Oh my oh my…
I want you to imagine just for one minute, close your eyes and follow me into that cupboard in the back of your mind, brush away those cobwebs, mind the low door, its the late 1970s and we’re in a large “local” pub, the sort of pub you can find on any large housing estate around here, the sort of pub where you go in and just like the Cheers bar of TV fame, everyone knows your name, its the sort of pub where you go three or four nights a week because there’s bugger-all on TV.
Like The Wise Owl for instance, yes, I know not many of you know The Wise Owl and if you come looking for it now you’ll be disappointed for its my doctors surgery these days, but you all know a pub like The Wise Owl and you all know that in pubs like The Wise Owl there was always a talent evening, an evening when anyone who thought that they had even a grain of talent in their vocal chords or guitar-plucking fingers, got up and “did a turn” for their mates, didn’t you young Fenno ?
We’re sat in there now, in The Wise Owl, its hot and its noisy and we’ve had five pints already, there is raucous laughter from all around the bar, people shouting across the room to each other, the slap of dominoes on a table, the thud of darts in the floor at the other end of the room, and then the piano player warms up his fingers by tinkling a few chords and the drummer gives a “Bah-dum ’tish” to quieten you all down and by way of introduction – your next singer has just got up to entertain you.
And a bloke just like Joe Cocker gets up in his collarless shirt, beer all down the front, sweating like a butcher on pig-sticking day, and you all cheer but in a jeering way and you laugh and nudge each other and point and say “Oh FFS the pissheads got up”.
And then he sings the song just like Joe Cocker and you all fall silent and just one person at the bar mutters “Jesus wept he can fookin sing he can” and a star is born …
This one at my funeral please (the list is huge by now)