TALK TALK TALK
YO ho and here we go—
Yes folks, here’s a rumour to get the phone-lines buzzing with denials and counter denials, enquiries and blasphemies: TTT say Frankie might well be playing a few Xmas gigs over here. Not content with bamboozling the yanks with their snake-hipped electro riddums, FGTH are reputedly thinking of squeezing in a show or two at Liverpool’s Royal Court before ol’ Santa arrives. However, one word of caution: The Royal Court say No Way. ZTT say we know nothing. And TTT say mine’s a pint.
Onwards and upwards, your crusading TTT is making blows against the empire, striking out at prejudice wherever it may raise its ugly head.
And just to prove we’re as fair as the next man… er person… we’re gonna float this non-baldist info: Brian Eno, infamous egg-head, ex-popstar and the bloke who turned U2 into The Moody Blues is about to move back to London from wherever he’s been hanging out and is in the process of organising an exhibition of ambient videos which will open to the eager public sometime in January.
The location of the said visual feast is, at present, uncertain (our source was too sozzled to remember) but we believe it’s somewhere in Princes Street.
And now, just to prove we’ve got nothing at all against people who play guitar for singers who wear flowers in their back pocket (in other words, we’re nonflorist), we’d like to suggest somebody gives wee Johnny Marr a gert pat on the back for his manly devotion to duty.
While lesser mortals would have languished in their steamy pits, meeping on about the current unavailability of Night Nurse, our Johnny laughed in the very face of flu and took the boat from Liverpool to Dublin so The Smiths wouldn’t disappoint the Micks… ooops! Soreeee! the more discerning occupants of Ireland. Anyway, by the time Johnny lad reached the Emerald Isle, he was well dicky on the ol’ feet and was subsequently rushed to hospital where he spent two days recuperating from what was first diagnosed as a burst appendix. And now, against medical advise, our hero has discharged himself and The Smiffs Irish Tour is underway as planned.
And while on the subject of the Smiffs (and to prove that TTT is the least Northernist column under the Sun) we’d like to clip the Mancunian papers round the ear for their continual harrassment of that finest of fellows, Morrissey.
And… he added, “if they were seen buying tickets, they’d be thrown out”. Frankie’s Paul Rutherford summed up the situation with admirable wit: “The guy’s a paranoid idiot”.
From non-baldist to non-ageist, TTT is proud to present this week’s Grecian 2000 award to Richard Skinner, who hereafter shall be known as “Dickie”. It seems that the Beeb’s pathetic attempt to smarten up the Old Grey Yawning Vest by dropping the “Old Grey” from the title spawned an immediate spate of paranoia in the ranks when they discovered that the 34 year old teenager Dickie was, in fact, going rather grey.
Ol’ Dick was hauled in over the coals and instructed to get rid of those tell-tale signs of maturity post haste so the fellow tossed up between a toupee and the mouse-brown dye and the result is that Dickie’s now swaggering round with a mouse on his head. Pity they didn’t think of transplanting a bit of grey matter while they were at it, eh?