I have to admit I was a bit concerned before we started out. There’s always a possibility of something dreadful happening, or me doing something stupid in front of colleagues which will become one of the stories recounted at future office dos. In the event it all passed off very nicely, with spectacular stupidity and drunkenness shown by others for once.
Chris was very excited, Jay, John & Mark looking forward to it. Rich had pulled out (to be replaced by Chris) so we were at the recommended maximum which seemed sensible for a maiden event, but I suspect the lack of window boxes on our roof would allow us at least an additional crew member. The first disaster was John forgetting to bring the gas bottle for his portable barbecue, so Mark was dispatched to source emergency disposable barbies. We unloaded at Holme Pierepont & waited expectantly for Mark, the barbies & the Coors that he was bringing (out of date apparently, but it seemed rude not to). Once we were all aboard we were off. Nothing much to report, we bypassed the canal entrance the first time to take the opportunity for Chris to take us under Trent Bridge. By this time the cheapo barbies (which were apparently from a garage & quite expensive) had spectacularly failed to light so we moored up to address the situation and failed miserably. Plan B was to use the grill which behaved impeccably so the two Js & C sorted the burgers while me & M handled the lock. By now everyone had steered & we arrived at Via Fossa and commenced the first beer run. Without discussion we camped out opposite the pubs and watched the world go by. And what a world, one that forced my companions to question my decision to stay there for the night. It started about a hundred yards away when one of two women threw a guy’s wheelchair into the canal. He managed to retrieve it but the first woman, who was now naked from the waist down (?) tried to make him follow it. He defended himself heroically and she ended up wet instead. We really shouldn’t have watched, but it was difficult not to. By now she was out, the wheelchair back in and the second woman watching from a bench. Once wheelchair man was safely reseated he seemed to take pity on her and donated his jeans which left him propelling himself with his remaining pasty leg, which was now also minus a shoe. The two women became best mates & left together.
By now I was actually a bit drunk, Mark S had joined us and we drank the rest of the night away. I’ve been ordered to arrange a sequel, possibly over a weekend. It would be fun but I’m not sure I have the energy.
I have also just been told that I smell of beer, sweat and urine so perhaps I ought to address that.
Oh dear, it seemed like such a simple suggestion at the time. It has long been the custom at work to nominate the first Friday after payday as a ‘Boozy Do’ (the first rule of the Booze Club? Don’t talk about the Booze Club). In times past I was young enough and hard enough to keep up, and didn’t mind dropping fifty quid on a Friday to feel dreadful and be neither use nor ornament on a Saturday. They were surprisingly formal affairs in their way, albeit a lot of fun, with an agenda before the event and minutes published afterwards. Age brings wisdom however and I’ve long accepted that I don’t need to prove my groove with the office youngsters still in their thirties. I have after all been to Alien Sex Fiend and Xmal Deutschland gigs and I am comfortable with my cred-entials.
The marina to the traditional pub gathering is a trip of about 15 minutes by canal and initially I thought I’d offer a few people a lift between those two points, by way of being sociable. That didn’t seem worth the effort though, so maybe Holme Pierrepont to the pub would be better? About an hour and a half, a stretch of river and a couple of locks to get us there by early evening on Poet’s Day. A beer on the way, one in town and then home to bed. I thought I’d have a couple of willing (?) volunteers and would be able to drum up a couple more with a bit of email begging (or bullying), but I was immediately over-subscribed. Add to that the insistence of a strict dress code by the participants and a new vocabulary and I think I it might be about to get messy.
So Sunday will be spent moving the boat to HP in preparation, aided and abetted by Jason Mason and Jason Mason Junior.
After that let’s see what Friday brings, eh?
I grant you that on the face of it buying a Jaguar might not appear the sensible option, but look at it from my point of view. It’s not an S-type and the original shopping list included leather everything, all the toys and nothing less than a full SE model. Sadly the budget wouldn’t stretch that far for anything that I could be confident would last me the year and as part of my research I thought I’d have a look at a local X-type for comparison purposes only. I’d already seen an SE and a Sport with no histories but all sorts of buttons and lights which were oh so tempting, but the cloth seats made this one a definite no purchase viewing. And there it was, the cleanest and most cosseted thing I’d ever sat in, the fullest service history imaginable, a clutch less than three month old and (though it pains me to say this) a comforting lack of buttons on the console. I think I grew up at that moment, became sensible and gave the man a deposit.
