Oh the 1970's and the glamour of it all

We close our eyes to time slipping away

It must be that time of the month again. Yeah, I know, I haven't been here for a while what with one thing and another. And another thing. And another. And thing. And. A. But hey, distance or is it time makes the heart grow fonder - or is was that Jane? Or Henry. Oh God

Well, whatever happened - it was worth waiting just for the fantastic picture above, was it not. I thought so. I really did.

Saw Marc Almond last Thursday and he was looking mighty well. I think he identifies with me now, and we are similar in many ways. For example, I get a standing ovation when I walk into the Royal Festival Hall and Marc lives in Bermondsey. We're practically the same person living parallel lives - oh hang on that doesn't work. Sliding Doors kind of thing. Nope, still not happening.

Anyway, there I was today happy as Leonard Rossiter with a glass of Cinzano, bravely battling across Tower Bridge on my bicyclette, when the bloody light goes red and I have to sit there for ten minutes while some poxy wooden boat with an oversized mast passes by causing the bridge to open and half of London to come to a standstill. But the moment was saved for me entirely when a big fellow on a white BMW motorbike pulls up alongside me. With podgy white fingers he lights a Silk Cut and as he exhales smoke into the morning air, he cranks up the volume on his stereo (yes, speakers on the side of the bike) and what cool tune blasts forth? We Close Our Eyes by Go West - and I think it was the remix because it was still going when the gates opened and we sallied forth once more. I sniggered all the way to the squished egg.

I'll be back.

He was there, I was there, and the equilibrium of life as we know was restored