New Suede Tunes, NewsRevue Quickie (Unused), 4 March 1993

My lean run of writing continued into early March. I still had plenty of material in the show because I had written some corkers over Christmas and into January that were running and running.

This one was about the band Suede which must have been the most heavily hyped band since…

…the previously most heavily hyped band.

Anyway, here is the quickie, which understandably didn’t make the cut.

NEW SUEDE TUNES

(A quickie to the Tune of “Blue Suede Shoes”)

 

INTRO

And now, the band rock journalists have all been talking about;

The greatest band since………the last band we said was the greatest band;

The band you’ve all been waiting for;

Here they are, the one, the only:

Suede.

 

THE SONG

Well it’s:

One heap of money,

Two boring shows,

Three all screw the groupie,

Then go catch doses,

So don’t you,

Egg on those new Suede tunes,

Overhype anything,

But stay offa those new Suede tunes.

Below is a vid showing Elvis Presley singing Blue Suede Shoes:

Click here for the lyrics of Blue Suede Shoes.

Just in case the whole Suede thing passed you by…

…I mean, even I bought the album and they are said to have been the first of the 1990s Britpop sensations so Suede must have been hyped bigly…

…below is a vid of Suede singing Animal Nitrate:

Zaire Of the Brat, NewsRevue Lyric, 1 March 1993

I was going through a rich seam of unusable ideas at that time – late February to early March 1993 – perhaps the longest string of unused items in my whole NewsRevue writing (so-called) career.

I have a feeling that Janie and I took a long weekend in the Derbyshire peaks around that time, doing some walking in freezing temperatures and that I wrote a few of these duds there. Proof positive that I need warmth and comfort in order to be funny.

This lyric has some good lines; I think it is a good read. But it does not have performance quality to it.

ZAIRE OF THE BRAT

(To the Tune of “The Year Of The Cat”)

VERSE 1

Like an extra from a James Bond movie,

In a toque made of pure leopard’s skin;

He goes strolling through the crowds like Butelesi,

Contemplating a sin.

Now his name’s Mobutu and he may well shoot you,

If you say his country is in strife;

Don’t bother asking for resignations,

He’s the President for life,

In Zaire of the brat.

VERSE 2

In Kinshasa people don’t ask questions,

When he takes other’s wives for kicks;

Despite the rise of AIDS and such infections,

In the Zairian sticks.

Been allowed to stay ‘cos the USA,

Had maintained Mobutu by mistake;

George Bush was pushed and now Bill Clinton’s,

Leaving fire in his wake,

For this Zairian brat.

MIDDLE BIT

He’ll be overthrown ideally,

In Kinshasa by a more liberal team;

He speaks in poor French and Swahili,

Liked Ceausescu and reads Machiavelli,

He’s a Zairian brat.

VERSE 3

So this chief Mobutu Sese Seko,

Is an African man we should watch;

With his glass of pink Champagne in Belgian Congo,

He’s completely lost touch.

Since the sanctions came he’s not been the same,

‘Cos he knows he ought to be afraid;

Katanga, Zabanga, and he’s thrown over,

But for now he’s going to stay,

In Zaire of the brat.

Zaire of the brat.

I tried an update of this lyric, dated 23 May 1997, which I’m pretty sure also remained unused in NewsRevue:

ZAIRE OF THE BRATS
(To the Tune of “The Year Of The Cat”)

VERSE 1

Like an extra from a James Bond movie,
In a toque made of pure leopard’s skin;
He goes strolling through the crowds like Butelesi,
Contemplating a sin.
Now his name’s Mobutu and he don’t like Hutus,
Or Tutsis in his land of strife;
Don’t bother asking for resignations,
Thinks he’s President for life,
In Zaire of the brat.

VERSE 2

In Kinshasa people don’t ask questions,
They just pray that a change leads to peace;
Despite the rise of AIDS and such infections,
Amongst the poor Congolese.
Laurent Kabila is a wheeler dealer,
Let us hope he’s not a big mistake;
Off goes Mobutu with his prostate cancer,
Leaving fire in his wake,
In Zaire of the brats.

MIDDLE BIT

He’s been overthrown ideally,
In Kinshasa by Kabila and crew;
Who speak in English and Swahili,
Like Ceausescu and read Machiavelli,
Just more Zairean brats?

