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Last peep from the pussycats den

I was quietly minding my own media empire at the IAMA conference, which ends today, when a youngish man with curly brown hair came and sat next to me, waiting politely until I had finished a live paragraph on my notebook.

I recognised his name-tag from recent email exchanges, but that was it. He said ‘I wonder if you remember an invitation to a rather offbeat festival in Upper Austria some years back?’

How could I forget? I had been approached to speak at a music weekend in a monastery, with a broadcast on national radio, ORF. Irresistible. I accepted Brother D’s invitation like a shot and was packing my bags when a bug struck and I was bedridden for the weekend. 
God’s will, I mailed him apologetically. We’ll cope, he replied.
‘I am Brother D,’ said the polite young man at IAMA. ‘Or was.’
‘What happened?’ I demanded.
‘Long story…. but I’m an artists’ agent now.’
So you see, there are holy men in the music biz. You just have to dig deep to find them.
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