Sunday, 21 December 2008

To Know, Know, Know Her...


I have to call you that as I can’t get used to Charles. My ex- wife had a poodle called Charles that used to climb into bed with us. Then one morning, well I was half asleep… anyway best not go into that now. Talking of my ex – you may remember her. Her name is Brenda but I don’t remember her ever being called The Blower! And I don’t know what you mean when you say the band “knew” her. She was a one-guy woman. And you never had a scene with her! You wish!

The champagne is proper champagne and hasn’t got anything to do with radishes. I’ve emailed the company and they’re going to send us a crate. They make it in Norfolk. It sounds great.

I thought you had the master tapes. If not we’ll have to try and trace that Phil guy. I agree he was a complete tosser. Last I heard he was in prison for shooting his girlfriend. And, by the way, we both wrote Pink Dog. I remember it well. It was after that gig in Wales somewhere. The one where you had to go the A and E. We were visiting you in hospital the next day and had to help you to the toilet. I had my notebook and we wrote the lyrics then. Stinky Bog it was originally. But we changed it to Pink Dog. You must remember.

If we can’t find the tapes I guess we could re-record it. Maybe you could try and find the Phil guy and also have a word with your agent. He might know what to do. And we must track down the rest of the band.

Isn't it fantastic being in contact again after all these years?

Be cool


1 comment:

wastedpapiers said...

It reminds me of the time - way back ( chortle ) in the mists of time ( guffaw ) when ( stifled titter ) I went to see a similar band called the Grey Fluff Atomisers at some pub or other in Stoke Poges. The support act was Dancing Reg Spanners ( you probably remember him ) a one man band similar to Don Partridge but without the talent of playing any instruments in unison. He resembled a rather stout version of Clement Freud.
Anyway, on this particular night ( chortle) we were leaning on the bar at the back of the dingy hall where all the bands played with the dozen or so flotsam of Stoke Poges were hung out, when in comes Cladly Flirtfluster and some of his cronies. I think the manager of the pub was a mate of his but on this ocassion there seemed to be a bit of a rift between them as after a few minutes the manager leapt over the bar and proceded to lay into Cladly with a french stick partly smeared with sone garlic butter he had been prepapring in the side kitchen. All hell broke loose and several of the Atomiser entourage jumped off the stage and stated to hit both the manager and Cladly and nayone in striking distance with coiled up mike leads and hand made knuckle dusters made from old Wedgewood jug handles ( very poular at the time ). I scarpered out the back just before the rozzers arrived and someone tipped fifteen gallons of Olde Perculier from the barrels behind the counter into the celler through a knot hole using Reg Sanners as a funnel!

Those were the days!

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