Category: Celeb Death

I’m Possible…*/dreaming…*

Dear Reader, a Song has been going around my head for days now…

The other night I even had a dream about it, except… Well, it wasn’t George Michael singing it but another dead crooner, Frank Sinatra…

pink-news-sinatra-letter-to-michael

*Oh, I remember seeing the headline at the time, Clicky, but I hadn’t read the letter… Shall we?*

Dear Friends,

When I saw your Calendar cover today about George Michael, “the reluctant pop star,” my first reaction was he should thank the good Lord every morning when he wakes up to have all that he has. And that’ll make two of us thanking God every morning for all that we have.

*Calendar? Hmm… I’ve posted about a Calendar recently, Clicky…*

*Well unlike a standard calendar, it did have 13 months, Clicky… /wink… Come on, back to the frank letter…*

I don’t understand a guy who lives “in hopes of reducing the strain of his celebrity status.” Here’s a kid who “wanted to be a pop star since I was about 7 years old.” And now that he’s a smash performer and songwriter at 27 he wants to quit doing what tons of gifted youngsters all over the world would shoot grandma for — just one crack at what he’s complaining about.

*Oh, in a musical mood are we, Clicky? …/furrows brow… I don’t know about ‘moving’ so much, the letter does seem kinda pointed…*

Come on, George. Loosen up. Swing, man, Dust off those gossamer wings and fly yourself to the moon of your choice and be grateful to carry the baggage we’ve all had to carry since those lean nights of sleeping on buses and helping the driver unload the instruments.

*1990… /tilts head… Maybe Frank’s words did hit home, then…*

And no more of that talk about “the tragedy of fame.” The tragedy of fame is when no one shows up and you’re singing to the cleaning lady in some empty joint that hasn’t seen a paying customer since Saint Swithin’s day. And you’re nowhere near that; you’re top dog on the top rung of a tall ladder called Stardom, which in Latin means thanks-to-the-fans who were there when it was lonely.

*/smiles… The lad from Hobo Ken did have a point…*

Talent must not be wasted. Those who have it — and you obviously do or today’s Calendar cover article would have been about Rudy Vallee — those who have talent must hug it, embrace it, nurture it and share it lest it be taken away from you as fast as it was loaned to you.

*Yeah… Seems George did manage to turn ‘the tragedy of fame’ into something else…*

Trust me. I’ve been there.

*Ahh… Thanks, Clicky! …/shakes head… Wow! You’ve managed to knock the song-worm out of my head…*

*/pats snout… Have a Song…/:D…*

Omen Shnomen… */shrugs…*

previously-at-the-lol
CLICKY: Step Outside Snow Den

This time last year, Dear Reader, I was still embarked on a ‘Pointless Exercise‘. I’ve not touched on the show since but it remains a treasure trove of synchronicity, wrapped up in the innocent garb of an amusing teatime TV quiz show…

*George Michael, who recently died, Clicky… Where are you going with this? …/furrows brow…*

merovee-the-queen-is-dead

*Okay… Red Frank’s MEROVEE post… You’re not being rude are you? …/squint…*

faith-bring-news-of-ers-favourite-teatime-activity

*Ah! Yes, apparently MRS REIGN is a fan of ‘Pointless’… Clever, Clicky… /rubs snout… No, don’t pout… Of course I had faith in where you were taking me… /glances away…*

Armstrong later corroborated the source in a Radio Times interview, where he said a Palace insider affirmed that Pointless was indeed on Her Majesty’s TV viewing schedule.

It’s highly unlikely we’ll ever see The Queen make a guest appearance on the show herself. However, it may make other fans of it rather chuffed to know that they can count on the Head of the Commonwealth amongst their ranks.

Armstrong, Dear Reader, the name Armstrong occurs twice in the Pointless sync I am about to relay…

hugo-20

*/thinks… From my interview with ‘Cultish‘ author, Hugo Stone?

