I’d a strange dream overnight – This nighttime screenplay beginning with yours truly sitting in a dark theatre amongst hundreds of ex-work colleagues. The entertainment playing out during this night vision was provided by veteran singer/songwriter Rod Stewart, or Rod the Mod as people who call him Rod the Mod label him.
As I’m totally indifferent to Sir Roderick of Stewart’s refrains, his involvement within a plot line of my dreams is unclear – However, involved he was. Even more bizarrely the Celtic FC loving warbler had chosen to entertain my ex-colleagues and me by wandering amongst us whilst crooning his vast back catalogue of hits.
Whilst sharing his musical wares in the trademark voice of a hoarse throated cockerel, Rodder’s avant-garde meandering along every aisle meant audience members in the each row was required to stand to let him pass by.
This innovative notion of delivering hits like ‘Baby Jane’, ‘Maggie May and ‘Sailing’ was soon shown to be hugely flawed. Unsurprisingly each track was significantly disrupted by him tripping over the congregated crowds feet; along with sporadic audience chunters of “For f***s sake!” after he’d kicked somebodies beer over.
As a consequence of this clumsiness, Rod the rocker received a particularly lukewarm response at the conclusion of each song, not to mention the gigs denouement. None of my ex-colleagues were more irked than Tufty Eyeballs whose four pints, which he’d bought at the beginning of the event to avoid repeated bar trips during the clambake, were kicked over by Rod’s high kick amid an over-excitable rendition of ‘Do You Think I’m Sexy?’
Tufty only placated when Sir Roderick stopped mid-song to reimburse the former computer operator with the booze’s cost, along with an offer of 5,000 Nectar card points. As Eyeballs had seen a top of the range poaching pan in Sainsbury supermarket last week, the reward card points were snapped up with relish.
Dishevelled following his many stumbles and falls, at the gigs epilogue Stewart had worked his way to the front of the auditorium. The soundscape greeting him that of silence, apart from Tufty Eyeballs shout of “Nice one, Rod!…. I’ve needed a poaching pan for ages!”, and my self-conscious cry of “Good gig, Sir Rodney!….. Your songs aren’t as s***e as I thought they were!“
Fully aware his innovative, yet disruptive, song delivery had gone down like a horse undertaking a 90 metre ski jump, a disheartened knight of the realm left the auditorium head bowed and a disgruntled fan’s random cry of “If you ever tread on my foot again, you clumsy get, I’ll shove that mic where the sun don’t shine!“
Footnote – I’m assuming the arbitrary threat to shove the mic where the sun doesn’t shine was referring to Sir Roderick’s posterior. Not the city of Tomsk in Siberia.
Shortly after the veteran crooner left the stage, we (the audience) headed towards the auditorium exit. A good proportion of the crowd limping after having their feet trodden on during Rod the Mod’s idiosyncratic song delivery.
Shortly after, I awoke from the dream to a smell of neighbour’s poached eggs wafting through my bedroom window, along with Rod Stewart’s ‘You Wear It Well’ blaring from a nearby car radio.
Incidentally, before I receive hate mail from the Tomsk Tourist Board, if truth be told, I’ve no idea if the sun doesn’t shine there as indicated above. I do have it on good authority, though, that Tomsk’s Chekhov Monument, Novosobornaya Square and the Siberia Tropical Garden are well worth a visit.
When I say good authority, I mean my mate Chuck whose never been there, so I can’t vouch 100% that it’s true…… In fact, as his geographical knowledge is sadly lacking (he thinks East Anglia is in Germany) I’d take the advocacy with a pinch of salt.
