AirGuitar

Probably the band with the best van I've ever been in. Most bands had Transits. Some had long wheelbase transits. An elite had Mercs. But the Pink Wafers' removal van with ex-British Airways Business Class seats, reading lights and folding mattress was a palace on rubber. Follow them here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08657RUcS9A

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Readers of this blog who have trudged all the way from the first entry in the Archives will recognise how, in my teenage search to get laid, my main technique was to use the celebrity of others.  One man loomed large in this and I had never met him.

You see, most 17/18/19 year olds getting a girl back to their bedsit would stick the latest Stones or Beatles album onto their Dansette. I, however, took a different angle. I'd put on poetry. Really ... off-the-wall poetry, to be "different." It sort-of worked sometimes.

I had only the one album of two poets, sent to me, an embryonic rock writer, as a review copy by CBS. But I fell in thrawl to one of the poets on it: funny, real, acerbic, with a voice that beguiled. Lines like "Come live with me and be my love, I keep a flat for mating. There's half an hour before the bus; shall we do it while we're waiting?" The other feller seemed too old to write poems about dating 16 year old girls so made me feel a tad uncomfortable - I skipped his tracks. Both were backed by delicious accoustic guitar from someone named Andy Roberts. The album was called the "Incredible New Liverpool Scene." It was well used, well worn. I have it still, although it's rather beaten up.

Today, I was in the same room as that poet I felt so attuned to 40 years ago. The setting was Dylan Thomas' boathouse in the heart of Laugharne Weekend. In fact, with my wife and our friends Doug and Rosemarie making up around a sixth of the audience, it was pretty inevitable that I'd sit right next to Roger McGough.

Awkward, really, sitting next to a poet reading his work. No, never sit next to a poet, you might just mess up his art; never sit next to a poet, you cannot let out a fart. Your stomach mustn't grumble and even when he makes you laugh so much that your sides want to split, you'll be too polite to let rip with a proper guffaw (especially if you weren't supposed to roar but should have nodded sagely.) And then he does a sombre poem just when your hayfever demands a loud but probably over-dramatic sounding sniff. Never sit next to a poet.

I couldn't resist pulling out the battered old album during the questions. What you see inthe picture is Roger displaying it to the crowd - well, the other 23 - with me in my dotage suddenly remembering all the sex I'd hoped to get from this vinyl and cardboard object, finally in the hands of its creator.

According to the sleeve notes, this album will be a collector's item one day. So I thought I'd try to get Roger McGough to autograph it. He agreed ... but I added the warning: "Careful, it's a bit fragile. I used it to get girls." A brief puzzled look crossed his face. Did he think: this old bloke's some kind of perv? Still, Mr. McGough let the remark go and found a blank spot above his words to sign.

We were honoured to be in the presence of this warm, entertaining genius who must end up as Poet Laureate when Her Madge realises it's okay to be funny and a poet at the same time. Will my album end up on e-bay as a collector's item? Over my dead body.

Mr. McGough, if you are passing, there must be a couplet in this!

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Hey, just realised that some of the folks who visit this site might enjoy a holiday in Wales from time to time. Ol' AirGuitar runs a rather nice vacation rental home in the village of Pembrey, near an amazing beach and great for touring. Okay, okay, readers of this blog can get a deal on account of being grumpy and stuck in the past. What, you want a whole 20 per cent off in June? Cheeky blighter. And again in October? Outrageous. Okay then, you twisted my arm but you've got to book by April 30, 2008. Visit www.welshabroad.com and mention this blog when you enquire. I promise you I will not be happy with the discount but, hey, reading all this stuff means you will have deserved it.

Plug over. Read the rest.

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This was posted as a comment to The Twins by Marie. However, you might not have noticed it so here it is as a main item, author Marie Drape in California:

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If you've been following this blog, then you've heard of Marie and maybe her twin Steff Benham, Tremeloes' Bob's missus. And, of course, seen a pic of Marie in her nearly altogether.

