Take yesterday, for example; I was expecting a visit from one of my oldest friends. And then I was tipped off that a local drug and porn baron pensioner was hosting the woodland funeral and burial of the notorious one-time road manager of one of the world's most notorious rock bands. A band not exactly known for its quiet and abstemious lifestyle. A band that wrote the Rule Book of Excess. And then tore it up. Even the toned-down versions of what they did while on the road would put you off your breakfast - at the very least.
Said burial to be followed by wake at local pub.
Not surprisingly, the old friend and I decided to give the woods a miss for our afternoon walk and took the dogs up to the moor. Even that didn't go entirely to plan, when the red-faced and portly husband of the dreaded Mrs Double-Barrel drove towards us at top speed. (Mrs D-B beside him, with her exhausted hunter no doubt being hurled around in the horsebox behind as their monster vehicle tore along, the day's hunting having finished.) Mr D-B was driving so recklessly that he forced us off the road. He is also notorious in this locality for, yes, reckless driving. (I don't think this sort of behaviour can be good for his blood pressure.)
Nevertheless, we had a wonderfully uplifting walk on the moor, relishing the afternoon sun on our backs, and set our mind to things higher than bonkers hunter-drivers and decadent rock bands and their managers. We talked instead of hairdressers, including Jingles in Baker Street which we used to go to c1974 (where, as my friend reminded me, I foolishly allowed a stylist to chop off my long, blonde hair, sob, sob), and how the nature of our days has changed in the past year and what we thought about A Book of Silence and so on.
The dogs ran backwards and forwards along the moorland track, blissfully unaware of all the day's shenanigans, living, as dogs do, absolutely in the moment. A perfect canine example of the Buddhist concept of mindfulness.
The wake, by the way, went on until very, very late.
I wouldn't really have given any it another thought, had I not been half-listening to BBC R4 this morning, when the announcer introduced a programme about one of the most notorious album covers of the 1970s, created for . . . one of the world's most notorious rock bands.
So I sat bolt upright and listened and it did, indeed, include a barely-veiled reference to one of the most stomach-churning episodes in the above-mentioned road manager's time with said band. I pondered the inexplicable synchronicity of things. As you do.
Anyway, if the village ever finds itself strapped for cash, perhaps it could organise guided tours to the last resting place of Mr X. Once the dust has settled. It could be our answer to Jim Morrison's grave in Père Lachaise.
But if you go down to the woods today, be warned. It's no place for teddy bears.
Tales of wanton destruction and debauchery aside, I do think said band hold the title for Best Intro.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfR_HWMzgyc
Posted by: Liz | 07 February 2010 at 10:39 AM
I should confess, Liz, that I have never been the band's biggest fan, although I do see what you mean about Kashmir. I had to be in a very particular state of mind to listen to them in the 1960s and, even now, their music evokes some very mixed feelings.
The Boy Friend and I went to see them at the 14 Hour Technicolor Dream at Ally Pally on 29 April 1967, just a week before we got married. His mind was well and truly blown by them, mine less so, although I can still remember far more about the Dream than about the wedding . . .
Posted by: 60 Going On 16 | 07 February 2010 at 06:04 PM
I have to admit I'm not their biggest fan and have never seen them perform live, though the Husband did (Newcastle, 1970). We were so lucky back in the day to have a venue virtually on our doorstep, the Redcar Jazz Club, that managed to book Pink Floyd ,Cream, Fleetwood Mac, Family and many other superb bands which I think was unusual for a little northern town outside of London.
Posted by: Liz | 08 February 2010 at 01:16 PM