Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Grandees of Rock
Funny the things that get picked up on and commented about. A throwaway comment about someone who might be remotely famous, and bing, comments! Never to be one to miss an opportunity for more comments, I shall, somewhat, oblige.
Its kind of hard to miss them around us. What is it about becoming famous that requires the expense of vast amounts of money for vast tracts of land? Old stately homes seem to get bought by either celebrities of some shape or form, or Russian oligarchs. We’ve got loads of them down our way, even a glamour model of rather prodigious proportions bought up a couple villages to the south. The boys even briefly went to school with the children of one 1980’s shooting star. He always did the annual teachers appreciation dinner, which was surprisingly well attended.
There is a code though, we’re not allowed to speak about them. You’re not even supposed to look if you walk past or see them down t’pub. I can’t say I’ve seen them loads, but you do see them. Well, most, there’s one particular ‘60s icon who I am reliably told lives a couple stone throws away, but is never ever seen.
We do get people who come looking for them. Those are the far more amusing stories. Walkers are the worst, they seem to think its fair game to tromp through whatever farmland or homes are in the way of their goal. One even knocked on the door, and got quite insistent that such and such was supposed to be close (which was true). It was an enjoyable ten minutes dissuading him of the fact, and sending him three villages East.
In the pubs in the best. One of the local landlords has even started taking pints back from people who quiz him. They don’t stop there though. One amusing evening I was sitting with friends and overheard a heart felt entreaty to find out if one rock god ever came in. The fact that he was sitting with a few friends over by the fire seemed to be completely overlooked.
I suppose that’s why they move out. We like our privacy in the rural burbs. Doesn’t mean its unfriendly, far from it. So long as you actually live there, it’s a very comfortable welcoming place. Just don’t come down for a pint and expect everyone to spill the latest gossip, that is exclusively reserved for residents.
Oh, and the incident at the ancient pile? Said Rock God was remarkably well behaved. No raucous drink or drugs, he drank sparkling mineral water all evening. Very gracious guy though, really worked the room like a proper host should. I even got to tag along as he took a few in to a highly secure room to see his guitar collection. That was cool. No, said Rock God is a pillar of the community. Not so one of the parish councillors and some nameless accountant’s wife who were (so it is said) caught doing the jiggy in a downstairs broom cupboard.
Its kind of hard to miss them around us. What is it about becoming famous that requires the expense of vast amounts of money for vast tracts of land? Old stately homes seem to get bought by either celebrities of some shape or form, or Russian oligarchs. We’ve got loads of them down our way, even a glamour model of rather prodigious proportions bought up a couple villages to the south. The boys even briefly went to school with the children of one 1980’s shooting star. He always did the annual teachers appreciation dinner, which was surprisingly well attended.
There is a code though, we’re not allowed to speak about them. You’re not even supposed to look if you walk past or see them down t’pub. I can’t say I’ve seen them loads, but you do see them. Well, most, there’s one particular ‘60s icon who I am reliably told lives a couple stone throws away, but is never ever seen.
We do get people who come looking for them. Those are the far more amusing stories. Walkers are the worst, they seem to think its fair game to tromp through whatever farmland or homes are in the way of their goal. One even knocked on the door, and got quite insistent that such and such was supposed to be close (which was true). It was an enjoyable ten minutes dissuading him of the fact, and sending him three villages East.
In the pubs in the best. One of the local landlords has even started taking pints back from people who quiz him. They don’t stop there though. One amusing evening I was sitting with friends and overheard a heart felt entreaty to find out if one rock god ever came in. The fact that he was sitting with a few friends over by the fire seemed to be completely overlooked.
I suppose that’s why they move out. We like our privacy in the rural burbs. Doesn’t mean its unfriendly, far from it. So long as you actually live there, it’s a very comfortable welcoming place. Just don’t come down for a pint and expect everyone to spill the latest gossip, that is exclusively reserved for residents.
Oh, and the incident at the ancient pile? Said Rock God was remarkably well behaved. No raucous drink or drugs, he drank sparkling mineral water all evening. Very gracious guy though, really worked the room like a proper host should. I even got to tag along as he took a few in to a highly secure room to see his guitar collection. That was cool. No, said Rock God is a pillar of the community. Not so one of the parish councillors and some nameless accountant’s wife who were (so it is said) caught doing the jiggy in a downstairs broom cupboard.
