A strange play, this. Here is a link to its Wikipedia entry. Writing about it 25 yrars later, it seems in some ways more relevant now than it did then, as evidenced by the several revivals of it in recent years.
And there was Janie and I thinking that we’d spent an evening seeing an interesting play by Caryl Churchill performed exceptionally well. What simple souls we were/are.
Clearly it was becoming a Sunday habit for me to write these lyrics for NewsRevue – all of the March 1994 ones were written on a Sunday – apart from one which I finished off on the Monday.
This one I didn’t finish off, nor, as a result, did I even catalogue it. I discover it now in the electronic folder with the others, looking sad and forgotten…
…which is exactly what it was.
_ COMEDY _
(To the Tune of "Tragedy")
VERSE 1
Here I lie in a lost and lonely Parliament, Screw a spy and appeal up to the firmament; Getting off with Bienvenida, Army toff those boss men need her, Holding them, moulding them, scolding them, balding men.
CHORUS 1
Comedy, when you need a fuck with a tart named Buck, A travesty, kissing in the dark with your research clerk, It’s tough out there, so men who are faithful are going nowhere. You’re history, with a Kings Cross slag or a plastic bag; It’s parody, when your MPs lie and you know well why, It’s hard to say, why men who hold power behave in this way.
VERSE 2
Ev’ry day another top dog bites the dust, Spokesmen say “a private tragedy”, you must… Not believe this explanation, They deceive, the entire nation; Absurdity with birds you see ain’t tragedy or savagery.
CHORUS 2
Comedy, when the knickers drop pants are down and the
Here are the Bee Gees singing Tragedy with the lyrics on the screen:
Yes, I think I can see what I was trying to doi here. Neat idea, reads quite well, but was not destined for a long run in the show, if indeed it got a go at all.
_ SHOOTING FOUR MORTARS AT HEATHROW _
(To the Tune of "24 Hours From Tulsa")
(Irish accents are virtually compulsory for this song)
VERSE 1
Gerry Adams, Called us to say that the IRA might not fight no more, But in the voice of an actor, He also said that we should get rid of our old mortars. So we were only taking four mortars to Heathrow, Only transporting our aged arms, Our Micra looked odd en route, With missiles aimed out the boot….
VERSE 2
Stuck in an M4 tailback, When we all saw the Excelsior with a huge car park, Right by a Heathrow runway, We stopped the car and aimed our mortars to fire after dark; Cos we were only, shooting four mortars at Heathrow, Only 24 yards from a plane; Some bastard sold us a pup, The fire bombs failed to erupt, But our car blew up.
(You could try an instrumental with a little Irish jig type dancing at this juncture, or you might decide to give that a miss)
VERSE 3
But still we’d left some mortars, Home we returned but as our car burned we went home by tube; Set off some more bombs remotely, Somewhere obscure like Terminal Four when the Queen was due. And we were only firing more mortars at Heathrow, Only discharging all of our arms; Our mortars were a damp squib, Security was so glib, Gave us the rib, So we shall never never never go there again….. ……ho, ho, ho, maybe?
Below is a video of Gene Pitney singing 24 Hours From Tulsa:
It transpired that he was also a neighbour of mine in Notting Hill Gate and a regular at our favourite Chinese restaurant around the corner, The Park Inn, where he and his family became nodding acquaintances of ours.
But I didn’t discover the latter until after I had written this lyric (and others) about him. As far as I know, Waldegrave never discovered that I, his fellow diner, was also that lyricist.
_ LITTLE WILLIE WALDEGRAVE _
(To the Tune of “Little Willy”)
(Abba wigs might come in handy for this song)
VERSE 1
Big lies, small lies, Little Willie Waldegrave’s so fair he’s a chevalier, Touchy, Duchy, Willie looks so silly with his bouffant funny looking hair; Way past one and Willie’s such a sight, Cos when Waldegrave debates he may talk all night, Hey there, stay there, grey hairs, flair.
CHORUS 1
Cos Little Willie Willie’s hair, won’t comb, And you can’t make Willie wear hair styling foam; Tried telling him that he looks like a coxcomb, Little Willie Willie’s hair, won’t comb.
