The 10-seater Bar Harbor turbo prop that carried us (another journalist and myself) into Worcester, Massachusetts was most probably the one used in the film Airplane. The pilot does everything for you. He checks in your luggage, carries it, pulls the steps up and down for you while telling you to mind the dodgy step, tells you we’re 50 minutes late, checks the engine, reads aerial maps while navigating... everything. I wonder if Jagger, now some 2000 feet below, at the Long View Farm in North Brookfield, ever uses this service. Most probably not, though Keith

"They are very young, these people that buy records in America. They may be Intelligent, but they are unsoph istlcated."

might. An elderly woman in the seat behind me complains about the deafening, rattling noise coming from the engines. She is nerve-stricken and succeeds in making us feel that way too, but luckily it’s only a 17-minute flight.

On our arrival she shouts, “Is this New York?” Hardly likely, madam. This is Potatoland or Motherland or better still “Flies’ Paradise.” Welcome.

“Be careful, the flies are killers here,” was Jagger’s advice when we met him later on.