VERSE 3

So this chief Mobutu Sese Seko,
Is an African man on the skids;
With his glass of pink Champagne now in Morocco,
He’s not got long to live.
With his cancer such a pain in the crutch,
Perhaps a victim of a voodoo curse;
Katanga, Zabanga, and he’s thrown over,
For better or for worse,
In Zaire of the brats.
Zaire of the brats.

Below is a very good live vid of Al Stewart singing “Year Of The Cat”:

Click here to read the lyrics of Year Of The Cat.

Young Rogues, NewsRevue Lyric (Unused), 1 March 1993

I’m pretty sure this one wasn’t used and I’m pretty sure that it’s lack of performance makes sense.

It reads better than it sings…

…and it doesn’t read all that well.

In later years, ideas of this kind, which flatter to deceive when they first come to mind, would sit on the jotter for years or for ever with just a few key words waiting for inspiration.

YOUNG ROGUES

(To the Tune of “Young Girl”)

 

INTRO – PC PLOD

Young rogues, offend all the time, delinquency is Britain’s top crime;

Tory old fogues will punish young rogues.

 

VERSE 1 – A TORY MINISTER (e.g. THE PM)

With all the charms of Atilla,

We’ve bred the outcasts of our youth;

We Tories do believe a short sharp shock behind the lock,

Will make these youngsters less uncouth.

 

CHORUS 1 – STILL THE TORY

Oh, oh, oh, young rogues, have got out of line,

We’ll build secure homes for them to serve time;

Read the Sun rogues, we should hang young rogues.

 

VERSE 2 – AN ANGLICAN MINISTER

Beneath their striped shirts and face masks,

They just are babies in disguise;

And as we know Tory policy is villainy,

The clergy wants to sympathise.

 

CHORUS 2 – STILL THE SOFT ANGLICAN

Oh, oh, oh, young rogues, are misunderstood,

And God believes all villains are good,

So have fun rogues, we forgive young rogues.

 

VERSE 3 – BACK TO THE PLOD

We take kids home to their mamas,

Who don’t care where their children are;

We want the law to make parents pay for kids affray,

Cos their misdeeds are down to pa.

 

CHORUS 3 – ALL THREE

Oh, oh, oh, young rogues, and juvenile crime,

We always claim “getting worse at this time”,

We can’t unfurl, the cause of young rogues.

Young rogues must follow our lead,

We teach them conflict, we teach them greed,

Do our dung vogues inspire the young rogues?

Below is a vid of Gary Puckett and the Union gap singing Young Girl:

Click here for the lyrics of Young Girl.

Hope Springs Eternal – A Long Weekend At Underleigh In Hope, Derbyshire, 26 February To 1 March 1993

Janie had originally intended to visit Phillie, Tony & Charlie in Germany that long weekend, but for reasons long since lost in the mists of time that idea fell through and I suggested, instead, a visit to Hope, in the Dark Peaks of Derbyshire.

Similar place.

The night before we set off reads “Lars Piss Up” in my diary, which I assume was the night of Lars Schiphorst‘s informal leaving do after work.

So I don’t suppose Janie and I set off for Derbyshire at the crack of dawn 26th.

I have/had long loved the Dark Peaks – one of the better kept secrets (amongst many) in the UK as places for stunning countryside, walking and away from the more touristic “usual suspect” places in the North.

In truth, the search for peace away from tourists in the beautiful parts of The North can be satisfied pretty much anywhere in February, but I didn’t know that back then.

Two or three years earlier, I had stumbled across a lovely place to stay, in Hope; Underleigh, when taking a brief sojourn out that way with Wendy Jacobi. We went at a more sensible time of year during 1990.

Lighter looking peaks, plus Wendy Jacobi, no doubt on the way to Hope

Anyway, I suggested Underleigh to Janie and booked it. My diary helped me to identify the place and TripAdvior lets me know that, 26 years later, it is still highly regarded.

The one thing that Janie didn’t like about the place was the communal dining. Dinner, bed and breakfast was the deal in those days (no more, it seems). One big table with an expectation that whoever is staying makes up an informal dinner party for that evening.

We live and learn. Janie has such an aversion to such notions she/we positively avoid such places these days. In the UK they are much rarer now in any case, as the more individualistic culture has swept away the communal, dinner party chic.

The food was good there, albeit a bit rich, I recall. The owner/patrons were very friendly and helpful; a different family now, more than quarter of a century later, I should imagine but rave reviews still.

I remember Janie and I kitting ourselves out for this winter walking trip, with a visit to Millets in Kensington, I think the weekend before when we were at mine.

I also recall the icy walking being really quite difficult and treacherous for us, despite our new clobber. All the gear, but no idea.

