The media wait in vain outside the Ascot Hospital for Keith Richards. Picture / Richard Robinson
The media wait in vain outside the Ascot Hospital for Keith Richards. Picture / Richard Robinson
The bullish doors of Ascot Hospital open and shut and open and shut. They taunt the media outside with the message: "Healing the human body. There is no finer work."
Standing for hours outside those doors at the private hospital near Ellerslie Racecourse, waiting for Keith Richards to appear, wouldprobably not constitute fine work.
A middle-aged woman walks past the dozen or so media: "If it was Elvis I could understand it," she spits, "but not that tired old codger."
Word is that he has 27 (surely not) security guards on his floor and four bodyguards in his room. One of his minders has been spotted, despite his camouflaged pants, parking in a disabled carpark.
Taking three guitars in on Sunday did not help his anonymity. Yesterday it was a brown paper bag and a Number One Shoe Warehouse bag.
After school, 11-year-old Fhajal Singh bounces in.
"Are you guys waiting for Keith Richards?" The media grunts. "Oh my god! Can I wait with you? I'm so going to go ask if I can see Keith Richards."
She's back in 30 seconds.
Brothers Chris, 13, and Michael Dooley, 15, try to take on the receptionists. "They wouldn't even let us leave a card," Chris says. "We all know he's in there so it seems pretty stupid."
Michael plays a bit of the guitar. "They are old, but they're still good."
Staff are having fun, "There's no helipad," one says, "so he can't get out from the roof."
Otherwise those doors just admit taxi drivers with specimen bins, old ladies on walkers, young men with plaster casts.
A courier won't say if his flowers are for Keith. But a fruit basket was spotted earlier with "Keith Richards" on it.
