I meet Bill Wyman at his Sticky Fingers restaurant, award-winning purveyor of burgers, fries, sticky toffee pudding and all those comfort calories that are supposed to knock you off your perch early.

But here’s its 71-year-old founder having a morning fag amid the chrome, mirrors and ancient guitars and looking the picture of health. “I’ll eat anything – chocolate, crisps. I smoke 30-odd a day, which I’ve been doing for 54 years,” he tells me. “Exercise? Nah.

“I went to see my doctor for a thorough examination last year. He said I’ve never seen a subject as healthy as you at your age.” Take that, keep-fit police.

With the former Rolling Stone is his youngest daughter, 9-year-old Matilda, and her miniature terrier. Dad’s in charge because the third Mrs Wyman is off skiing with their two older girls.

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/stage/theatre/article3232169.eceActually, here’s a tip for any old rocker wanting to ward off questions about your priapic past: pop an angelic moppet on your knee, preferably one with a dog called Daisy. So, today we won’t be talking about the teenaged second Mrs Wyman (Mandy Smith) or his heroic sexual exploits of the 1960s.

No, we’ll be discussing Wyman’s band, the Rhythm Kings, at least when he doesn’t stray on to his other multiple interests – local history, photography, cricket, archaeology and the joys of metal detecting – which is often. The Rhythm Kings, built around a core of grizzled Sixties vets, are back together for a six-week tour. Wyman does two such stints a year, one in Britain, one around the Continent – which is quite enough, he says. He keeps having to fend off big offers from America and Japan.

“We’re well-loved because we are so adaptable. We can play anything: gospel, soul, rock, reggae, boogie-woogie, ballads... everywhere we went on the last tour we got six-stars-out-of-six reviews.”

Their last London appearance was supporting Led Zeppelin. The Rhythm Kings beat a similar outfit to the gig, a rhythm and blues orchestra run by a celebrity pianist whom Wyman would prefer me not to name. “He was furious, but we’re better,” he says with a grin. What did he think of the reformed hammerers of the gods? “I’d known Jimmy [Page] from his session days in the Sixties when he did Kathy Kirby records, so it was magical to see them. But the volume was treble what we played at – hard to take.” Wyman snuck backstage halfway through, “which was where most of the other musicians were”.

Ah, amplification... if Wyman avoided the excesses of drugs and drink that laid so many of his peers low, why isn’t he at least deaf? “If ever I stood next to Keith Richards’s amp, Jesus, my trousers used to flap up.” Which may explain why Wyman is rooted to the spot in all those old concert clips – and why flares fell out of fashion. Ronnie Wood and Richards, he thinks, are partly deaf but Jagger has the danger sussed. “If you ever watch Mick on stage, he likes to stroll about. He goes right, past the keyboards, then he comes prancing back, and when he has to pass Woody’s or Keith’s amps he runs. He’s not daft.”

Is Wyman surprised that the band he left 15 years ago rolls on? “I am in a way but I’m not in a way. It’s the thing Keith wants to do most of all. He does the odd record with other musicians and, apart from his family, what else does he do in his life? Mick has a bit of movie involvement, bit of girl involvement, but nothing else. Charlie [Watts] does a bit of jazz. Woody does his art... I don’t think they’ve got anything more important in their lives.”

But Wyman found in the early Nineties that there was lots more he wanted to do. Lately, he’s been writing up the history of his 550-year-old country pile, Gedding Hall in Suffolk. He knows exactly who lived there from medieval knights to the associate of the Kray twins from whom he bought it in 1968. It turns out that Ronnie and Reggie fled to the house the night after the killing of Jack “the Hat” McVitie in 1967. They stayed up until 3am deciding what to do before returning to London.

Then there is Wyman’s photography. He was clicking away through the Stones tours and has had exhibitions in the US and Europe. He’s the celebrity face at archaeology events, has created the Bill Wyman Signature Metal Detector, and there’s a rambling website to nurse.

It’s hardly the acme of rock grooviness but Wyman is a contented man. “The 15 years since I left the band have been the best years of my life. I should have been a museum curator or a librarian because I like that better than being a ‘rock star’.” Kids think of the glitz and forget about all the hanging about. “Do you know what the biggest problem is for most musicians on tour? Getting your laundry done.” That’s what killed Buddy Holly, he tells me, catching a doomed overnight flight because he wanted to sort out the washing. Many musicians end up washing their smalls in the hotel sink. Wyman, ever practical, packs in bulk.

But hang on: what about the groupies? Do teenage nymphets throw themselves at museum curators? “Well there was that,” he grins. And the money? “I missed out on the money. You didn’t have sponsorship of tours then, or the merchandising... People think I’ve got more money than I have. I’ve got two big ones in the bank [he means millions] but I do have three houses [Suffolk, Chelsea, South of France]. I invested very carefully. But I’m 71 and can’t go on for ever and I’ve got to bring up these kiddies. School fees are a nightmare.” Wyman’s brow briefly furrows and he reaches for another fag.

I wonder if he feels lucky – a bombsite boy who grew up in poverty in Penge, southeast London (the family shared one toothbrush), who is now lord of the manor. Wasn’t this solid, but hardly virtuoso, bass player lucky to bump into Mick and Keith, two of pop’s seminal songwriters?

Wyman doesn’t see it like that. “It was Brian Jones’s band when I joined. He invented it, gave it a name, chose what music it played. They were playing blues music in jazz clubs and it was totally uncommercial.” Mick and Keith just used to nick his fish and chips, cop his fags. “It only became Mick and Keith’s band when Andrew Oldham became manager and Brian got eased out. The songwriting followed only slowly."

Wyman grins. “You talk about luck. Well back in 1935 two boys from Sydenham went to Penge Empire to see the music hall. Up in the gods they happened to sit next to two girls from Penge and they get talking. One boy said to the other, ‘Which do you fancy?’ They toss a coin and Dad called tails and walked my Mum home. Now what would have happened if he had called heads?”

Wyman stubs out his cigarette. The lunchtime customers at Sticky Fingers are on their way, it’s time to go.

So there you have William George Wyman. There seem to be two ways to exit rock’n’roll. On the one hand the Kurt Cobain/Richey Edwards way – 100 per cent cool, 0 per cent alive. On the other, the Wyman way, 100 per cent alive and... well, I know which I would prefer.

The Rhythm Kings play the Stables, Milton Keynes, tonight, and their tour continues until March 5. Details at www.billwyman.com . See also www.billwymandetector.com

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