Back in 2007 when I was alone and going out under the pretence of being into culture I found myself at Jack Daniels promoted late night TV showcase for UK bands. It sounds more glamorous that it was. For a start it was at the Night and Day. For a finish it was in Manchester. Both renown places of ever increasing circles of stubbornness to dive style, indifference to the world-at-large and working class ethics. Thank God.
I can’t remember who was on the bill that night so no chance of me dredging up any musical highlights. What I can recall in crystal clear memory is how I won this Jack Daniels Fender guitar instead of a man called Eric Beasley. It’s signed by The Aliens so I presume they played.
Suddenly Mark Riley, or Lard as he’s known to all people north of Watford Gap, was the curator of tumbleweed moment after announcing the winner of the guitar competition.
Lard’s words, ‘Eric Beasley, Eric Beasley are you here?’ floated off lost to the night unclaimed and unloved.
‘Eric you’re not in the bogs are you?’ he quipped desperately trying to fill the void.
Not a dickie bird.
The stillness and the dark begged for some action. An opportunistic thought fed on booze mushroomed in my mind and let me know that under no uncertain circumstances I was the woman to fill it.
Automatically I pulled my wooly cap down low and cleaved a temporarily unwanted bosom flat under each armpit.
‘Yessss,’ I growled in a low what I thought was manly voice ascending the side of the stage.
‘Congratulations lad,’ said Lard eyeballs wide with suspicion and relief. He thrust the microphone at me. I pushed it aside and trophied the guitar high into the air towards the cameras.
And the rest is, as they say, falsifying someone else’s identity and blagging it.
As I’m now selling this item my conscience can’t let me do it without putting a call-out for Eric to share in the spoils.
So if you are, or know Eric Beasley, please get in touch.
And congrats to John Maclean on his recently won BAFTA for best short film.