Whether legend or reality, there is a story circulating among rock music fans that features Rolling Stones singer and drummer, Mick Jagger and Charlie Watts.
“What time is it? Five o'clock in the morning?  Who the fuck is phoning at this time of night?”
October 1984, we are in Amsterdam, Charlie Watts, the drummer of the Rolling Stones is in his hotel room when he receives a phone call.  He turns on the light, looks at the time and is amazed.
He is not like the other Stones.  Always faithful to his wife Shirley, he is the only one who rejects groupies, even though Mick Jagger and Keith Richards keep telling him that he is crazy, that there is only one life and that the Stones' is the best of all possible lives.  Even when they were invited to Hugh Hefner’s mansion, the boss of ‘Playboy’, during the American tour in 1972, Watts was the only one who spent all his time in the playroom instead of with the bunnies.

I mean, it is not normal for someone to call him at five in the morning, unless something serious has happened.
So he goes to answer.
It's Mick Jagger.
He and Keith Richards, but Charlie Watts will only know later, have just returned from a night of alcohol and various excesses.
“Why don't we call Charlie?” says Keith.
“Well, you know him, he's asleep at this time.”
“Let's call him anyway,” says Mick.
Jagger dials Watts' room number.
“Hey, where's my drummer?” he asks.  “Why don't you drag your ass up here?”
Charlie Watts doesn't say a word, hangs up the phone, goes into the bathroom, shaves, puts on his dinner jacket, polishes his shoes, puts them on.  He walks out of the room, joins Jagger in Keith's room, approaches him and delivers a sensational punch to his face.
Jagger ends up on top of a plate of smoked salmon, Keith Richards grabs him by the leg, preventing him from plummeting through the open window on the 20th floor.
Jagger makes no sign of getting up, he looks at Charlie Watts quizzically.
And Charlie Watts says: “Don't ever call me my drummer again. You're my fucking singer!”