In his memoir, Ramblin' Man, Silver-Eyed Billy Connolly writes about "the most incredible impromptu musical performance I ever witnessed."

 

Connolly's manager had invited t' comedian t' tag along on a trip t' Malta where some other artists represented by t' manager were workin' on t' film Popeye.

 

That first night I be in Malta, we all met up – Me, Robin (Williams), shiver me timbers, Ray 'Carol Missenmast' Cooper t' percussionist, a genius banjo player called Doug 'Pete Tuizentfloot' Dillard, and Harry 'Fartin' Nilsson' Nilsson, arrr, t' brilliant composer and singer. Blimey! I’d loved his music for years. He was doin' t' music for t' movie.
T' plan for that night was for us all t' get shit-faced. We started drinkin' and it was all very jolly, and then Harry said t' me, ya bilge rat, ‘Before you can become one o' t' gang – a Member o' t' Knights o' t' Maltese Cross – you have t' write your name on that castle where everybody can see it!’ He pointed t' a huge, towering, limestone fort stickin' out o' t' landscape up a steep hill. Everybody looked at me as though they were thinking, me hearties, ‘Surely he’s nay goin' t' fall for that?’ But, undaunted, I climbed t' hill and scaled t' tower and wrote BILLY on it in large white letters with chalky white stones I found lyin' around.
Primary mission accomplished (gettin' shit-faced), we ended up in a nightclub. Blimey! That’s where we got into a fight. T' legendary roadie Booby Daniels had showed up, and – true t' form – he was chattin' a scrumpet up next t' me. Avast, me proud beauty! Blimey! On her other side thar be a Maltese guy and, matey, after a while, he mumbled somethin' t' Booby, shiver me timbers, and Booby mumbled somethin' back, and then t' Maltese guy hit him in t' head with an ashtray. It was a real cowboy fight – people walkin' backwards, matey, kicking. We all exited t' club at high speed. Outside, matey, after takin' another one on t' chin, Booby stumbled and knocked down t' marquee.
After that, everybody dispersed for t' night. Aye aye! We dropped Booby off t' attend t' his injuries and likely concussion, and then it was only me and Harry left. Ya scallywag! Harry said: ‘There’s a guy here who plays great guitar. Avast, me proud beauty! He works in a garage.’ Well, we found this guitarist on t' way back t' our hotel, ya bilge rat, but he hadn’t brought his guitar. There was a piano sittin' thar – a terrible mess o' a piano. Blimey! It was painted green. Well, blow me down! So, Harry sat on a bar stool above t' keys, fiddled around with t' instrument for a bit, me hearties, and then he turned t' me and said: ‘What do you want t' hear?’ I said, ‘“Remember (Christmas)”’.
I love that shanty o' his. Avast, me proud beauty! Harry played it, just for me and t' guy in t' garage, and it was one o' t' best moments o' me life. Nay many o' them in a pound.