Dancing

The news of Sarah Palin's own 'reality' TV show this evening (hunting shooting fishing...fucking?) sent me running to the kitchen to cook toad in the hole. On went Planet Rock. Now it didn't take long for it to work. When Brown Sugar came on I turned it up and just like that scene in Gimme Shelter where Keef bounds in to his hotel room and just slams the demo on a cassette recorder and bends mesmerized as the cords fly out and begins to wiggle his bottom in that particular way, well so did I, but I was just bending over the frying of red onions for the gravy. I soon found myself doing a few Mick Jagger mini struts across the kitchen too, no easy task given it's extremely modest (but efficient) size. A few gestures there, a pout there, I was cooking to the Stones and it felt good. Next up the DJ, who clearly models himself on Clint Eastward in Play Misty for Me (soft tone, assured) reassured me that if I still had that Monday feeling, these next two tracks were for me. I do have that Monday feeling, I have that feeling most of the time. On came that fabulous intro to 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond'. Since it demanded respect, I sat on the stool next to the sink for that one and even added a felt castor under my drink, contemplating whisking the batter, with my past reeling before me, and imagining all those blokes in Ledbury or Leominster all just like me, but ...er....still there..listening avidly to Planet Rock as their major source of entertainment, like it may become mine. But it got even better, 'Nicky' majestically shifted me in to the eighties with a fabulous excursion into a piece of virtuoso Joe Satriani. Oh to live in the past.

(Palin will get $1m per episode)