Hello to all my lovely friends.
My sincere apologies for going AWOL for a while. Some more ramblings from me are promised on a regular basis again from hereon.
Which reminds me of a signpost I recently spotted near London’s Paddington station directing the pedestrian to ‘The Point’. Perfect for the errant rambler.
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, old and lovely friends.
I recently teamed up once more with an old schoolfriend and fellow songwriter for an old “musical” group of which we were members. Looking back, I am sure this collaboration gave birth to my need for cruciverbal pleasure. The band took the name Xerox. Why? Because nothing we produced was original – boom boom, ahem.
Producing over twenty albums, Xerox featured me on voice and keyboards, my friend on voice and guitar – and then there was Steve, who hit things.
Magrana (an anagram of anagram) was a particularly poor effort at “music”. The follow-up title “Enago Marrams” (‘more anagrams’ (anagram)), fell away somewhat from that substandard.
One particular track, named “Cricket” comprised the repeated 20-minute-long tape loop of a snippet of Test Match Special commentary, ‘bald patch on top of his head just glistening in the sunlight’.
We were anarchists with a very small ‘a’. And pretentious with a very large ‘P’.
Lyrics were written by picking random words from the dictionary, and where we couldn’t find a rhyme, we would unashamedly coin a word. One day I shall write a Guardian crossword consisting only of these words, such as ‘hozenge’, after which:
You may well complain, faces turning purple,
To make me appear an unqualified twerple.
With good reason.
Very best wishes,