You might think you can sum up Keith Richards’ life in a few words just from his public persona — he’s the archetypal crown prince of sex, drugs and rock and roll. If you were expecting a plea for artistic recognition or death-bed redemption, forget it.

The true stories of smuggling unlicensed guns and heroin onto planes, falling asleep while high and crashing his car (with his young son on board) or deciding to go ahead with a gig even when told of his baby’s SIDS-related death are jaw-dropping. The perpetual global motion to escape tax bills and arrest warrants are further proof that it’s one rule for rock stars, one for the rest of us – he deserves a long prison term, not houses all over the world.

But buried halfway in is a single line that might be the unwitting confessional; ‘It’s very hard to explain all that excessive partying… It was a search for oblivion, I suppose… the more famous you get the more of a prison you find yourself in.’

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