I bet you think this song is about you

In the same way that this blog doesn't follow a Dear Diary format, so too my songs aren't really autobiographical. Despite what some people may think. That’s not to say that there aren't lines in some of my songs that have a certain poignancy. And every now and again, away from prying eyes, I may let slip that a certain line was written with a certain someone in mind. Last night’s Songwriters Circle was a particularly good forum: with nothing stronger inside me than English Breakfast Tea, I stayed tight lipped about the brace of, what one (female) friend of mine refers to as ‘confessional’, songs I played.

The Magnificent Seven

Mark, Landlord at The Station Hotel, was still buzzing when I arrived for the Open Mic last night. The BBC had only just left after being with him for the best part of the day. His Elvis memorabilia collection, which he takes on the road collecting money for charity, is getting a bit of a name for itself: to the point that Radio York ran a feature on it in their breakfast show, and TV’s Look North gave it a coat of looking at during their early evening news. Unfortunately I hadn't come with an Elvis tune, but my seven song set went down pretty well all the same:

* No Gold Or Silver
* Leeds, 1972
* Hey Hey Hey (A Song For You)
* Fool
* When The Sun Comes Up
* Days Like This
* On A Battlefield Far Far Away

Park benches and dimly lit cars

Some call it ballast

Very occasionally on this blog you'll stumble across a food or drink related item. *Very* occasionally. And nine times out of ten the chances are it’ll be either a new dish I’ve discovered or an exciting new beer. I’ve always loved dining out (nearly as much as I love cooking) and I always get a thrill when I find restaurants or new beers, new pubs and new breweries. But today’s post is as far removed from fine dining as it’s possible to get. It’s all about an often (and by often I mean always) overlooked delicacy (and by delicacy I mean ballast) that, I’ll wager, you won’t see talked about it in any of the Sunday glossy supplements or the million and one foodie programmes currently doing the rounds on terrestrial telly.

Chips and curry sauce is a very British 'dish'. Served in fish and chip shops up and down the land, you've probably given anyone in your local chippy who has ordered this in the queue ahead of you a sideways glance and, maybe, even a silent tut under your breath. It's the poor relation looked down upon by haddock and steak pies. Even Savaloys. But, hey, am I bothered? To my mind, it's the food of Kings. There comes a point in the evening when it's too late for dinner, too late for a sit-down. That's when the chips and curry sauce are calling.

It's perhaps a good thing that the exact consitiutional makeup of the curry sauce is not known (not to me, anyway) which probably helps explain why it's a dish best consumed in semi-darkness: park benches or dimly lit cars being my dining areas of choice. Enjoy!

Can you keep a secret? I bet you can

Dave Kennedy (left) & Steve Wegrzynski: Jinski

I’m getting excited: I always do when a gig that I’ve had in the diary, seemingly forever, finally approaches. My love of Jinski is well documented and any opportunity I get to catch them in a live situation I jump on immediately. Their songs are so lovingly crafted and tug at every emotion possible. And they tend to play the sort of venues where you feel you're practically up on stage with them. Quite why or how they've never broken through to the mainstream is a mystery to me - Radio 2 would have a field day with them. I guess they'll have to remain a well kept secret a little while longer yet.

1971

1971: that was the year that was

Next month the esteemed writer and broadcaster David Hepworth publishes his new book 1971. According to David, ’71 was rock music's golden year. And as comprehensive and as well researched as I know the tome will be, I’m guessing there are a few things about 1971 you won't find between its covers.

1971 It was the first year I’d been on a package holiday: the Medds went loco in sunny Spain
1971 I was preparing to sit my 11-plus and say goodbye to St. Mary’s
1971 My dad took delivery of a brand new Hillman Minx: RTL 707 J
1971 I took out a subscription to Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly
1971 I heard Co-Co drifting from a barbers window and so began my love affair with The Sweet
1971 My mother said I was too young for Clackers, Oxford Bags and a feather-cut
1971 I think I fancied Clodagh Rodgers
1971 I was ten years old when my friend Adele was born in 1971

Adele: she really is a sweetie