Boss Radio

Or at the very least, a life back in the day.

There I was minding my own business wandering through a few friend's blogs, and you know how it is, you spot an interesting little comment down the sidebar and you just have to go and check up on what it's all about. And so it was that I found myself perusing Mags' charming little blog where, in my usual idiot manner I left a reply that was at best at more than a slight tangent to the tone of the whole piece, in which mention was made of a safety pin.

Mags seized upon the safety pin element of my reply, probably because it was the only point at which two words actually seemed to belong together in the whole piece. I as per normal (For me) made what I thought was a throw-away one liner about the significance of safety pins in what has become my world.

This was again pounced upon, this time by another of Mags' respondents (I remember their name, but not how to spell it), who demanded an explanation. In short shrift Mags too demanded further explanation. I was left at the crossroads, so to speak, how was I to explain in a suitably humorous fashion that there was no significant safety pin related skeleton in my cupboard (Even the one connected to Narnia) without making me, them, or all of us feel a bit silly?

And as I thought all the more about this problem, it slowly occurred to me that there was indeed such an incident, which had obviously hidden itself away in the darkest recesses of the canyons of my mind.

Yes. You can hear the theme from The Twighlight Zone from somewhere far behind you.

Unless you're hard of hearing.

Once Upon A Time In The West (Well, west of here anyway).

Many years ago in those halcyon days of the swingin' 60s I played in a group. This was no big deal, nearly everyone played in a group. In the earliest days of my musical career my then group, The Nightwreckers, played in a talent competition, and we defeated the group led by the man who later became Gary Glitter. So much for talent competitions then. Actually we came in 8th, he came in 13th...

But we all moved on, and in a later incarnation I was playing in a group now called The Unnamed (We once did a gig supported by a group called Various Others. I wish I'd kept a copy of one of those posters. "The Unnamed, supported by Various Others"... I think most people came out of curiosity) and we entered another competition.

Come the day and I was selecting my clothing for the big show. This was not normally a problem as we all flew in the face of the Mod revolution by wearing black faux-leather jackets - The real thing would have been just too hot - and blue jeans. For reasons unbeknownst to me, vanity maybe, or rank stupidity perhaps, I decided to wear my black leather trousers. How could we lose?

About twenty minutes before we were due on I decided I needed a pee. Not surprising given the amount of Coca-Cola I'd knocked back at other people's expense. Somewhere between the urinal and the washbasin I yanked my zip-fly up, and it promptly came undone again. I gave it a second pull only to realise that it had come completely off the tracks. Panic time. But help was a hand. Our ever ready manager had a spare of almost everything in his van, and whilst he couldn't supply a new pair of trousers, he did have a nice big, sturdy safety pin.

I carefully applied the pin and my trousers had never felt so firmly fastened. Moments later, supremely confident, I stepped on stage.

The previous acts had already whipped the audience up into a frenzy, and this being the 60s girls were squealing and/or screaming at every little thing. Personally I blame what happened next on that. Feeling even more enthused than usual I was gyrating even more than normal, and normal for me was a perverse cross somewhere between Elvis Presley and Lonnie Donegan. The safety pin just couldn't hold it.

But still it clung on, bravely holding the sides of my flies shut even though it had come undone. Because fortunately the sharp bit had found something else to hold on to.

Seldom have I thrown so much anguish into our songs, and it's no small wonder that we woncame in 3rd.

Sometimes people ask me why I still struggle on with button flies. I reply that I prefer them. Now you know why I prefer them.

If a button goes, you don't need a safety pin to protect your modesty. You just need to hold your breath.