Darker peak view from the 1990 trip – no photos from the February 1993 with Janie

Somehow we survived – thrived even – nonetheless, resolving to persevere with hill walking but probably to choose less challenging routes and seasons in future.

The only other specific thing I remember about this trip was a drink in a pub at a suitable stopping point on one of our walks. Janie looked at pictures on the wall of locals from a gurning competition. Janie wondered what they were about so I explained about competitive gurning.

That’s not a very challenging thing to do as a competition…

…said Janie, which motivated one of the locals to chime in to our conversation…

…it’s a lot harder than it looks. You try it…

…so Janie did.

A subsequent gurn some years later, Ethiopia, 2005

The handful of locals were seriously impressed.

I think we might have been bought drinks all afternoon had we hung around in that pub, but we beat our retreat while we were still on top. As much as anything else, we wouldn’t have risked that icy hill walking after any more than one drink.

We have occasionally returned to the Derbyshire Peaks since, although we in the end sort-of made the North York Moors “our place” for that sort of stunning, quite-challenging hill walking.

Two Little Boys Stairway, Newsrevue Quickie, 25 February 1993

This will read like the weirdest lyric on earth without context, not least because, at the time of writing more than 25 years later (March 2018), Rolf Harris is mostly remembered for sex crimes.

But in February 1993, his “crime against music” was to record Stairway To Heaven in a jolly didgeridoo stylee – as reported in the Independent – click here.

Hence my lyric, which I don’t think was used much, if at all:

TWO LITTLE BOYS

(A Quickie to the Tune of “Stairway To Heaven”)

 

(This should emulate the Led Zeppelin sound as mush as possible, with the gentle guitar intro and a Robert Plant sound to the voice).

 

There were two little boys,

Who had two little toys;

And they each had a wooden horse.

 

And they both gaily played,

On those bright summer days;

They were warriors both of course.

 

(Getting increasingly angry – possibly even wielding a weapon at the end of the refrain)

 

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr;

And Rolf’s finding a sure way to heaven.

In case there is anyone reading this who doesn’t know what Stairway To Heaven sounds like…below is an embedded vid of Led Zeppelin doing their thing live:

If I Had A…, NewsRevue Running Gag Of Quickies (Unused), 25 February 1993

I can’t imagine why these weren’t used…

…oh, all right, I can imagine why they weren’t used.

At least they don’t exactly date.

                                                  IF I HAD A …..

(A running gag of quickies to the Tune of “If I had a Hammer”)

Guitarist gently strums the pleasant riff from this song.

He encourages the audience to sing along with him on the oohh oohhs each time.

 

QUICKIE 1 – STAMMER

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh,

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh;

If I had a stammer,

I’d stammer in the morning,

I’d s s s s s s;

 

QUICKIE 2 – HAMMOCK

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh,

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh;

If I had a hammock,

I’d (snorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr)

 

QUICKIE 3 – WHAMMER (not for children or people of a nervous disposition)

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh,

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh;

If I had a whammer,

I’d (makes wanking gesture) in the morning,

I’d (makes wanking gesture) in the evening,

All over this hand.

 

QUICKIE 4 – HUMMER

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh,

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh;

If I were a hummer,

I’d hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm,

Hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm,

Hm, hm, hm, hm, hm.

 

QUICKIE 5 – GRAMMAR

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh,

Oohh oohh, oohh, oohh, oohh oohh, oohh, oohh;

If I had no grammar,

I’d in the morning grammar,

I’d evening in the grammar…..(ends in confusion)

 

THAT’S ENOUGH “IF I HAD A…..” QUICKIES

Here and below is Trini Lopez singing If I Had A hammer – click through here to see the lyrics too:

Top Of The Pops Finance Medley, NewsRevue Lyrics, 21 February 1993

I seem to remember this one doing rather well in NewsRevue, but more in terms of its component parts being recycled than as a coherent whole…

…perhaps that’s because the medley is not much of a coherent whole, while the component parts are pretty good:

                                TOP OF THE POPS FINANCE/BUDGET SPECIAL

(A medley of songs and chart rundown for the 1993 Economy)

 

GORDON BROWN

(To the Tune of “Golden Brown”)

VERSE 1

Gordon Brown, Labour’s first son,

Scottish brogue, like a Glasweigan;

Throughout the weeks, talks through his cheeks,

Speaker may drown, with Gordon Brown.