*/grins… Yeah, Hugo… He’s involved in my Pointless sync as well, Clicky…  /continues grinning…

So, on Thursday evening Thoughtful Man and I were watching a back episode of ‘Pointless‘. It was in the ‘head-to-head’ round when the subject of Royalty came up, as it occasionally does…

pointless-viscount-linley-in-the-omen

It wasn’t Damien of ‘The Omen‘ fame of course, but Viscount Linley, 2nd Earl of Snowdon, a.k.a. David Armstrong-Jones…

pointless-viscount-linley-in-the-omen-1

… Who’s father died the very next day…

*No… /rolls eyes… Yes, that’s Doctor Who as a ‘father’ but that’s not ‘Who’s father’, Clicky… /shakes head…*

… I mentioned Lord Snowdon’s passing to Hugo in conversation on Friday evening, but only after he sent me a news story about ‘Road Rage‘. It was unsolicited – I hadn’t told him of the silly Pointless answer I’d given the night before…

*/sings… You give me road rage… Love that strong Welsh accent, Clicky… Hey! Snowdon is in Wales… /smiles…*

leg-and-roob-discuss-inside-outside

*/gasps… OMG! Clicky, the brilliant sci fi book I’m currently proofing for Leggy… You are so clever! …/holds out arms… Come here, you impossible creature…/rubs snout…*

Dear Reader, I hope you have enjoyed this pointless sync at the LoL. I’m off to continue my reading, so if you have any questions or observations, please avail yourself of the comment section, below…

Oh yes… And have a Song ❤

 

 

 

 

 

Peep ‘Ole REGN… Oo’er MRS!

*So, Clicky, ‘Pop’ was the decision. Interesting…*

LAST TIME AT THE LOL
 

CLICKY: Victoria would…

 

Receiving word that a Prince of Pop had pops his clogs so shortly after I’d popped the question, was a surprise. Thoughtful Man was the bearing of the news… again.

“You’ll never guess who’s died now?”

I hadn’t heard him come downstairs as I was still engrossed over at Hugo’s second site. I removed my headphones. “What another? Who?”

“Prince.” Thoughtful Man looked shell-shocked. He’d once queued 10 hours to get tickets for one of his concerts. In his teens, Thoughtful Man had considered Prince and his music the bee’s knees.

He slumped down onto his chair and tapped his keyboard. “Prince is dead.”

*Clicky, you’re racing ahead – Thoughtful Man didn’t show me that until following day… I told Hugo about it.*

*******

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

When uncle Jack was alive he phoned me one evening to see if I could get Jeremy into John Lewis. I think he was working at the time in some kind of government office. I did get him an application form, but nothing came of it.

At that time I did not know that he was gay. Looking back on it, considering that the men’s second floor loo at John Lewis was advertised as a meeting point for gays in Gay Weekly (and that 75% of males working there were gay), I wonder if he had an ulterior motive.

After several sackings of staff for being in the loo instead of being on the shop floor, memos were fired out. Staff were banned from using them and a security man was posted on duty there at all times.

I don’t know how open I should be with you all, but what the hell you are all adults.

I went into said loo after hours, of course, courtesy of the Chief of Security. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about and it was an eye opener indeed. The toilet stalls had all been lined with stainless steel to stop chaps from making holes in the walls, but someone had brought in a drill. They all had holes in them. Apparently meetings were quite anonymous and frequent, but I can assure you that Aids had not reared its ugly head yet. When it did there were a lot of frightened chaps working there.

Before I left and moved to Southend in 94, I went to several funerals and numerous visits to hospitals, including the Lighthouse. I did a bit of buddying. Mrs Moon worked there and I became interested.

Unfortunately, because aids was new and terrifying and people were uneducated about it, any mention that you even had contact with an aids sufferer and people would shun you.  They thought it was catching. Even at Branch Council meetings people wanted a different set of cups and cutlery for gays than for straights, so we had to get training packages together and send everybody on them to allay the fears.

One particularly funny incident did happen though. One day a cubicle had been locked for some time and a security guard, on his rounds, looked under the door. He saw a pair of feet and a large John Lewis carrier bag, the cardboard type used for men’s suits or expensive frocks.

When, on a second tour of duty of those toilets, the same feet and the same carrier bag were still in the same cubicle, the security guard decided to investigate further. Inside he found two men, one of whom was standing in the bag.

After that nearly all the men’s loos were turned into standy up ones except for one with the permanent security detail.

God, I have digressed haven’t I?

*******

Later on Friday, Blue Frank posted a performance of Prince and Red Frank put up his ‘Purple Reign‘ post…

Merovee Purple Reign

 

And I took a naked selfie…

Roob Dreamy Unmade up selfie
 

CLICKY: Click the pix for another

 

*Enough, with the selfies, Clicky. I’ve have ironing to attend to and a curry to cook. Do us a flavour and please give our Dear Reader a Song*

 

Hop or Pop?: Let’s Doo IT!

