Angie liked a drink or two and always wore dark glasses. She did not get on well with her partner. I think he had once been more than her stage partner, but now they bickered constantly, like an old married couple. Dennis was a big man with a little goatee beard. He had a soft, whiney voice, like David Beckham but he was mighty strong. I remember once giving Angie a lift in her minicar (she didn't drive), after they had had a row. He came out of house and stood in front of car to make it stop and then twisted off wing mirror with one hand and tossed it in gutter. Then he just ambled off. A nice guy, really, I don't think he ever hit her.

As I said, most of tenants were musicians. There was Maggie, who had a great voice and adored Billie Holiday. In fact everybody in house adored Billie Holiday, except one guy who was a second-hand furniture dealer. There was George, another bass player, who, on being hauled up in front of captain of a liner when he was working on a cruise, stood eyeball to eyeball with him and told him that he (George) was just as good at his job as captain was at his. He probably was, too.

Then there was Kenny Vick, who was a jazz guitarist. He was very fastidious and tidy, and would follow you about room, picking up any bits of fluff or crumbs thst you might have dropped (a trait he shared with my mother). He was a great player though.

I learnt from all these people (with possible exception of furniture dealer, who nobody liked anyway), but one I remember most is Lindsay Cooper. I remember playing flamenco in a pub while he read Frederico Lorca poetry in English (his idea) and I remember him dragging us all down to a music shop which had a sale on. He insisted that I buy a book of Bach's partitas and sonatas for violin. I couldn't afford it but I bought it anyway. I still have it on my bookshelf, and I would never part with it.

We used to get together in someones room about once a week to talk about whatever came into our heads. One time talk turned to South Africa. (This was long before end of apartheid). The conversation was animated as usual. Everyone had something to say except Lindsay, who said nothing for about half an hour. Finally talk died down and everyone looked at Lindsay expectantly. He said nothing for a while, then cleared his throat. "South Africa's a turnip". There didn't seem anything to add to that.

Although he had a love of classical music he wasn't a great traditionalist. He thought that past was sometimes a hinderance to creativity. I didn't have his bold, fearless approach then, and I havn't got it now. I remember asking him, at one of our gatherings, how he could ignore something like paintings of Rembrandt and he said he would get rid of them. I asked him how, and he said he'd burn them. Nobody said anything. Lindsay looked around, noticed stunned silence and hastened to make amends. " Oh, but with grrreat rrreverence", he said in his broad Glaswegian accent. Rest in Peace, Lindsay.

James Collins http://www.pet-portraits-scotland.com Email: collinsdallasart@tiscali.co.uk