Lines: April 2004 Archives
I understand that sometimes I can be as coarse as the next man, but more often than not I like to think of myself as a British Gentleman. However, it seemed that a couple of years ago, my reputation had grown and developed into something which was little to do with the real Bobby.
I was standing in a club in Wigan, which had been my regular club for about six months, waiting for my mate, Seymour Arkles (of the band, 'The Moon-pig Men'), when a girl walked up next to me at the bar. I had noticed her in 'The Flame' before. I clocked her and she clocked me. She ordered her drink from the bar and turned to me to talk. I thought she was going to ask if I wanted to drink or a dance. Instead, she turned and said, 'Sorry, that was me. I just farted.' I was appalled, if not a little amused. When I asked if she thought that was a line to lead me on, she said that it was. She had been told that I was fond of farting women, cheap jokes about bodily functions and other such coarse subjects. Needless to say, we danced for a little, but I wanted a woman to respect me for my intellect and mind. When she left my flat the next morning, I think she had a greater understanding. In fact, she asked if she could borrow some of my Ed McBain books.
I just want to put this to bed: I am fairly amused by the odd joke about bodily functions, but I am - by no means - turned on by them. I may be a little coarse every once in a blue moon, but that is not unlike the top-tier of men. Even royalty must laugh at a knob gag.
When I have found myself lost for words in the midst of a conversation that I have taken down a suicidal cul de sac with a loose word/phrase or two, I find it better to mutter the phrase 'That"ll be the door' and make a quick exit. That way you"re able to excuse yourself from the conversation and the room so you can chastise yourself in private and out of ear-shot. A warning to those who aren"t too clever: don"t use this phrase if you"re trying to exist a conversation on a mountain side or on a beach.
This was a song that I penned in the store room of JC Harpers on the High Street in Port Sunlight. They were a gentlemen"s clothes store that stocked threads and silks from all over the world catering for shapes large to small. I had just been dumped by a Eva Honz, a shop-floor worker from the local bakery, after just one night of dating...
(To a Deep Blues tune)
You looked good to eat
And I was keen to dance
You suggested cinemas
And took my chance
We rolled up to the screen
Carrying popcorn and coke
A kernel went down the wrong way
And, hell, I started to choke
[CHORUS]
Baby, you"re a hard hard lady
Give a man a break
Mmm mmm mmm
Baby, you"re a hard hard lady
Give a man a break
Mmm mmm mmm
I popped the bottom of the corn
And loosened my fly
I was comfortably in control
I felt fine and you"d find out why...
You were dipping your hand
I was wriggling in my seat
You eyes opened wide baby
In the popcorn you found some meat.
[CHORUS]
Baby, you"re a hard hard lady
Give a man a break
Mmm mmm mmm
Baby, you"re a hard hard lady
Give a man a break
Mmm mmm mmm
Well you just wouldn"t let go
I thought I"d like it, but I was wrong
I could see hate behind your eyes
And now I"m singing you this song
It was when you started to twist
And you started to squeeze
I could see some blood
As I fell onto my knees
[CHORUS]
Baby, you"re a hard hard lady
Give a man a break
Mmm mmm mmm
Baby, you"re a hard hard lady
Give a man a break
Mmm mmm mmm
While on a bus across the great city of Glasgow, on the way to a gig of a band I was manager of at the time, I witnessed one of the finest lines I am ever to have heard.
The bus was packed with the working men leaving early for their suppers and mothers escorting their children home after their sporting endeavours. There were few seats left as we approached a stop outside what seemed to be a club called "Cleopatras". What stepped on the bus was no Queen of the Egyptians. Two females jumped on the bus with builds that could have fought in a welter weight fight. They pulled three small children on board with them, argued with the driver and then headed for the rear of the bus where three seats were left vacant.
As they squashed into the seats and continued their adult conversation the smallest of the children let out an obscenity that not even I can repeat here. As the bus reeled with the shock, one of the women - presumably the mother - grabbed the young by the sleeves of his jumper and growled into his face, 'Ho! Wee baws. I"ll cut ye" free of yer manhood if I hear any more of that.'
I was so tickled by the quote that later that evening I tried to use it myself when the owner of the club tried to refuse me payment for the band. Needless to say, it left me convinced that such phrases uttered by a woman has far more impact and affect.