VERSE 2

Gordon Brown, shadow finance,

Hates Lamont’s monetary stance;

Don’t reinflate, low interest rate,

Uniform pound, from Gordon Brown.

VERSE 3

Gordon Brown, thick wavy hair,

Don’t confuse, him with Tony Blair;

Fat cheeks and jowls, he always scowls,

‘cept when he frowns, that’s Gordon Brown.

(Optional fade out, as in original, “Never a clown, with Gordon Brown”)

 

CHART RUNDOWN – (CHOOSE YOUR OWN DJ)

What a simply sensational sound that is, at number seven, the Economic Stranglers with Gordon Brown.  And now, here is the rundown of the rest of this week’s Top of The Pops Finance/Budget charts:

At number 6 we have a double A side from Shalamar, “Take That to the Bank of England” and “I owe you one-hundred-billion”

Down to number 5 we have “Money’s Too Tight To Mention” from Simply In The Red

Still moving up, at number 4 is “Busy Doing Nothing” by over three million people and rising

For the 30th week running at number 3 “Float on” by E.R.M.

Still at number 2 (but only just) is “You Won’t Find Another Fool Like Me” by Norman Lamont

And this weeks new number one is Jolted John by Jolted John Major

 

JOLTED JOHN

(To the Tune of “Jilted John”)

VERSE 1 – JOHN MAJOR

I’ve a podgy thick chancellor, his name is Norman,

Has a face that could crack glass, just like Teressa Gorman.

(And this is what he said)

VERSE 2 – JOHN MAJOR

He said listen John, we’ve fucked up, I can’t get no more money,

We can’t put up income tax, so we must raise more VAT.

(I asked him some considerably difficult questions at this juncture)

VERSE 3 – JOHN MAJOR

Who won’t lend us money? “IMF” was his reply,

“Not more cuts” I said dismayed, “Yes, we’ll need more cuts” he cried.

(He’s more of a heartless bastard than I’ll ever be, I was not inconsiderably upset, oh yes)

VERSE 4 – JOHN MAJOR

I was so upset that I cried all the way to the parliament,

When I came out there was Gordon standing on the pavement.

(That’s Gordon Brown, the shadow chancellor.  And guess who was with him?  Yeh, Margaret Beckett.  And they were both laughing at me.)

VERSE 5 – GORDON BROWN AND MARGARET BECKETT (perhaps with audience participation)

Oh you are dumb and spineless, to not pack in Norman,

Just cos you’ve no-one better than he, just cos you both are friendly.

But we know he’s a moron, (Norman is a moron, Norman is a moron, Norman is a moron).

Click here or watch below a video with Golden Brown by the Stranglers. If you click here, you can read their lyrics too:

Click here or below for a video of Jilted John:

If you want the lyrics for Jilted John – click here.

The Game Of Love And Chance by Pierre Marivaux, Cottesloe Theatre, 20 February 1993

The Theatricalia entry for this production can be found here.

What a cast: Maggie Steed, Trevor Baxter, Caroline Quentin, Peter Wingfield, Stefan Bednarczyk, Marcello Magni. Joint directors Mike Alfreds and Neil Bartlett.

No wonder I was keen to see it.

Still, I don’t think Janie and I were wild about this one. I was fast learning that Janie doesn’t like classics as much as she likes modern pieces, nor does she like farce. Marivaux was never likely to float Janie’s boat.

Yet worse, from a “what Janie does and doesn’t like” point of view, this production had re-located the piece in the 1930’s, adding a Cowardesque flavour to it that didn’t go down well with the reviews that are currently ( as I write in 2019) on-line/clippable.

Despite that, the sheer weight of talent on show carried the day for us, as we both found the production entertaining and could not question its quality of production.

Below is Michael Billington’s review from the Guardian:

Billington Game Of LoveBillington Game Of Love Wed, Jan 13, 1993 – 26 · The Guardian (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com

Below is Michael Coveney’s review from the Observer:

Coveney Game Of Love & ChanceCoveney Game Of Love & Chance Sun, Jan 17, 1993 – 47 · The Observer (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com

DJ At His House, 19 February 1993

Neither Janie nor I recall a great deal about this particular evening. I think it was the only time I went to DJ’s place in Steeles Mews for dinner and I think there were a fair few of us there.

I can see from the diaries that Janie and I had arranged to stay at my place for the weekend, not least because we had theatre at the National the next day:

I’m pretty sure we ate and drank well at DJ’s that evening – that much I do remember.

