OFF-KEY PERFORMANCE

When I step on the stage at Glastonbury, I feel like a kid again. The adrenaline is incredible, it’s out of this world. I remember the first time I performed there and when I looked out there were 75,000 people thronged in front of the stage, stretching as far as the eye could see. And they were waving bannerssaying things like, “Rolf! I wanna didgeridoo you!” and “Tie me down, Rolf!” and “Rolf, I think I’m pregnant!”

The organisers must have thought it was a bit dicey inviting me, because they booked me to appear at 10.30am on Sunday — a graveyard slot, when they thought everyone would still be fast asleep in their tents. But, boy, you should have seen the crowd we drew.

They were all singing so loudly to every song that I couldn’t hear my own band. It was only when the last guitar was fading away and everyone had finally gone quiet that I realised I’d been a note off key — I’d been singing Sun Arise in F sharp and the band had been playing in E. But there was such a din that no one noticed.

LOUD MUSIC, LOUD SHIRT

This weekend will be my fifth appearance at Glastonbury and it gets more exciting every year.

I stand there on stage in my colourful shirt, feeling like a rock star. I am a rock star! But I don’t carouse round the tents, because as soon as I set foot outside the backstage area I get mobbed for autographs. I love the people there but if you’re recognisable it’s overwhelming.

The whole thing’s one great party, but that part of it is not really my scene. Alcohol gives me a headache and I’m getting a bit old for diving around in the mud. When I’ve finished performing, I sign autographs, then I just jump into my car and I’m off.

And I have masses to get on with. I see age as nothing more than a number in the mind and, so long as I’m doing what

I love — singing or painting — then I feel as young as I’ve ever been. If I had to stop doing either of those things I’d be distraught and that’s when old age would set in.

I have a studio at the top of our house in Berkshire where I paint and sometimes I’ll work through the night, especially if I’ve got a commission to finish. I usually have a nap for an hour and a half after lunch, but for the most part I just keep going.

WIMBLEDON MASTERCLASS

The week began at 5am on Monday when I set off to do breakfast TV on the Centre Court at Wimbledon. We’d unveiled an oil painting I’d done of 10 tennis greats, which I’d been commissioned to do by HSBC, which is sponsoring Wimbledon this year. While I was there I gave a masterclass on impressionism to children from four local schools.

There’s a lot of snobbery in the art world but I just smile. My work sells well and that’s all that matters. According to one survey, most people in Britain don’t think it was Monet who painted the Water Lilies — they think it was me. Well I’m not going to disabuse them.

I barely had any time to paint during the week because I was busy rehearsing with the band and I also managed to finish a book I’ve been commissioned to write by Transworld about my childhood in Perth. It was a wonderful childhood, blissfully happy — so it will sit rather at odds with all the misery memoirs. It’s been strange looking back on everything. I love Australia and I love England. Everything to do with my professional life I learnt here in England and on top of that I married an English girl. I arrived here when I was 22 and I feel very lucky to be accepted.

ADMIRING THE STATUS QUO

The big excitement of the week was getting the final mix of Christmas in the Sun, a single I’ve just done with Rick Parfitt from Status Quo. We met at a festival in Guildford and I said to him, “I’ve admired you all my life,” and he said, “I’ve admired you!” So we got together.

In Christmas in the Sun we both sing and Rick plays the storming guitar. It sounds great and really thrills me.

I’ll go on singing for ever. I don’t see the point in stopping. At home I sing all the time and I’m always beating time on the table tops. It drives my wife Alwen mad. She’s a classical person, she likes opera and ballet.

I suppose I’m not the ideal husband, because I’m always busy and I can’t prepare a meal unless it’s cornflakes. But at least I don’t have grand ambitions. I just want to be remembered as someone who spread a bit of love and affection and who made people smile.

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