixties I was staying at the Howard Hotel in the Strand. My modest little single room on the top floor did not have an ensuite bathroom so, having nipped down the corridor at midnight to visit the nearest loo, I managed to lock myself out. Thanks to Pop Art, my petticoat/slip? (which was all I was wearing) looked a bit like a mini dress and I thought I'd be OK to go down to reception to ask for somebody to let me back into my room.
Peter Noone, without the Hermits, was just booking in. He took one look at me, skulking about in the shadows, and obviously thought I was a groupie. All I could see were the spots on his face. With a very ungracious sneer, he told me he wasn't interested. With a very relieved giggle, I told him I preferred Paul McCartney.