You never knew what you were going to get with Keith Moon, so it was no surprise to drive up to his Surrey house one summer afternoon in 1970 and find him riding a donkey that he'd decked out with wing mirrors over its ears, claiming it was always a good idea to know what was going on behind you.

Back at the music paper (Disc and Music Echo, "Britain's top pop weekly"), Moon was not popular. He had got one of our reporters so out of it at a recent Who gig that when the band went onstage, the reporter (gay) had to be locked in a dressing room for his own safety. Unfortunately he escaped, ran on to the stage and clasped singer Roger Daltrey round the neck, showering him with kisses and professing undying love. Daltrey (very straight) was very nice about it, however our editor, not a peace-loving hippie, took a dim view of this and sacked Bob.

So after unsaddling and de-winging the donkey, a slightly repentant Moon and I repaired to the swimming pool area to wrestle an interview out of him. Interviewing Moon was like trying to herd a squirrel. You could only get sense out of him in short bursts; the rest of the time he'd be either roaming around fiddling with things or clowning about making faces. It was a hot day and Moon had clearly been up to earlier mischief with the poolside fridge. Throughout the afternoon it disgorged ice cubes from its state-of-the-art chute on to the ground. Some he added to his vodka, some we threw in the pool… the ice mountain continued.Moon was not an eater. His sustenance was liquid. We ate a couple of choc ices, but that was about as solid as it got. If he'd known about vodka jelly, he'd have loved it. Caroline Boucher