Before you ask me, yes I did!
I ambushed 10cc backstage at the Gibraltar Music Festival.
Real rock stars smooching up to the Mistress of Sizzle. Wowser! Just for a photograph, of course.
It was on my ‘Beckett List’.
And all above board – I had a Press Pass.
But before you ask me, no I didn’t!
Get a scoop, that is. The boys had a date with Mandy (or whatever the Chief Stewardess was called on their flight back to London).
And before you say it, yes, I know!
I’m no spring rock chick. So? Graham Gouldman – the only ‘original’ band member in 10cc’s current line-up – is nine years older than me.
From the first twangs of Wall Street Shuffle (about all some of us can manage, these days) it was pure nostalgia – the day Glastonbury came to Gibraltar, without the mud and loose morals: 18 acts, two stages and 12 hours of non-stop entertainment. For €50 (or zero if you were under 12) it was a no-brainer. If you didn’t go you need your head examined.
Sucks to Simon Cowell – X Factor’s not all about having an Olly Murs baby face (although he was there, too, and he is quite cute). From their a cappella version of Donna to their “Don’t like Gibraltar – we love it” twist to Dreadlock Holiday, 10cc proved they’re old pros, and never mind the paunches, wrinkles and 50 shades of grey hair.
I saw one or two groups of ‘teeny-boppers’ with looks on their faces that said: “What is this music!”. But just because the lyrics rhyme and mention rubber bullets and love rather than rubbers and sex, it doesn’t mean we’re ingénues. Go ask your grandad how 10cc really got its name (I’d better not tell you here, this is a family newspaper.)
Perhaps it’s a Woodstock Generation thing (a bit before my time, she smirked) but we old rockers were rolling, shaking the booties we used to have and casting caution and bingo wings to the wind.
Rock on man! Life is a Minestrone and age is a state of mind!
Unfortunately, age is also a state of body and mine wasn’t in great shape, the following morning…
The things we do for love of a good ‘twerk’, as they call it these days. I used to be able to groove all night (as we used to call it) and perform a full lotus while standing on my head next morning, no sweat. These days I break out just putting on a pair of tights, requiring adoption of the foetal position.
Who was it said ‘the aging process is not great past 50, unless you are a cheese’? It’s that dreaded watershed when one good night out costs days in recovery and the photos your mates took of you dancing around your handbag are a grim study of your eye bags dancing around your face.
The worst of it all is that, on the inside, we baby boomers still feel like spring chickens, even if the younger generation would classify us as old boiling fowl. Sadly, it doesn’t necessarily follow that we suddenly start fancying wrinkly, balding old men, even if it’s all we attract these days. I used to think Mark King of Level 42 was really hot until I saw him in the flesh. Sadly, he’s more of a Level 42+, these days. But to hell with it, he still slaps a mean bass guitar.
Some people give in to the arrival of old age gracefully and take up knitting, bingo and Coronation Street. That way, they avoid the horrible truth that they are no longer able to dance to more than one James Brown track without recourse to an asthma inhaler.
Not this rock chick. She’s gonna be sashayin’ to Sex Machine until her body parts go rusty and doin’ the funky chicken ’til her wings drop off!
I subscribe to the Dylan Thomas School of Thought: “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light”.
It wasn’t a philosophy that did the Welsh bard any good because he pegged out from alcohol abuse at the age of 39… But it’s the thought that counts…
You’re never too old to start a blog, either! If you’re thinking about it, have a laugh at my expense in Giving Birth to a Website.