I was one of the first to be approached, of course. The phone goes just as Michael Buerk's heart-rending report is coming to an end, so I don't get to find out if Chinese scientists have had any luck artificially inseminating Cha-Chi with Chin-Chu's sperm. Ah, bless! I pick up. "Bob?? Id's me - Bob" "Oh, hi Bob." "Focken shuddit and lisden willya? Midge and me are puddn a show dogedder and yer'd bedder focken well do it - We've got Bowie, Queen, Macca, Ferry, de Who, Dire Straits, U2 - Springsdeen's donadin' his PA and we've god Harvey Goldsmid in charge of de dickeding - sorry I've god a focken derrible cold, I hope yer geddin' all dis. Sdadus Quo have said dey'll open - well, dere'll be no boggers dere, will dere, so whad harb cad id do? - and Phil Collins has already bagged de firsd class on Concorde, play ad bodh shows gig, but dere's sdill a space so some old hasbeen can dwang dheir way troo a few old prodesd songs backed by a couple of very pissed Rolling Stones. So Bob, will yer focken well do id or whad, y'old eejit???" Well, what could I say? Although I have to admit I was a bit confused when he signed off by asking me if I'd mind doing him a special favour and including a couple of numbers from Nashville Skyline...
Still, a gig's a gig.
L.U.V. on y'all,