“And here in 1961, on a secluded path of grass, some hours after emerging safely from an overflow, and to the muffled strins of trad jazz, possibly supplied by the Chris Barber Jazz Band, or mayby by the Clyde Valley Stompers, or even by good old Acker Bilk, the legendary clarinetist, I lose my by then not remotely prized virginity to an older (and larger) woman who has com onto me very strongly in the beer tent. How much older, I can’t tell you exactly – but old enough that she was highly disappointed by the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it brevity of the experience. (Elements of this encounter, much later altered and enhanced, later flitered into the son ‘Maggie Mae’)“, Rod Stewart, Rod The Autobiography, p. 25.

Nu ved I, hvad jeg også fik i julegave. Åh, der er noget befriende ved at kende den rigtige historie bag en god, men lidet troværdig, skrøne som den i ‘Maggie Mae’. Men det gør nu ikke sangen mindre fantastisk. Syng den Rod, syng…