Cold Turkey

I'd like to think that the opening words of my first blog of a new year set the tone for the remaining 360 odd days to come. But as last year ended on an all time low (for all sorts of reasons - some obvious, some not so), the bar is currently set pretty low. However, as this blog approaches its 10th anniversary I'm afraid I can't make any promises for 2020. To quote Doris Day, what will be, will be. A Happy New Year to you all.

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I spent much of the holidays re-watching Budgie - Keith Waterhouse's finest creation (surpassing even the brilliance of Billy Liar). I've name-checked Waterhouse and Budgie Bird in previous blogs so I'll concentrate, instead, on the theme music. 

Only two series were made by LWT - in 1971 & 1972. The first deployed a haunting instrumental, The Loner, credited to the Milton Hunter Orchestra. Budgie, played by Adam Faith, is seen chasing (always out of reach) pound notes - the programmes's overriding premise encapsulated in just 45 seconds.

For the second series we see the same footage, only this time to the backdrop of a beautiful song written by Ray Davies: Nobody's Fool is - to the untrained ear, the Kinks at the top of their game. Only it isn't. Well, it's Ray Davies singing, that much we do know, but according to the label on the accompanying Pye single, the artist is Cold Turkey. Go figure.

Cold Turkey - Nobody's Fool (1972)

From the bright busy streets off the Charing Cross Road

To the dark little alleys in old Soho

Dear Keith,

I've never written a fan letter. But there are two I wished I had penned. Too late now, both would be recipients are on the other side: George Harrison, a frequent cameo stalwart of this blog, and Keith Waterhouse. And who, to the best of my knowledge, never met.

 Keith Waterhouse the Leeds born writer and (some would say) inventor of the liquid lunch was a wordsmith who could turn his typewriter to novels, short stories, screenplays, TV, newspaper columns and still be back in the pub for last orders.

 If I had scribbled a few words to him I would told him that from the day his seminal Billy Liar appeared on our English Language O Level Sylabus I've never not had a book on the go. In fact, I'm currently rereading Office Life: a A Waterhouse novel from 1978 which, I'm sure Magnus Mills used as the template for his The Scheme For Full Employment. But he was so much more than Billy Liar (not that he needed me to tell him that); scriptwriter for The Frost Report, That Was The Week That Was and Whistle Down The Wind gained him serious credibility in the 60s. And, with his good friend and co-writer Willis Hall, came up with one of the 70s most memorable TV series - Budgie. Adam Faith brought their script alive and depicted a seedy and down at heel Soho while still giving its characters - Budgie Bird and Charlie Endell - and their surroundings a rich and multilayered veneer. Jeffrey Bernard Is Unwell proved he had lost none of his magic and later novels like Bimbo, Our Song and Palace Pier were among his best ever. The latter possibly being the finest depiction of Brighton after Patrick Hamilton's West Pier. Looking back, it's probably just as well I didn't write. It may have left one or both of us feeling a little foolish. Maybe I should have just bought him a drink instead. Cheers Keith.

 .

Friends for life

Twin brothers Ronald and Ian Courtenay and their best friend David Finney were inseparable. They were born in the same street in Stradhoughton, went to the same school and, as kids, knocked around the same youth clubs and street corners. As young men their Friday night chat up lines delivered at The Roxy were legendary, so girlfriends were never in short supply.

They even joined The Regiment on the same day. Separated from their family for the first time, the three Privates found themselves a long way from home and fighting for reasons they didn't fully understand. Long letters and postcards to loved ones revealed their innermost thoughts and in one particular letter from David to his mother he told of his feeling of isolation: 'At least Ron and Ian have each other but I feel lost out here. I want to come home.'

David never made it home. He was killed in action; a fierce battle saw him and eight of his mates gunned down in their prime. The eldest was 21, David was two weeks shy of his 20th birthday.

Ronald and Ian came back after three years changed men; as did many of their comrades. Until they left England for a life in Australia, they tended David's grave every week. And now, on the other side of the world, surrounded by children and grandchildren, on the anniversary of his death, they raise a glass to David and toast absent friends.

Brighton Rock

Just a quick one today. My friend, Chris Higgins, musician and Brighton dweller, recently sent me his latest batch of recordings. He goes under the moniker The Ruminators and he/they have just bashed out thirteen shiny new pop gems. You'll find my favourite track at the bottom of the page.

When I get a minute I'll get 'round to penning a few words on not only Chris' songs but also two classic Brighton novels (without mentioning that one): West Pier by Patrick Hamilton and Keith Waterhouse's Palace Pier both depict the town in true warts and all style and I revisit them often. Anyway, as Kirsty Wark might say, more on those stories later.