THEME FOR A DREAM #1
There's been talk of a Bones version of 'Big Brother'. The production, like the talk, would necessarily be cheap. It'll be called 'Big Bertha' !
Here's the SP. - The band get to live in the tidal underground closet of an abandoned off-shore lighthouse, and spend £67 a week on cheap cider, £30 on rolling baccy and the rest of the ton on rice & onion bhajis, unless they need more skins.
It won't be a summer holiday, no way. They'll sleep 'til tea-time every day, (or high tide, whichever comes first), then lig about until dawn when they should be rehearsing 'Weather Report' (or similar) because they have to play it at the end of the week for Big Bertha or she stops the free cheese ration and sends Saddo, Nickerless, Moon Unit or the Tunnel Gob in instead.
(Suicide job, that . . . . . or there's 'The Malkie' . . . Timmy'd have a broken stick somewhere that could be whittled down to suit . . . . yeah . . . no qualms there, eh ? . . . Strong tide . . deep water . . yeah, public service !)
There wouldn't be chickens, no . . . with us it'd have to be crabs. Yeah, crabs 'n' lobsters . . . an' conger eels . . . an' sharks too . . . . an' a budgie to feed on all the scraps . . !
The Pudgy Kludgie Budgie !
The whole place is gonna be on Kludgie-Cam, wired for sound and there'll be loads of shags, (and possibly the screeching will be complemented by one or two frenzied fulmar as well).
(N.B. If you EVER encounter the above apparition, GO HOME !!
It means you are as pissed as a fart . . completely rat-arsed!
Take it from one who most certainly knows. I see him a lot !)
We'll work on a concept album while we're there. "St. Kilda". (Despite these potentially religious overtones, they can keep the failed nun as we don't need another crap guitarist.)
"St. Kilda with a mop
Cleans the kludgie from bottom to top
" . . etc.(On second thoughts, she did tidy up a bit . . )
Timmy'll be doing a poster anyday soon . . . Haunting . . Misty . . Sea . . Silence . . . . . Yeah ! . . . Millions of Fuck All . . Spooky . . . but Kool !
Yeah, windy too on them crags . . . Whoops ! Crivvens ! Help ma Boab. Yon Mickey's awa' . . . . . . Wull ye no' come back again ?
(Trev sez 'Negatory !')
We get to nominate each other for expulsion and you good people get to vote one of us out of the band every week.
Now, as Dave reckons he's the only one who knows the 'approximate'
(carefully chosen word) words or the chords, and because he's the only one whose gear works every time, it's likely he'll be the eventual OneManBone and win the seventy pence off quilted bogroll voucher, (which he'll likely be gagging for by then).Congratulations !
The rest of us'll be quite happy joining Denny back in licensed premises from week two onwards, 'cos he's bound to have organised a jam with Para Handy and the offshore accordian band, and there'll be a bonny lass goin' roond wi' a glass . . . The Hendersons will all be there, (all sporting Pablo Fanques' Fair Isle hankies) . . . so should the famous Farquharsons and, no doubt, the McGregors wouldn't miss it for the world !
Laffin Bones vs Laphroaig feat. T'n'T on Bass an' drums . . Dynamite . .
(or similar, maybe Pig's Nose or Sheep Dip) ! !
If someone's gonna get extra wasted it'll be me, or Timmy, or Denny. (It won't be Davey, he has to stay awake to remember the chords . . )
Heigh - Ho ! . . . Hebridean Heaven . . . Halloooo !
Hee-hee ! . . Hic ! ! . . . HEEEave - Ho . . . Hey up, who's this ?
"Whoa, boys. Yiz dinna want tae offend the Laird. His brither is the Procurator Fiscal, ye ken . .".
(We say "Yeah". We say it a lot . . . Kool . . . Like Bix . . )
Hell, we could even have the album done and mixed before Davey got back with his customary last minute surprise re-arrangements. Now, there's a thought . . . Oops, I've said too much and let the rather large feral cat out of the ' Wee-aff-the-shooder-bag.' Now the scheming and counter-plotting will begin. Watch this space, or not.
Meanwhile, at the pre-production meeting on the Rialto, it goes something like . .
"Yah, I envisage a profoundly significant and definitively meaningful socio-political discourse
- blah - vis-à-vis polymorphic yet empirically observable dyads and triads in a true blue collar Gestalt Vérité - blah - blah - twin polemics of received wisdom and non-judgmental neo-recidivism - blah - blah - blah - simultaneously heralds the dawn of a New Age and addresses the perennial Cheese Question - blah - blah - blah - informing and underpinning as it does - blah - blah - blah - quintessentially defining the zeitgeist of New Millennium Man - blah - blah - blah - heuristically, even holistically mapping out discrete tranches of our Collective Cosmic Consciousness - blah - blah - blah - challenging accepted parameters of absolute antithetical abstraction - blah - blah - blah - and I, for one, am getting jolly gripped by the prospect and so, I expect, are the rest of the resident on-board psycho-babbling cohort"."Haway, Peregrine man. It'll be a canny piss-up for the lads !"
I'll bet some bugger steals the idea . . . . My money's on Wot'sname ? You know, him out of the Mirror ? If he was as famous as he seems to believe he deserves to be, I wouldn't have forgotten his name, now would I ? - We don't talk any more, but what do they say . . 'never trust anybody with three names' . . ? - Just look at that Rubik Kill-joy Swank ! - What's brown and slides around on stage ? - Show Biz ! - Wonder who cleans up after him ?
Thwrrupp . Thwrrupp . Thwrrupp . Thwrrupp.
Ploppitty-Ploppitty Plop Plop.
It did me good . . I knew it would . . It's a wonderful life . . .