Pretty Pink Rose...

Ziggy has arranged for pop singer Pink to pop over to help me out with some backing vocals on a new track I'm working on. It needs someone to cover the low notes I can't quite reach these days - plus, being rather on the strapping side, The Pinkster's a pretty useful young lad to have hanging around if you need a Marshall stack or two lugging about the studio - it's as much as I can do to pick up a pack of joss sticks with my lumbago. So I'm a bit confused when a well-put together blonde lady shows up at the door in a halter neck top and side-tied lacy knickerbockers and not much else. "Sorry love, the meter's already been read - last Tuesday. Now hop it before I give the managing director of Eon a stiff talking to. I know Sir Alan Sugar you know - and I was Hilton John's fag at Oxford - or was it Watford? Anyway, that's beside the point, just don't think that because I haven't had a hit since 1976 that I'm not in with the movers and the shakers. One step further and you'll be back on the Jobseekers' Allowance before you can say twenty per cent carbon emmissions reductions from your combi-boiler..."

I'm just about to ring Neighbourhood Watch when she hurriedly fishes a CD out of her tote bag featuring on its cover a scantily clad, pink-haired stevedore who bears an uncanny resemblance to the chappy stood in front of me and I can see that I've just teetered on the brink of making a ghastly mistake. Fortunately, I've just ordered in a box of assorted biscuits which, washed down with a couple of cups of my industrial strength Rosie Lee and a couple of snorts of Bostik - not to mention a strenuous apology from yours truly - help bring her round to seeing that it's all been an awful misunderstanding and pretty soon we're all in the party mood.

"I do like your knickerbockers, young sir," I tell Pink as she's polishing off the last of the pink wafers. "I don't suppose I could try them on could I? I've been looking for a new gimmick in the underwear department ever since the all-in-one-see-through-tube-dress got shrunk in the wash and those babies look like just the ticket..." Pink makes his apologies, would love to help and everything but ....not to put too fine a point on it, he's ...shall we see...*going* *commando*...

Fair play to the lad for being so candid - last thing I need with a headful of adhesives and Peek Freans biscuits is an eyeful of the old pink pepperami. I still have cold sweats in the night from the time I spent a year shacked up with Romi Haag in Berlin. Going to bed every night with a luscious-legged siren only to wake up with an unshaven brute with legs like emery boards can do terrible things to a man's psyche, I can tell you. Played havoc with me 20 deniers too...

I'll post the track up when Eno's finished beggaring about with it. Right-ho - must dash; these post-ironic gothic-mash-up trance anthems don't write themselves you know!

L.U.V. on ya,

Bob