VERSE 2
Left wing, right wing Little Wally Willie says its couth to express an untruth, Hanky-panky Willie drives em silly on Profumo and Hartley Booth, Tories sell arms to Iraq and Iran, But Willie pins the lies on James Callaghan, Forsooth, war sleuth, half-truth, proof.
CHORUS 2
Cos Little Willie Willie won’t tell lies, Though he says all other MPs tell pork pies; Now Willie Waldegrave’s the one they despise, Cos Little Willie says MPs tell lies.
CHORUS 3
Little Willie says he won’t resign, Though the Scott Inquiry says Willie did sign; He oughtta style hair like Michael Hestletine, Michael is ascendant while Willie’s in decline.
Here’s a video that plays Little Willy by The Sweet with the lyrics on screen:
While here is The Sweet on TOTP performing their song. Brian Connolly’s tank top and yellow outfit has to be seen to be believed – remember that this stuff was described as “Glam Rock” at the time, 1972:
Janie and I see a lot of theatre and on the whole go to see productions that we find good or very good. But just occasionally we see something that is a cut above and is truly memorable as one of the best productions we have ever seen.
That is how my memory (25 years later) recalls this adaptation/production of The Life Of Galileo and my log from the time registers the simple phrase, “excellent production”.
I enclose this weeks offerings and hope you like them. I have given you two versions of The Boy From New York City, as my song borrows structure from both.
The tape also includes a couple of tracks that Nick R Thomas asked me to tape for you; apparently you have his lyrics but couldn’t trace the tunes.
As I said on Thursday, your team are all bursting with talent. I’m sure that the run will be excellent once they all relax and enjoy themselves on stage (they were probably already doing just that by Friday last!)
Looking forward to seeing you all later in the week.
Yet another lyric which my log claims I penned on 6 March 1994. I’m not sure if this one was used or not; I don’t think it was…or if it was I don’t think it worked in the show.
Some good lines though, matching the lines from I Am The Walrus quite neatly.
_ THEY ARE THE TORIES _
(To the Tune of "I Am The Walrus")
VERSE 1
It’s absurd that such a turd as Douglas Hurd can run our foreign office; See how they run those bits of a gun see how the arms, are firing. Sitting in a courtroom, waiting for Lord Justice Scott, Parliamentary penguins tried to cover proof up, My they’ve all been naughty boys they are a wicked lot.
CHORUS 1
They are the egg heads {ooooh} they sold the war heads {ooooh}, They are the Tories, goob goob ga joob.
MIDDLE EIGHT
Sitting in a Baghdad garden waiting for the gun, If the gun don’t come, They’ll buy their Scuds from Georgia or from Ukraine.
CHORUS 2
They are the despots {ooooh}, they have the death squads {ooooh}, They are the warlords, goob goob go joob.
VERSE 2
Matrix Churchill bosses were still going down Old Bailey thanks to you, Ministers all signed except for Heseltine says Justice Scott’s, inquiry; (Inquiry, inquiry, inquiry.) Yellow man don’t trust Hurd, Although he can speak Mandarin; Mahatir Mohamad’s angry in Malaysia, Cos the English press say’s he made on the Pergau Dam.
CHORUS 3
They were the aid men {ooooh}, now there’s no trade men {ooooh}, They are the Tories, goob goob ga joob goob goob goob ga joob ga goob. Oompa oompa stuff Kuala Lumpur, Kuala Lumpur stick it up your jumper, oompa oompa damn Kuala Lumpur…….(exit gracefully).
Here is a video of The Beatles singing I Am The Walrus:
…but it is incomplete and I didn’t even catalogue it, so my guess is that I felt it was less than satisfactory and was waiting for inspiration and/or the news to revive it…
…then I forgot all about it for 25 years.
Anyway, here it is. The idea of Hillary Clinton belting a lyric to the tune of Respect still pleases me…but probably not quite this lyric.
