Activity on the site has reached fever-pitch, as since the last blog three (yes,folks, three, and from different people) submissions have come in. First was a comment posted by my old school chum Duncan Hume, who used to keep me in stitches at school. He too recalls the Freddy Frinton sketch, so it wasn't a figment of my imagination brought on by alco-withdrawal. Dunc's comment was posted within two hours of the blog being added, so he's obviously got some v. sophisticated NSA-type monitoring software. (Wonder if I've now been "red-flagged" by Fort Meade...don't care, I like the attention.)
Next, email from Rod Hogarth, who, though a lot younger than me (like most people I know who are still breathing), has had an uncannily similar life to me - ex-Bournemouth muso, lived in County Durham for a bit, now into genealogy, etc... We could have written each other's emails.
And finally email from Jake Jacobs, guitarist-extraordinaire and the wild man of the Swanage Festival, who was part of our drunken tour of France with Cadillac all those years ago. (Q.1 How do you get a rock guitarist to turn down? A. Put some dots in front of him. Q.2 How do you get him to turn off? A. Ask him to play them.) NB. I've promised Jake not to reveal that his first name's really Iain, as that would mean he'd never get another gig.
Speaking of names, I bet everyone's gagging to know why Zoot Money is known (to me) as Gert. It's really quite prosaic (look it up). At my 50th birthday bash ZM and I had a piano battle without the rest of the band, swopping phrases around a 12-bar. (I cheated and won by using a Charlie Parker sequence that Andy Summers had shown me years ago.) We've done it a couple of times since and ZM took to referring to us as Gert and Daisy, two characters played on the wireless by Elsie and Doris Waters (look them up too). And that's all there is to it...
As usual, not much happening, so will resort to vicarious blog. (look up that...no, never mind). Our good friends Kev and Teri have bought an estate. Not a new car, but a bloody great house not far from us with lots of acres, a big lake, separate cottage, gymn and studio etc. The kitchen is big enough to hold an orchestra and you could still get a table not too close to the band. So now we know posher people than you, at least until they have to sell it to the National Trust. Wonder how many post codes they've got?
TTFN
Al
p.s. Will whoever borrowed my copy of Machiavelli's The Prince please return it as I want to know what Lord Mandelson will do next.