:: archive

June 07 - issue 1

Dearly Bewildered

THE MADNESS OF PARENTS...

Parishioner Paul du Noyer:

No fan of uncompromising Kraut-rock, my Irish mother-in-law was known to thwart her son's enjoyment of LPs by Amon Duul II "Jaysus Mary and Joseph, will yer take off that bloomin' owld Eamon Dooley!"

Parishioner Chris:

My father, a keen Acker Bilk wannabee (is there any worse noise than a squeaky clarinet?) and a James Last/Syd Lawrence afficianado to boot, was wont to irritate me with "Bo Wo Wo" for "Bow Wow Wow", "Orchestra Removals In the Dark" for, well, guess, and as for my friend Martin's band, The Great Outdoors, if he phoned and asked for me, it was "Chris, it's that bloke in a tent for you....". Eventually at least got him listening to the Carpenters, a seismic shift in his musical world.....

Parishioner Paul:

My father unfailingly complained loudly with the following whenever Cliff Richard appeared on TV ;

 "...oh no, it's 'Arry Adenoids again"

 

Parishioner Old Sir Henry:

When I reached the tender age of 13 in 1967 (what a fine year), my parents bought me a single as a present. It was in the charts. They knew I liked The Who.

They bought me Pictures Of Lily.

They had no idea.

Still don't.

They'll have to be dead before I write about it.

Whoops.

 ....AND THE VEXATIOUS MISPRONUNCIATION HABIT

Parishioner Idiot Bastard:

Have we yet had Joan Armour-Plating, Olivia Neutron-Bomb or Loose Windscreen (of whom my father once asked "What about The Governor, then, eh?")? I'll never forget my grandfather, on seeing my 6' x 4' poster of Zappa, memorably commenting, "Who's that ugly sod?". I am now carrying on the family tradition with my emo daughters by talking about Thused, Enter Shakira and Jimmy Eats Wood.

Parishioner Ron Hadgraft:

It is indeed a strange thing how we develop a habit over the years of using our own version of a band/artiste's name. Perhaps due to the influence of the mid-to-late-70s New Musical Express, I have always referred to Emerson, Lake and Palmer as 'Cumbersome, Fake and Trauma' , Bryan Ferry as 'Brain Fury' and Cockney Rebel as 'Cocky Rabble'. Other terms I have thankfully been able to give up because they sounded so annoying, include Olivia Neutron-Bomb (Newton-John), The Boss (Springsteen) and The Zimm (Dylan). There are others I use, which I cannot explain at all: e.g. The Heeds (Talking Heads), Spix (Sparks) and The Wiffs (Smiths).

Parishioner Mark Whitehouse:

Whilst in the sixth form - almost 30 years ago - a friend of mine insisted on calling Elton John by the name Elephant Bones. I've never been able to look at the balding, downward-spiralling Watford fan since without thinking: aah, Elephant Bones.

Parishioner Mike D.:

Oh Vicar, if only it were confined to parents - the GLW, when I listen to "Sounds of the Sixties" of a Saturday morning, will inevitable greet certains artistes with cries of "Bodagh Codgers!" and "Stiff Pilchard!".

WHEN THE ROLLING STONES ARE PLAYING IN ONE'S GARDEN

Parishioner Derek Ridgers:

Having seen the Rolling Stones several times in their heyday, by the time the '90s came, I often used to use that same line that Alex Baxter mentions. "If they were playing in my back garden I'd close the curtains and go to bed." Unfortunately, since my back garden virtually overlooks Twickenham Stadium, when the Rolling Stones play there, closing the curtains and going to bed doesn't really make much difference as to whether I get to hear them or not. So, I just join the rest of the neighbourhood and go and see them anyway. The older they get the more humorous the spectacle becomes. Maybe I've turned into my dad too?

SARTORIAL MISJUDGEMENTS AT ROCK AND ROLL CONCERTS

Parishioner Chris:

Memories of my 1st ever gig are constantly evoked as it was a muched photographed event, Free's "comeback" at Newcastle city hall in 1972. These fond reminiscence are tarnished slightly by the still lingering embarassment of my unfortunate appearance. The problem was that although I was in possession of a ticket (50p), my parents had refused their permission regarding my attendance, punishment for some long forgotten transgression, one of many I'm afraid. Knowing that if I returned home from school that would be it, I simply travelled to Newcastle straight from school, wearing my school uniform. As anyone who attended Usworth Comp in the early seventies will testify, I was never the the most dapper dresser, I shudder to think what all the "heads" thought of the unbelievably tatty 14 yr old thrashing his meagre locks to The Hunter.

Your Rocking Vicar

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