Move over Cliff, the undisputed Peter Pan of Pop is
definitely Paul Jones.
At a mere 73 years old, Paul Jones is touring non-stop with the
Manfreds; the Blues Band and Dave Kelly.
Added to that, he’s recording solo albums along the way and also
hosts a show on Radio 2 on Monday nights, just in case he’s bored.
He quite possibly does lots more than this but, I’m sorry,
this is all I’m aware of.
But more importantly – he looks fabulous!
Playing gooseberry – as, sadly, I now tend to do, – I recently
accompanied Paula and Tom, and our hostess Andrea, to a Manfred’s gig in Burnley.
It was worth every penny of the twenty quid for the
ticket. It was worth the twenty quid
just to hear their rendition of 5,4,3,2,1!
This was followed by many more hits from the 60s: Pretty
Flamingo, Do Wah Diddy, Diddy; Hubble Bubble; If you Gotta Go, Go now; Sha La
La; The Mighty Quinn… and so many many more….
And there was the amazing Tom McGuinness, looking every inch
the grinning Capo-di-Monte-, not about to disappoint the audience with his
fabulous and timeless ‘When I’m Dead and
Gone….!
So, the combined age of the band was quite possibly in the
region of 230 or maybe 250 years old, and
they have been singing these songs for at least 50 years and quite possibly much
longer.
The audience, not surprisingly, was more than a little
crinkly and made the band look positively juvenile. Being a mere slip-of-a-lass in my late
fifties I was compelled to get off my seat and dance in the aisles. I was accompanied by my sister Paula and
friend Andrea, but sadly, not another soul felt the compulsion to leap from
their seat and prance about like a bit of a prat at the front of the
house. I wonder if this is because they
had not consumed quite as much Pinot?
Maybe….
But it seems rude to me to merely sit there tapping a lame
foot. I mean … these guys are trying….! And they are old!
Anyway, after the show, the relatively young saxophonist
thanked me for my dancing efforts as he signed my programme. ‘Oh I hope I wasn’t embarrassing,” I
said, ‘nobody else got up.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t think they could.’
Oh dear!
Well, bit of a prat or not, we had a fabulous time!
But this was not the end of it. Our delightful hostess had surpassed herself
in her thoughtful preparation and
planned a trip the following day to the quaint little town of Clitheroe. A town where the residents are expected to
have wealth, and whose shops and restaurants are designed to strip it from
them. Okay, the place makes room for the
obligatory charity shops, but, as Tom said, even the vagabonds in Clitheroe are
stylish!
The town hosts the most amazing wine shop in the world, but,
and I know this is hard to believe, I didn’t buy a single bottle!.
Andrea, rather nervously took us to our designated lunch
venue. I say nervously, because she has
heard how tetchy I can be when it comes to lunch venues. (See previous blog!)
We found ourselves in the Emporium, where, I am told,
everything is for sale. - even the table
you are seated around and the seat you are sat upon. I understand people have had their table
removed before they have finished their soup in order to accommodate the whim
of an impatient buyer! Thankfully, we
were spared this intrusion and we finished our lunch in peace.
So thank you Andrea for a fabulous weekend and, if I’m not
mistaken, the next lucky fella to see us strutting our stuff will be in
Scarborough and no other than the stupendous Sir Tom Jones!
Bring it on!
