I have never seen The Rolling Stones perform live, but I have been in very close contact.
The year is 1990, and I find myself working as a bellboy in Munich's premier hotel, Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten in Maximilian Strasse, where one of my night concierge bosses was a charming quiet old guy of few words called Adolf. A man of few words unless you happened to speak fluent Bayerisch, as his German was questionable and the only words of English I ever heard him speak were 'Good night', 'order taxi?', 'what time wake up call?' and my favourite for guests looking for late night information, 'come back tomorrow'.
So when The Rolling Stones booked 70 (yes seventy) rooms in the hotel for a couple of nights on one of their world tour, it was little wonder that I was pressed into night-time service, so I could at least understand the barrage of requests which were sure to follow.
As an impressionable 19 year-old, it was quite a thrill to share a lift with Bill Wyman and be asked to bring him some cigarettes, and to enter the room of Charlie Watts with a bunch of birthday flowers, but my enjoyment of my brush with fame stopped as soon as I received an instruction from Adolf at 2am.
A German guest had complained that there was some loud music nearby and could we do something about it? Adolf dispatched me to investigate, and I walked to the second floor towards the room of the complaining guest to see where the music was coming from.
And it was LOUD.
I went down to my boss to explain the situation. If Keith was having a party, who was I to do anything about it?
"Knock on his door and tell him to turn down the music," Adolf commanded.
"Adolf, I know you are not into rock music, but do you have any idea who this guy is? It's Keith Richards, for heaven's sake."
My appeal fell on deaf ears, and I climbed the stairs once again, immaculately dressed in purple tunic and pressed white gloves to carry out Adolf's wishes. I did knock, but oh so timidly, then ran away before there was a chance of Keith seeing me even if he did hear the knock. Nothing can be done, Adolf, he is not answering, I reported triumphantly, to which my boss responded by handing me the phone and ordering me to call room 200.
My heart thumping, I called in front of Adolf - there was no way to avoid it. Fancy me calling Keith Richards at 2am and asking him to turn his music down! Thankfully he could not have heard the phone, so I replaced it with a victorious smile. I had done all I could. Not so, replied Adolf, passing me the master key. If this pop star would not answer the phone or the door, there was only one way to bring him to heel. Enter the lair and talk to him directly.
My legs were leaden as I climbed the stairs for the third time. I wondered how I could possibly get out of this one, and how many televisions Keith might hurl at me for disturbing him. My life was over before it had begun, I figured, as I put the master key in the hole.
Fortunately for me, but not for the complaining guest, Keith had also bolted the door shut, so that there was no way I could enter - he had obviously been in this situation before more than once in his life. Short of climbing the outer walls and breaking in through the window - not a suggestion I shared with Adolf - there was literally nothing more than I could do. My feelings of pity for the sleepless guest were far outweighed by the fact that I had retained my dignity. Keith called it an early night about 02:30, so all was well in the end.
And as I recounted the incident last week as I walked past the hotel on a brief visit to Munich, I wondered what was the more remarkable fact 25 years later - that Keith was not only still alive and partying, but also performing still with The Stones aged over 70, or that I would find myself moving to a small island in the very heart of the city a quarter century after I left.
The chances of me being asked to tell Keith Richards to turn his music down are minimal this time, but there is plenty more to discover about this great city. Join me on the journey, starting next week, via the Total Munich Facebook page.