I realized that day what it meant to look for a needle in a haystack... With my friends Pierre and Hélène from Nice, we had to walk in all directions and explore the miles of alleys, roads and forest avenues of Virginia Water, a swanky small town near Windsor, which we reached every day by train. Finally one afternoon, I was able to locate the home of Elton John, in this chic residential countryside of Virginia Water.

Six months later I was in England again, spending the Christmas holidays with my friend Pierre and another girlfriend from Nice named Isabelle, at the home of the Matusiaks, a sweet English family who lived in Derby.

Having taken all my paintings with me rolled in a tube, I travelled by train to London, caught my connection for Surrey at Waterloo Station, and arrived back at Elton John's place, in this very chic country suburb of the British capital where the musician lived.

Once at the gate (this could only be his place, as several luxury cars, including a Rolls, were parked in the courtyard), I found myself scared to death and did not dare ring the bell. Thus I remained petrified for hours, by this grey and cold afternoon, waiting only God knows what for, and frozen to the bone, in the hope that someone might eventually exit or enter.
A vehicle finally stopped by the gate, and the visitor, intrigued by this very young man carrying a large roll in his arms (and who appeared to be desperately trying to hide himself behind it), asked me what I was doing there. Blushing and stammering, I replied that I was a French boy who wanted to show his drawings to Elton John. The man turned out to be Tony King, a great friend of Elton John who had met the singer way before he became a superstar, and a personality in the British music business who later became RCA Creative Director and a publicist for the Rolling Stones. The man had grinned, probably amused by the incongruity of the situation, and had then asked to see some of my works, which I laboriously pulled out from their cardboard tube.