May 192011
 

Torn I were.  Torn between relating this sorry tale or no.  I’m no bloody British patriot when it comes to Royal family but due to me blithering daft former manager, Alphons Dupree, I only ended up embarrassing meself in front of Queen.

Takes a lot t’embarrass me. I’ve been caught pleasuring a groupie with a mackerel, for fuck’s sake, but there were one time when I were bloody-well terminal fookin embarrassed. Bloody awful it were.  Now, normally I’m doing something weird when I’m caught, like the fish incident and the time I took bloody cocktail of ecstasy and Viagra, laced with laxative and ended up running around the set of Wogan, hooting at the top of me voice and tossing meself off. I weren’t  embarrassed when the headlines were all about me the following day. I weren’t even that embarrassed when they told everyone about me shart finale. It’s t’lifestyle, y’see. When you become a God of Rock, you subscribe to a lifestyle that inevitably leads to over-indulgence and ruin. But you get over it.

I realise I’m dithering here to avoid the actual topic of this tale.

It were 1982. British forces had flown thousands of miles from home to fight for British soil just off the coast of Argentina. Bloody Argies claiming it as their own.  Twisted Sister had just released Ruff Cuts, Doobie Brothers split up, Italy won the World Cup and I were plying me trade – briefly – with a soft rock outfit called The Broad Gee Project. In fact, it’s embarrassing enough that I played with that lot at all.   Fookin power ballads and songs about fookin cars.

Our manager, Alphons, said we were booked to play a twenty minute set in Royal Albert fookin Hall.  He were a pawky lad and he knew I wouldn’t play for Queen so he never told me it were Royal fookin Variety jobbie.  Bloody handy gig, I says and agreed. It were around this time I were experimenting with solvents. Me local shop thought I were a fookin Airfix model enthusiast. Before the gig, I bought meself some glue and went about rehearsing our new song, “I love your lovely face” – fookin bastard band. Here I were, a year after success of last Satan’s Clitoris single, “Slide Down My Pole” from the album, Creamy Surprise, and I’m playing a bloody song called I Love Your Lovely fookin Face with smiling men in glittery pants and perms. By ‘eck, how the mighty had fallen. So, it were an hour before the show and the singer, Warren Broad and the drummer, Fallon Gee, wanted to have this song just right. To this day, I’m convinced I only went on solvents to kill the pain of playing with them bastards.

As usual, our practice session ended with a pep talk from Warren and Fallon and it sent me over the fookin top. Kneel in prayer with them?  By cringe, I weren’t going to kneel in prayer with two soft southern bastards. I fair blew me top and stormed out to the toilets to load up on me Airfix glue. Imagine me surprise when I sat down to have a shit, looked for me glue and found it gone. Bloody ripped jeans! I must’ve ripped one of me pockets too. I were ready to explode and it were only five minutes before we were due to go on. Ever the professional, I went back to the band and Warren said, ‘Hey man, we’re all pretty down that you wouldn’t join us in prayer’.

Ayup Warren, why don’t you kiss me rosy ones, eh? I replied.

What did you say? he asked in a bloody condescending voice that just drove me over the edge. So I dropped me pants and said Kiss me arse, ya scrawny cunt.

He weren’t half agog at the sight of me pert pants baps staring at him. Pull your pants up now, mister, he demanded.

Not until thou kiss my arse I replied.

Bruce Forsythe were beginning his announcement that would end with the curtain raising, so I went and dragged Warren’s face and pushed it right into me left arse cheek. As you may have guessed, this solved the mystery of where the glue went because it were smeared all over me arse and, while Warren could have forced his face away, he would have left behind some of his face. Fallon raced over to help but could get proper purchase on Warren’s head from behind him so he came around and knelt in front of me, oblivious to me todger waving around free. He only got his hands stuck to one of my cheeks and one of Warren’s. They were pulling back and forth trying to get away and that’s when the curtain went up. The assembled guests and the Royal Family all stood to applaud us on but that applause quickly turned to gasps of horror as they saw Warren with his face in me arse and Fallon with me todger squashed against his nose.

I decided that the show must go on and so I started the opening riff to I Love Your Lovely Face only to discover that, in me race to get loaded up on t’bloody solvent, I’d forgotten to tune me guitar. This is something I never neglected to do before and should serve as a lesson to all budding Rock Gods out there. Always tune your guitar. If you don’t, you’ll suffer the same ignominy that I did.

I’ve never in me life been so embarrassed.

 

 

  3 Responses to “Accidental Bloody Royal Variety Performance”

Comments (3)
  1.  

    Great stuff JB, this groupie and the mackeral, she was sleeping with the fishes, right?

  2.  

    Ay-up seconds, thanks

  3.  

    Well fook me eyes, that musta been some sight..
    .. “Ayup Warren, why don’t you kiss me rosy ones, eh?”.. How many rosy ones has Johnny got at all? –
    I wonder how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall then? as pondered by another Johnny..

Leave a Reply