December 31, 1999. ‘Ten, nine, eight …’ It’s a big charity party on the 50th Floor of Canary Wharf, and I’m in the band. Earlier that day, as we hauled two tons of kit up from the basement in the goods lift, the conversation faltered. Each of us was thinking: ‘What if the millennium bug kills this lift’s brain and we have to carry all this stuff down 50 floors? What if the lights go out? What if…’
By 1:30am on January 1, 2000, the only sober people in the room, we loaded our equipment into the perfectly functioning lift and went home.