Steff found the blog on-line last week and let Marie know. So we are back in touch after ... what ... 35 years? Amazing.

Now, Twins, you knew more rock people than I did back in the Sixties. So let's have a few memories posted as comments to this entry. How about Vanity Fayre? More about Andy Fairweather Lowe? Spencer Davis? Who else.

Over to the two of you ...

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Omigod ... and we thought we were so cool.

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X-Factor judge Sharon Osbourne's Dad, Don Arden, had a bit of a reputation in the industry as something of a - what can I say - tough cookie? He employed a couple of gents called Mick and Ron who "looked after" ballroom managers that had a problem with paying up when Arden's biggest 60s band, the Move, had finished their set. Mick and Ron were also TV personalities, featuring regularly on Police Five.

Child bride and I were having some trouble with getting our deposit back from the landlord of our dingy Notting Hill bedsit. It was kind of crucial - we were moving somewhere halfway decent and needed every penny. But the landlord decided that we had caused 10 years' worth of delapidation in the six months we'd been in his crappy joint and wanted to keep our £50. That's when £50 was two weeks' wages.

I was therefore feeling pretty miserable in the office when Mick and Ron popped in on the off-chance to "mention" that their band needed a few more gigs. They asked me what the problem was and I guess I grumbled about my worries. They asked if they could help and I got very nervous - frankly, the idea of "help" from those two smacked of consequences and the Serious Crime rozzers. "Nah, thanks a lot, it'll be fine, guys. Honest." They didn't look convinced and left rather purposefully.

That evening, I got home to find my landlord waiting at the door clutching a fistful of fivers that he was determined I should accept with his sincere apologies.

Funny, that.

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Child bride and I were invited to spend the weekend with Reg Presley and his family in Andover back in - what, must have been '71-ish. Mr. and Mrs. Reg were really nice, hospitable people and we had a great time in their company and those of their friends and other band members.

Okay, that's not very interesting. However ...

Reg's home included a panel of intriguing buttons on the wall. Press one and a canopy slid over his pool. Press another and the whole garden lit up like a nightclub. Over the top rock star spending? No. He'd set up his own indoor/outdoor pool arrangement, designed and installed by his own hand.

Before we left, Reg showed us his ideas for preventing motorway accidents in fog, using electronic sensors. Clever stuff. But, before he put the work in to patent his inventions, Reg got into crop circles and lost interest in electronics. Shame really.

He also owned the first electric carving knife I'd ever seen. And, of course, was the very first punk.

Nice bloke, highly under-rated. Enjoy http://youtube.com/watch?v=A_-3HMuTTLQ

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Blagged my way into the VIP Suite for last Saturday's Wales v. Australia Rugby World Cup match. It turned out to be a room-full of people in blazers and club ties.

Between the halves, I became seriously involved with some excellent puddings. Didn't realise the game had re-started until I heard someone yelling at a nearby TV screen. Intrigued, I wandered over and found that a very slight bloke in a black denim suit was the source of the commentary. Stuart Cable, former Stereophonics drummer and currently Welsh media star. While he looked somewhat out of place (much smaller than drummers should be!), his comments were specific and accurate.

But then the Welsh game improved and we both headed out of the suite to watch proceedings properly.

By the way, I also had to shake the hands of the entire Fiji squad when they arrived in Wales for their match against Canada. About 15 bones in my hand have yet to heal.

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Okay, here's a challenge for any passers-by. Just leave a "comment" with your answer (walesrubbish, forever hold your piece!)

Fore-runner of the Reading Festival, the National Jazz and Blues Festival run by the Marquee Club once featured Arthur Brown, Fairport Convention and an un-listed, un-promoted Eric Clapton with jet lag. It was also the year the roof came down.

What year? Where? What was the national tabloid story?

Closing date for entries: Dec 31, 2020.

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