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Friday, 9 April 2010

God Save the Queen

Not entirely comfortable with taking a couple of key people's name in vain, but needs must, and it does fit the tone of today's blog.

Yesterday, it was announced that Malcolm McLaren had died, aged 64, from a rare form of cancer. He is generally credited as the "Godfather of Punk" and if not entirely true, it is true enough for most people to be comfortable believing it.

While I was alive during the punk era, in truth it mostly passed me by, although I did keep from nanny a small seam tear on a pair of tweed plus fours once.

What I do remember are the punks who hung about on the Kings Road during the early eighties, just before the Chelsea Barracks, so as you walked down the road you had the faint smell of vomit followed by the faint smell of wee (really tasteless, Ed.).

I also recall a story from someone during that era, who may have been Richard E Grant but I am not certain. I am guessing that if it was indeed Richard E, then it was probably around the time of Withnail and I, which is obviously a guess on a guess, so of very dubious provenance.

But let's not worry about the detail, the story goes as follows. The person in question, Richard E, was walking down a road, let's call it The King's Road since we are making stuff up with wild abandon, and he notices a punk starting to follow him. The punk is pretty scary looking, with mohican hair, bondage trousers and a t-shirt that resembled a bin liner, all held together with safety pins. Alarmed, Richard E starts to speed up, but as he does so, the punk also speeds up. So he goes even faster, breaking in to a light jog, only to find the punk running at full pelt towards him, catching him up soon after. "Excuse me, but aren't you Richard E Grant," he asks. Richard confirms that he is, to which the punk then asks "I wonder if I could have your autograph please?" Richard E feels about his person, but cannot find a pen, and neither can the punk. "I can always spit on your plastic bag if you want," says Richard E. "Oh, would you?" replies the punk.

The moral of the story is probably that you cannot judge by appearances. Unlike Pete Docherty who cannot appear by judges. Boom boom.

This weekend we are entertaining my parents on Friday evening for my mum's birthday, we are off for a day and night on Saturday to friends up country, and we are going to a caravan show at Broadlands on Sunday. I can think of nothing witty to write about that, so will wait for the many comments on the subject before I comment further. As before, please use small letters and try to spell the words right. There are two S's in tosser.

1 comment:

Stretch Armstrong said...

There might only be two S's in tosser. But how many in a caravan? Oh I couldn't resist!