I was in Montpellier, prefunking at some Dutch girl’s place. Even though few people had showed up and we were slightly bored, we couldn’t go anywhere as we were apparently waiting for some guy called Master P. Where was he ? What was he doing ? Why wasn’t he here ? the girls in the room kept asking. Those who knew him decided that he was most certainly hanging out with a bunch of Swedish girls. About an hour later - Master P, after all, is Italian – there was rumour in the staircase and the door was opened to greet the arrival of a dozen blond girls whose names – I noticed as they were introduced to me - all ended in A. And along with them, happy as Larry, was indeed my future friend Master P.
That was 12 years ago and there has been many a prefunkings and many a parties since then. But whenever I think of him, this is the image that comes to my mind. Master P.grabs a beer,
hugs an Ulricka, kisses an Emma and declares, a large grin on his face, that the party can begin.
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