_ REJECT _
(To the Tune of "Respect")
VERSE 1
Hilary Clinton that’s me, Bill should be a lot more PC; All I’m asking is for a little less sex with bimbos {just a little bit, just a little bit} ‘Specially when I’m home, {just a little bit, just a little bit}
VERSE 2
Bill ain’t very strong, when it comes to women, wrong woman All I’m askin Hit it, Billy C (Sax Solo)
VERSE 3 give you money return honey give me proper home re re
MIDDLE EIGHT A REJECT That’s what Bill considers me DISSECT I should cut off his willy.
OUTRO Sock it to him sock it to him sock it to him sock it to him, Sock it to him sock it to him sock it to him sock it to him, just a little
Here is Aretha Franklin singing Respect with the lyrics on the screen:
While I’m at it, here is Otis Redding, who wrote the song, performing it live. Personally I love both the Otis and the Aretha versions of this song:
Uploading this part of my lyric archive some 25 years after the event, April 2019, makes me realise that accusations of Presidential corruption in the USA are more commonplace than we tend to remember. Trump might be more awful and cartoon-villain-like than his predecessors, but many have had scandals hanging over their heads for much of their presidency.
I don’t recall this lyric being used much, if at all. Some good lines though. I had to look up Bernard Nussbaum – White House Counsel under Clinton…
…and I still couldn’t spell “Hillary” in 1994.
_ THE GRAFT IN LITTLE ROCK CITY _
(To the Tune of "The Boy From New York City")
INTRO – THE PRESS
De dum de, dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-de-dum, De-dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-de-dum; Oh-wah, oh-wah, cool cool Hilly, tell us how you worked with Governor Billy, Oh-wah, oh-wah, Hilary Clinton, tell us all the things that you know went on.
VERSE 1 – HILARY CLINTON
We lived before, in Arkansas {yeh, yeh}, Which is the poorest US state you ever saw {yeh, yeh}; Bill’s a dope, who comes from Hope, But with me pulling all his strings maybe he can cope {uh, uh}. Oh-eee, you’ve gotta all believe, he don’t inhale {oh no} and don’t tell tales {oh no}.
MIDDLE EIGHT 1 – HILARY CLINTON
Bill thought that Whitewater was bonny, but still refused to sign; He sold his colleagues up the Swanee, like Michael Hesteltine.
VERSE 2 – HILARY CLINTON
Oh-wah, oh-wah, we’ve no pity, tell us about the graft in Little Rock City; Oh-wah, oh-wah, come on Hilary, the papers say that you both were ancillary. I had a shock, in Little Rock {yeh, yeh}, When all those stories broke on where Bill stuck his cock {yeh, yeh}; If its true, he’s in deep doo-doo, A la recherche de Paula Jones and Sally Perdue {who they?}. Oh-eee, a press conspiracy, on how Bill grafts {yeh, yeh} and how he shafts {yeh yeh}.
MIDDLE EIGHT 2 – HILARY CLINTON
Now we’re in trouble for Whitewater, but if Bill’s got some sense; He’ll take a tip from Shirley Porter, and shred all evidence; that’s smart.
OUTRO – PRESS AND HILARY OVERLAPPING LINES
{HILARY:Well alright, so he’s thick, PRESS:Oh-wah, oh-wah, don’t be shitty, blow the gaff on graft in Little Rock City;} {HILARY:But he’ll blame it all on Bernard Nussbaum so the flack don’t stick…. PRESS:Oh-wah, oh-wah, come on Hilary, the papers say the Clintons were ancillary} (Repeat, dancing off)
Andra Dean recently (August 2020) found the above photograph, which she chose to e-mail to me wondering whether I remembered the infamous “Fruit ‘n’ Nut evening.
Of course I remembered it…vaguely. As did Andrea. We swapped notes.
It was supposed to be a bridge evening at Andrea’s place in Ormiston Grove, Shepherd’s Bush. Somebody didn’t turn up, so we couldn’t play bridge.
Andrea had been given the game Fruit ‘n’ Nut, probably Me magazine, possibly as a freebie and/or perhaps to review for the magazine.
At least three of us, possibly with an additional non-bridge playing fourth person, got really quite drunk and played Fruit ‘n’ Nut instead.