Having said that’s it’s the fastest thing I’ve ever driven, is a 2.5 litre V6 putting out 194bhp and it scares the willies out of me.
I think I’m in love.
So, the twelfth studio album which will inevitably be compared to the previous double, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. More orchestral but less coherent it’s certainly not on a par with that. The only single I’m aware of without checking is ‘Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word’, which I think typifies the softer feel of the album after Rock of the Westies. ‘Cage the Songbird’ refers to Edith Piaf so my limited musical references were being broadened but even tracks like ‘Crazy Water’ and ‘One Horse Town’ can’t lift this to the ‘essential Elton’ status of Captain Fantastic. Maybe a harder edit to a single album would have helped? Too late now.
Another live album five years after the first, I can forgive him that. One side recorded in the UK & one in the States with pretty much exactly what you’d expect to see on the track listing.
It all hinges on the next two – Blue Moves and A Single Man. Perversely I’m hoping for a crash in quality between them or my years of prejudice against the following thirty albums will have been for naught & I’ll have a lot of catching up to do. Or not.
To begin with the title is a pun that really pisses me off for some reason – I think I was about to fall out of love. This came straight after Captain Fantastic & I didn’t want to sully that. The sleeve was so normal after previous fun & games, and adding insult to injury there was a track with the word ‘funk’ in the title. I sure as hell wasn’t going there, I was busy discovering The Who, but ‘I Feel Like A Bullet (In The Gun Of Robert Ford)’ held out some hope with its abstruse reference in the title. I’d watched my westerns & know who Robert Ford was. ‘Island Girl’ however was solidly in the debit column and I wasn’t convinced.
.
At last. For me the apogee of Elton John albums with a sleeve to entertain for hours (and indeed concern – there’s a crocodile shitting in the corner!), and a gatefold to boot even though it’s a single album. The back half is a pocket containing a poster and a couple of booklets, one of which is a comic strip of the Elton & Bernie story so far. And back then we thought that was it – oh the innocence.
.
We knew it was autobiographical, hence (perhaps) the lack of hit singles. It didn’t matter; this one was for the album buyers, it stands alone and is best experienced from start to finish. No dipping in for this one, there’s a very full sound and just when you’re losing heart it comes back at you – We All Fall In Love Sometimes.
This is the last album that Elton John, Davey Johnstone, Dee Murray, Nigel Olsson, and Ray Cooper (the ‘classic’ lineup) recorded together for some time, so I feel the end approaching …
.
Looking good Elton, but we’ll forgive you – it was the Seventies after all. Famous tracks include The Bitch Is Back and Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me, but they pale into insignificance against Ticking, with its shades of later US school shootings. I’m not not sure what the references were then but musical boundaries were certainly being pushed. ‘Then someone called the police’ still causes a chill, and “You danced in death like a marionette” is one of the many song lyrics I wish I’d written. Epic stuff.
And what can I about Solar Prestige A Gammon? I spent many teenage hours trying to decipher the lyrics – Anagram? Code? Cipher? – but have yet to succeed. Ultimately it doesn’t matter, it says something very subtle. I think.
.
Now we’re talking. Number 2 in my list of favourite EJ albums, and every track a winner. I think of it as the ‘Hollywood’ album for some reason and am willing to forgive the platforms on the sleeve which are subsequently
trumped. From the spooky dual-track intro which started many a concert including the opening night of the Nottingham Royal Centre – still the only occasion for which I have camped out overnight for tickets. The bacon sandwiches delivered by my dad at 7am were very welcome.
.
Maybe I was wrong about Your Song, since this album includes Candle In The Wind, but I’m sure you take my point. I could go on at great length, but I won’t. Go listen to it. Roy Rogers is a personal favourite, but that changes with every play.
.
Gatefold sleeve, picture inners with lyrics, and we have a history. I once returned a copy on limited edition yellow vinyl because it was a pukey colour. What does that say about me, I wonder?
.
.
Big Black Witchcraft Rock by The Cramps
Old Fire Station
Heanor Market Place
St Lawrences Church
