Palazzetto dello Sport, Rome, November 1973. King Crimson have just finished sound-checking for the evening’s sell-out gig. As Robert Fripp, David Cross and Bill Bruford depart to ready themselves in the backstage area, John Wetton is fine-tuning his settings. “The sound-check over, I gave my bass to our roadie, and was just about to leave the stage when this fifteen-year-old girl came up to me. ‘My name is Lorena,’ she says. ‘My brother’s here because I need a chaperone. I’d like to marry you.’ What the fuck?”

Back then, at home and abroad, there were legions of girls charging around from venue to venue, hurling declarations of undying love and more in the direction of their favourite pop idols. But the very prog King Crimson? Regarding the above scenario, Wetton admitted to being taken aback not so much by the demand as by the potential danger of the situation.

“I laughed a bit nervously, but she told me that she was serious and her brother would attest to that. ‘I have a formal request from my family that you marry me.’ I managed to placate the brother, who looked like he would’ve murdered me on