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Runaway Horses

So… I’m on the phone tonight arranging a trip into town for Manchester Pride tomorrow and I hand it over to the missus to arrange the details with our mate (she’d spoken to him before on the subject). And he mentions – in passing – that he was there last night and that Belinda Carlisle was playing and that he “sort of recognised her from the ’80s”. The divine flame-haired temptress of my youth and she didn’t even leave a light on for me! Why do I feel like that time Homer Simpson failed to see Mr T at the mall? I pity the fool! The fool is me, alas.

Anyway, next weekend, there is an opportunity for me to see a joust, the Red Arrows and Alan Titchmarsh all on the same day at Chatsworth.

I’m not missing Mr T at the mall twice. That would look like carelessness.

I think I ought to draw the threads together here but I just can’t. Can you? I can’t… So take it away Ms Carlisle…

2 Comments

  1. RAB says:

    I do hate a thread with no comments. It looks so untidy somehow doesn’t it?
    So to tidy this one up, another anecdote anyone?

    I get to meet folks even before they are famous.

    In 1974 I had just graduated Law and was looking for a holiday that I thought I richly deserved after all that hard work.

    Well, as my best and oldest friend, the Luddite Hippie of La Honda, or Nigel, as he is commonly known, was already house sitting for the mother of his girlfriend in New York, we looked in our post office savings books, the later to be Mrs RAB and I, and found we could afford a flight to New York no problem.

    So we booked a flight and sent the LHOLH a telegram saying we were coming.

    Flying in those days was a pleasure not a pain folks. You were treated as humans not cattle, and bag searches and take your shoes off etc etc etc were yet to be invented.

    Well when we got there, all wide eyed, this is AMERICA! look that smokey steamy stuff really does come out of the gratings! like on the movies. There’s the Empire State! oh and why is it dark down here? See the one thing that you never realise about New York is that the Scrapers are so tall that it gets dark on the street around 4 pm cos the sun has definately set down on street level.

    Anyway we meet up with the LHOLH at Grand Central Station and get taken back to an apartment in Manhatten. 42nd street if I remember rightly.

    We get fed and watered and properly Columbian spliffed up, then he says…

    Tim Buckley is playing Maxes Kansas City tonight, do want to go?

    Do we fuck! Tim, father of Jeff, is one of our all time favorites (and should be yours too, get on the case! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DR2bBnraTj4&feature=fvw )

    So off we went walking through Manhatten.

    Well Maxes is often described as “Legendary” but in fact it was a large room over a pizza restaurant with very steep stairs.

    By the time we got there the place was heaving, queueing up the stairs. We finally got in and Nigel nipped off for a moment. I could see from the back that he was having a word with people down at the stage area and gesticulating back towards us.
    Well I never knew quite what he said, but I gather he said that I was John Mayall straight off a plane from London who really wanted to see Buckley. I was six feet two, clad in very fine embroidered denim, with hair down to my shoulders and a pathetic tash and goatie beard trying to appear. In a bad light I suppose?…

    Anyway, the next thing I know, the support band plus ones are being ushered out of the front left booth and us installed.

    Now here comes the bit that winds up Nick. We were amazed to find that everything is waitress service in America, as opposed to go to the bar and pay and spill half of it on the way back to your seat, as in in Britain. Well this incredibly beautiful blond turns up at our table to take our order. Pitchers not pints you understand.

    Who should that Blonde be, but Debbie Harry, or Blondie. Another of Nick’s all time faves.

    But this happens to me all the time you see. The shy bloke in the next room to me with no front teeth and Rupert the bear trousers, who used to let me play his beautiful National Steel guitar when I was a student in Nottingham, and we would jam a bit, ended up being Jerry Dammers.

  2. NickM says:

    RAB,

    You sodulent sodder you! My brother once kissed someone who has been on Jools Holland’s show.

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