Rocks and hard places…and rubber balls bouncing back..

25 Oct

The Brexiteers continue to fight their sorry rearguard action. The Krankie First Minister of the new Scottish Republic continued her ‘It’s all about me really’ finger-wagging exercise at Theresa Maybe, yesterday. Lack of a plan is the cry – well when you’re buggered, it’s better to have no plan and wait for others to blink first, apparently.

The Belfast bakers have caused a stir, haven’t they? While the right on LGBT lobby savours the moment of victory, let’s pause to think if Jewish printers would want to publish Mein Kampf. The bakers did not discriminate against the gay customer, merely against the message on the cake. I’ll need to think about this rather more.

While I’m doing that my mind can be distracted from Trumpageddon (see below), Paul Hollywood,  our appalling handling of refugees and migrants, HS2 (no!), Heathrow (no!) and the trolling of the insubstantial Lineker for saying what many felt – that we have been heartless (over the migrant crisis) and asking what has happened to our country.

Death brings us all up short and well-known names make us reflect on the timeline of our lives.  I don’t much like Dad’s Army but the clips from this and other Jimmy Perry creations, made me smile, chortle even. RIP

Bobby Vee was a significant childhood hero. What little music we heard in the early 1960s, before Radio Luxembourg and the Beatles changed everything, was the new wave of crooning rock stars from the US. Elvis, the Everlys, Buddy Holly and…Bobby Vee. Christmas 1961. I bought my elder brother the single: Take Good Care of My Baby, sung by 18 year-old Bobby Vee, the Justin Bieber of his generation. Elder Bro rejected this priceless 45 because he wanted Tower of Strength by Frankie Vaughan. So I kept the Goffin/King number and still have it today. That and Rubber Ball, The Night has a Thousand Eyes and Run to Him. On an E.P. Mushy stuff, indeed but the songs had light, lovely melodies and a great generosity of spirit.  When I heard of the teen idol’s death – at just 73 – the Rubber Ball of life back then came bouncing back. And for a while I drifted back into a happier, less-complicated world. Thanks Bobby.

ps You can catch Simon Jay’s Trumpageddon at The King’s Head Theatre, Islington. Straight from the Fringe!

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