Previously at the LoL

CLICKY: With one enormous chair…

Thoughtful Man’s Apol!Fon chirruped alarmingly, disturbing the calm before the Boys’ return from school, a.k.a. ‘The Storm’.

“Oh no, who’s died now?” In 2016, it’s the natural response. My money had been on Brucie.

He squinted at the screen and then looked at me in surprise. “Victoria Wood. Wow, I didn’t feel that one coming.”

I took a deep drag from my cigarette and smiled back sympathetically at him. “You might be losing your touch but actually, if you think about it, it kinda syncs.”

Now Thoughtful Man squinted at me. “How so?”

“The Ballad of Barry and Freda…” I looked at him him expectantly but he continued to stare at me blankly. “It was an answer on the episode of ‘Pointless’ we watched yesterday. Richard waxed lyrical about it.”

As is often the case, he dismissed my synchromystic observation with a roll of his eyes. But then, Thoughtful Man wasn’t aware that Vik had only just paid a visit the LoL…

Roobee knot ISIS Victoria Wood

CLICKY: Selfie? 

*Go on then, Clicky. I should explain to Dear Reader: I post knot-ISIS of syncs in the Red universe … as opposed to helping to reveal ‘The Stink’ in the Blue. And it’s knot the smokers to blame. Reality in 2016 is built on junk science.  Sum times it makes my blood boil…

Oh well, what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.* 😉

*A bonding moment, Clicky? Really? /rolls eyes…*

*******

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

One year we went hop picking together. For those of you who don’t know what hop picking is, here goes.

The breweries needed hops to make the beer and the best hops were grown in Kent. But there was no machinery in those days to pick them, so poor families, who could not afford a holiday, went hop picking. It gave a break from the city, a kind of holiday, and some income for the work that they did.

The workers were nearly all mums and kids as the men all had full time jobs. They only came down to the hop fields for the weekend. I think it must have been before Dickie and Christine were born because I don’t remember Dickie at all. Then again he might have been a baby and I tended to deny his existence when he was a baby.

One afternoon an open backed lorry pulled up and on the back were Flo, her kids and half of their home. We piled on with half of our home and we all went to Paddock Wood in Kent.

I remember it so clearly and yet I must have been very young. When we got there the farmer gave us a hut with a large wooden bed frame and a straw mattress. That was about all. Outside was a lean-to with an open cooking hearth and a variety of large cooking pots and utensils.  Flo and the kids were in the next hut and we shared the cooking and washing between us.

I remember that Nanny Packer had to sweep up cow pats before we moved our stuff in because the farmer had been using the huts to house them during the winter.

The next morning we went to the field that had to be picked that day. Every family was given a station to work from. You literally had to fill these large canvas containers with hops and take to the weighing station. The amount you had picked was credited to you in a large ledger. You were then paid according to how much you picked by weight.

At first it was a novelty and we all helped. But after a while it became boring and one by one the kids went off to explore. I remember that was very exciting, exploring the streams and trees, all the animals and things we never saw in the city. Scrumping apples and eating them even though they were cooking apples and I got a belly ache.

It was just like a little city: they had a shop for provisions and a doctor called regularly and so did a priest. The atmosphere was good.

Flo and Nanny cooked over an open fire and we all had to bathed in a tin bath. Because I was the youngest I always got the last of the water but hey ho.

On Friday evening, all the men arrived on the train from London Bridge to spend the weekends with the families. I remember them all going to the pub and sitting outside. The kids got a glass of muscatel and an arrowroot biscuit. If we were lucky, we would get a packet of plain Smith’s crisps with a small blue packet of salt in the bag. We thought we were in heaven.

We stayed for the whole six weeks of school holidays and came back sun tanned and absolutely lousy with fleas. We had to be deloused but it was worth it.

*******

*Sew then, Clicky… what should we do about Vik’s suggestion? *

https://youtu.be/rI-YrNa7z1Y

*Alright, take your time… /looks at watch and sighs… Meanwhile I’ve got a job to find and another story to submit for The Underdog Anthology. I’m popping over to Hugo’s… Whilst we’re waiting, have a Song*