'Is that a cravat?' asked Archie.
'No, it's a scarf.'
I was showing Archie pictures of our family trip to the bleak tundra that is Edinburgh Zoo in late March.
'I am, of course, wearing a cravat under the scarf.'
Archie smiled and admirably feigned interest in the rest of the pictures.
We were catching up with Archie and Leap after a long estrangement. We were in a bar in town. It was one of the bars with fruity beers and an Italian name designed to justify its high prices and to distinguish it from the unashamedly Geordie bars: The Market Lane, The Beehive and (surprisingly still trading under the name) The Blackie Boy.
Archie and I have always enjoyed talking about music - ever since we lived in neighbouring bedsits. We were on the ground floor and one of Archie's sash windows didn't lock. If I was locked out I would climb through the window and probably borrow a cassette on my way through.
I could see that maintaining an enthusiasm for pictures of my children pointing at two bedraggled zebras who couldn't believe their bad luck at ending up on a Scottish hillside was becoming a strain for my old friend, so I moved the chat on.
'No, it's a scarf.'
I was showing Archie pictures of our family trip to the bleak tundra that is Edinburgh Zoo in late March.
'I am, of course, wearing a cravat under the scarf.'
Archie smiled and admirably feigned interest in the rest of the pictures.
We were catching up with Archie and Leap after a long estrangement. We were in a bar in town. It was one of the bars with fruity beers and an Italian name designed to justify its high prices and to distinguish it from the unashamedly Geordie bars: The Market Lane, The Beehive and (surprisingly still trading under the name) The Blackie Boy.
Archie and I have always enjoyed talking about music - ever since we lived in neighbouring bedsits. We were on the ground floor and one of Archie's sash windows didn't lock. If I was locked out I would climb through the window and probably borrow a cassette on my way through.
I could see that maintaining an enthusiasm for pictures of my children pointing at two bedraggled zebras who couldn't believe their bad luck at ending up on a Scottish hillside was becoming a strain for my old friend, so I moved the chat on.
‘I'd love to know what you think of my ideas for niche
compilation albums. Original takes on songs we all know....'
‘I'm all ears...’
‘Do you remember Joe Gladwin?’
‘Of course.'
‘Well, though I say it myself, I do a really good impression of Joe Gladwin –
nearly as good as my Max Wall. I also know enough chords now on the ukulele to
put my uncanny Gladwin to music. It’s a concept album of ‘Joe’ singing Smiths
songs: ‘Hatful of Gladwin’. The backing obviously wouldn’t be as elaborate as
the originals – more strummy uke than jangly guitar.’
The twinkle had returned to Archie's eye. As he considered the Gladwin concept, he stroked his beard. I watched as fragments of crisp left the beard and danced in the mood lighting before they dived into his beer.
''I'm thinking of tracks that showcase Joe's trademark rolling of the 'R':
'Reel Around the Fountain'
'Girl Afraid'
'Miserable Lie'
'William, it was really nothing'
Arch struggled to hear my Gladwin rendition of 'Reel Around the Fountain' above the noise of the bar, but nodded and looked positive.
'Amazing! I love it. What are the other albums? You said 'concept albums'.'
‘Well, the other compilation album I was toying with is called
‘Now That’s What I call Fetish...........1'.
That one's not as well thought through, but I do have an opening track'
Archie's interest was now well and truly piqued. He leaned in to hear the title and his face glowed with approval as I whispered:
‘The First Time ever I soiled your face.’
