| « "He could do Boston, he could do Philly, he could do DC..." | Hey, E. Pluribus Gergely -- We're Still Buds, Right? » |
Link: http://myweb.tiscali.co.uk/mikejh/CK.htm

From The Lodgers
On my arrival I was greeted by four characters. Stephen White, who had just been proclaimed Master Of The Sticks by a pirate station in Cumbria run by a retired colonel. Miss Dee C. Lee who I espied on a clifftop alone with nothing but her sweet voice singing out into the clouds and a large parrott on her shoulder. Paul Weller, who sat naked in front of the sea on a deckchair shouting, "stop I say, hold thyselves, my parts freeze," as the waves rushed past him, and Master Michael Talbot by a bonfire, splendidly clad in a lame blanket and hard at work on one of Stravinsky's unfinished works he had come across in a disused priory.
Remember The Cappuccino Kid, that mysterious liner note writer for releases by The Style Council? Nobody knew who exactly The Cappuccino Kid was, but many speculated!
Not ringing a bell yet? Perhaps the following passage from Our Favourite Shop will jog your memory:
So...wait, you'd like the Style Council more if they had a shit drummer, like the Jam did. Or something.
Comments are not allowed from anonymous visitors.