Wednesday, 19 May 2010
I was in the BBC radio station.
I was in the BBC radio station. We had just finished a live radio session for the a radio Dj that I was unfamiliar with. We were packing up our gear when someone down the hall started playing the recording of what we had just played on the show. I stopped all business to take a listen. “wait…something is really off…” what ? It was my voice singing my words and melody as I had done just minutes before but instead of sounding like the old me the recording had me sounding more like Leonard Cohen. I was singing Murder of Birds two octaves lower. Knowing that I hadn’t actually sung murder of birds two octaves lower and that its not actually physically possible for me to do so. We went in to question the engineer. The rather soft and round engineer was sitting at the mixing board cleaning something red and gooey out of the mixing board looking frazzled. He was wearing a bib making him look rather doe boy. The red gooey stuff was all over his bib and pant legs. After a series of forensic investigation we came to the conclusion that the engineer had been eating something red and gooey and that he spilled it all over the mixing desk causing my vocal in the recording to shift pitch by two octaves giving me that Leonard Cohen quality. Once we had found out who and what was the culprit of this pesky little mishap the doe boy engineer took to flailing as fast as he could out of the BBC station leaving a smear of red goo behind him. Then somehow a girl I went to school with whos name I have forgotten and who I have not thought since I saw back in those days but who appeared exactly how I remember her was standing there preparing herself for the pool. She was wearing a sheer smock from the fifties over a Gstring bikini.
She was looking into the mirror over her shoulder to her backside and adjusting the G string bottoms to fit just so and said “that’s how the girls are doing it these days right” and slinked out of the room on her way to the pool.
Then there was a knock on the door of my shack. I opened the door to be flooded with the light from a tropical sunset. Standing at my door illuminated was Beyonce. She looked like a tropical angel in a tropical heaven. I said “hi Beyonce. What are we doing tonight ?”
I slipped on my favourite pair of jeans.