posted by davidt
on Saturday March 08 2003, @10:00AM
raymonde writes:
Did I ever say I met Morrrissey in the now defunct Hacienda nightclub in Manchester in about 1989-90? He was ushered in past us as we were queuing, but never expected to see him to talk to inside... He was with Anthony H. Wilson (arch Manchester tosser) and my brother asked if he would speak with us.
He came over and spoke to me and my friends (all male) for quite a while. He was very nice. My brother asked if if would like a beer, he was drinking Saporro (Japanese lager). He declined, so I asked if he would buy us all one. He laughed and said we had enough. He asked where we were from. When we said Stoke, he waxed fondly about the concert venues in Stoke. He then asked if we were in bands and encouraged us to do it. We then had a long chat about fame and success and it got quite serious when one of my friends asked if he thought he deserved it. He argued that it was by dint of hard work, vocation even, and was a good thing that he had the opportunity to get his point of view across. He said that his next release would be ‘Amazing Drug’, which turned out to be ‘Interesting Drug’. Interesting, eh? He shook our hands when he left and was all-in-all absolutely, thoroughly charming.
Did I ever tell you I was in contact with his old friend James Maker of Raymonde fame for a while...(that’s another story)
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mr teasy-weasy raymonde writes:
Did I ever say I met a member of a crack paramilitary troupe of Moldovan morris dancers in the now defunct Tapioca pudding club in Godmanchester in about 1939-45? He was ushered in past us as we were queuing for sculptures of Dharma & Greg in Sir George Bernard Breslaw's coleslaw, but never expected to see poke his insides about with Ken Dodd's enormous tickling-stick-insect... He was with an androgynous Harold Wilson (arch mad Pan's People's panpipe smoker) and my brother's fridge magnate asked if he would rap Nelly (The Elephant) lyrics at us.
He came over all queasy and squeeked like Alan Ball on Ecstacy to me and my friends (all postnatally depressed male pelicans) for quite a while. He was very lice-infested and smelt of red wine vinegar. My mother's centipede's lawyer asked if he would like to shower with Marjorie Proops in ginger beer, he was driving a Datsun Saporro (that's Japanese for a third-rate lager swilling AC/DC tribute-band from New Zealand). He declined, so I asked if he would buy us all one of Arthur Askey's wooden legs. He laughed and said we had enough! He asked where we got our lizard-skin pyjama trousers from. When we said The Strokes, he wanked and fondled about with a tub of Stork SB. He then asked if we were on Albert Hammond Junior's free elastic bandwagon and encouraged us to jump off it. We then had a long chat about flame-grilled underpants and other rawk 'n' troll excesses and it got quite serious when one of my guppies asked if he thought he deserved a night of passion with Anne Widdecombe's mulberry bush. He argued that it was by dint of hard woodwork lessons, hedgehog vaccinations even, and was a good thing that he had the opportunity to get his pointed pointy thing across her Great Dividing Range. He said that his next release would be ‘Amazing Dump’, which turned out to be ‘Disinterested Dung-beetle’. Interesting, eh? He shook our jug handles which promptly came off in his hands, which he left in a one-size-fits-all umbrella stand - absolutely, thoroughly alarming!
Did I ever tell you I was once in mortal combat with his old friend Wendy James' Melody Maker the Phantom Piss-taker of Richmond-upon-Thames fame for a while...(that’s another exceedingly tall story)