The juxtaposition of a citrus fruit in my mouth in the photograph suggests temporal proximity to the demise, in February 1994, of Stephen Milligan, who sadly died of autoerotic asphyxiation in similar circumstances…
…by which I mean “with an orange in his mouth”, not “while playing Fruit ‘n’ Nut round Andrea’s place”.
But returning to Shepherd’s Bush and the Fruit ‘n’ Nut evening, my abiding mystery questions revolve around who else was there and why we didn’t have four for bridge.
Around that time, we were mostly playing at my place, Daniel’s place or Andrea’s place. For some months, Marianne (Maz) had not been the fourth bridge person as she and Daniel had split up. For reasons known only to Daniel and Maz, it was Daniel who “got” me and Andrea as bridge companions in the “Daniel & Maz split settlement”. Later, when Daniel took the only practical step possible to avoid playing bridge with us – emigrating to Australia – Maz rejoined us and became a regular part of our irregular bridge arrangements for many years.
Anyway, I have a funny feeling that Daniel was part of the Fruit ‘n’ Nut mayhem, but I don’t know who the missing fourth person might have been. Tessa certainly became part of the group around that time – perhaps she had to withdraw at the last minute or something.
I don’t know why I associate Wendy with that evening – it might be a false memory – but it is the sort of crazy evening memory that tends to have Wendy’s fingerprints over it. Perhaps it was one of those evenings when Wendy had a go at playing bridge but we all gave up on the bridge idea early in favour of the fascinating and sophisticated card-based game that is Fruit ‘n’ Nut.
Anyway, this piece is a shout out to whoever else might have been there. Please let me and Andrea know if you were one of the Fruit ‘n’ Nut cases that evening. You can send us a private message if you wish, but public confessions as comments on this piece would be even more welcome.
Then there’s the question of what the game Fruit ‘n’ Nut is about. What is its central conceit? What are the nuances that make this game truly special? Is it comparable with bridge in terms of its call on cognitive ability and mental stamina?
Basically I remembered Fruit ‘n’ Nut as a slightly elaborated version of snap, with bespoke cards and a bell.
I recall distinctly that the amount of fun and profound meaning we were getting out of playing the game increased as the evening wore on. This might be because it is one of those games whose subtleties become apparent the more you play it…or it might be because we were all getting drunk as the evening wore on.
Andrea has gone one better than my dodgy memory. It’s the investigative journalist in her I guess. Andrea has researched the origins of the game on-line, even finding an instructional video.
It seems that Fruit ‘n’ Nut has different names in different places. In the USA it is known as Halli Galli. The above video is worth the investment of 2’20” for its serious mode of delivery if nothing else. It explains the game in excruciating detail and describes it as a blend of “dexterity and quick math skills”.
My recollection, in our version, was a requirement not only to strike the bell but also to ejaculate the phrase, “fruit and nut” as vociferously as possible. Was this our own playing condition or does this form part of the UK rule book?
In the matter of tennis in the 1870s, naturally the Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC) was called upon to standardise and codify laws for the nascent sport of lawn tennis, as it had done for cricket and for real tennis.
I wonder whether the good services of the MCC might be called upon again, to become the international guardian of the laws of Fruit ‘n’ Nut. Indeed, not only the laws but also the spirit of the game, which is surely the very essence of the honourable sporting activity that is Fruit ‘n’ Nut. In particular, no “early peek” at the card you are about to turn over when it is your turn to lay a card.
Perhaps also there should be a dress code for the game. I’d suggest whites, but then as an MCC cricket and tennis sort of fellow, you’d expect nothing else.
Sadly, my sartorial standards back then were well below the requisite for such a sport, as the photograph from the evening sadly attests.
Even more sadly, the results of our matches were not recorded, so they are lost in the mists of time. I’m pretty sure that my ability to recognise shapes and count to five would not have been diminished by alcohol, although my bell-thumping speed and dexterity might have been adversely affected.
Billington On The Skriker Sat, Jan 29, 1994 – 24 · The Guardian (London, Greater London, England) · Newspapers.com