I Don’t Care ‘Bout My Baby, NewsRevue Lyric, 16 February 1993

The papers were full of the story of actress Yasmine Gibson swanning off to the Costa del Sol, leaving her daughter Gemma home alone.

This link term – click here – finds what little can still be found on-line on the news story. Click here for an interesting take on the story, by Lynn Barber, which suggests that the tabloid press intervention might have done more harm than good. Even 25 years ago this stuff about press freedom and intrusion was debated.

As I write 25 years later, I recalled my lyric and the performance of it far more vividly than the news story itself. Victoria Jeffrey was the actress who performed it in NewsRevue and I remember her slovenly-looking, sangria-swilling, belting performance, as the mothervividly. It went down a storm.

Here’s the lyric. Strong lyric, but weak ending – perhaps the cast improved on that.

I DON’T CARE ‘BOUT MY BABY

(To the Tune of “Take Good Care Of My Baby”)

 

INTRO – YASMINE

My tears are falling cos the papers cause me pain,

But tho’ they’ve really hurt me so, I’m glad I’m here boozing in Spain.

 

CHORUS 1 – STILL YASMINE

I don’t care ’bout my baby, I’m not as kind as mums should be;

The tabloids say I fail her, some loony may impale her,

While I’m out quaffing G&T.

 

CHORUS 2 – LITTLE JEMMA

I don’t care if my mummy, will ever reappear from Spain;

Newspapers all tell fibs on, the state of Jemma Gibson,

While mum is knocking back Champagne.

 

MIDDLE BIT 1 – STILL LITTLE JEMMA

Once up a time, my freedom wasn’t crime,

Now mum has flown, the papers say I’m home alone, so

 

CHORUS 3 – YET MORE LITTLE JEMMA

I’m in care since my mummy, has left me in the house for weeks;

I entertained all my friends, held parties on the weekends,

That’s stopped now we’ve been shopped by tabloid sneaks.

 

CHORUS 4 – BACK TO YASMINE

I don’t care ’bout my baby, I like to go out for some fun;

I know I’m not a has-been, you’ve now all heard of Yasmine,

Front page of Mirror, Star and Sun.

 

MIDDLE BIT 2 – STILL YASMINE AGAIN

My good name’s been stained, since little Jemma claimed,

Reckless abandon, and I don’t have a leg to stand on, cos

 

CHORUS 5 – YASMINE CONCLUDES

I don’t care ’bout my baby, but she’s a cow to grass on me;

I’ll keep her in the kitchen, one day I’ll do that bitch in,

And eat my baby up whole for tea.

Here’s a charming video of Bobby Vee singing “Take Good Care Of My Baby” with a gratuitous crowd of young women in short skirts clapping out of sync with each other and even more out of sync with the beat of the tune. Honestly my dad’s home vids back then (c1961) were better quality cinematography than this:

Also, here is a link to Carole King’s charming lyrics to Take Good Care Of My Baby.

I wrote a Version 2 of this lyric in August 1993 for a chorus of slovenly holiday-making mothers:

WE DON’T CARE ‘BOUT OUR BABIES

(To the Tune of “Take Good Care Of My Baby”)
 
INTRO – NEGLIGENT MOTHERS
 
Our tears are falling cos the papers cause us pain,
But tho’ they’ve really hurt us so, we’re glad we’re here boozing in Spain.
 
VERSE 1 – NEGLIGENT MOTHERS
 
We don’t care ’bout our babies, we’re not as kind as mums should be;
The tabloids say we fail ’em, some loony may impale ’em,
While we’re out quaffing G&T.
 
VERSE 2 – SPROGS
 
We don’t care if our mummies, will ever reappear from Spain;
We don’t think they are sinful, we too shall have a skin full,
While they’re out knocking back Champagne.
 
Once up a time, our freedom wasn’t crime,
Now they have flown, the papers say we’re home alone, so
 
We’re in care since our mummies, have left us in the house for weeks;
We entertained all our friends, held parties on the weekends,
That’s stopped now we’ve been shopped by tabloid sneaks.
 
VERSE 3 – BACK TO THE EVIL MUMS
 
We don’t care ’bout our babies, we like to get away for fun;
Newspapers all are stalking, the evil mums of Dorking,
Front page of Mirror, Star and Sun.
 
Our good names are stained, since Britain’s papers claimed,
Reckless abandon, and we don’t have a leg to stand on, cos
 
We don’t care ’bout our babies, but we’re not as bad as all that,
Those kids had us arrested, ‘tho’ they were not molested,
Once we get out again we’ll kill those brats.