Oh lordy, but Robert Plant was good looking in the heyday of Led Zeppelin. And it fell to my good fortune to interview him an awful lot in those early days of the 70s. The band's office was at the mucky end of London's Oxford Street towards Tottenham Court Road– the bit that now has tacky leather jacket and dodgy shoe shops (in those days it boasted a Dolphinarium. Imagine the cruelty).. It was cramped and unglamorous and had a terrifying lift in which I was once trapped with their very large and very unpredictable manager, Peter Grantso interviews were usually conducted in a nearby coffee bar.

One day we decided to be healthy and headed off towards Carnaby Street and the fledgling health food restaurant, Cranks. It was pretty much the first of its kind in London and everything in it was heavy. Dense bread, muesli like a clay soil, thick vegetarian stews, lots of sprouted things and all served on thick brown crockery as hefty as flowerpots. We burped our way through the obligatory interview, Plant gorgeous with his curls and endless legs, and all other customers either too cool or too oblivious to bother him.

We ate some carrot cake, drank coffee and then lurched out on to Carnaby Street. Almost immediately Plant spotted a shirt he wanted. Patterned voile in lilac, a bit see-through. Just the job for a gig. Plant flourished his chequebook – to no avail. The rookie assistant, clearly not a fan, wanted ID. Very politely Plant went to the front of the shop, picked the new Zeppelin album off the rack and brought it to the till. No go. Cut no ice at all. Suddenly the shirt, the cake, the coffee all lost their lustre at once. We marched back to the office.