New remasters of the Creation stuff out now that is sounding ***king brilliant and the gigs in the autumn when they're playing the lot over 3 gigs in 3 nights, got my tickets booked up for that ages ago. It's one band that I got into at 14-15, that I kept with ever since. Never broke up, never sold out, never released a sh!t record.
Someone mentioned earlier he had a Media degree, he's met Phil and must have been told who he is, TWTD etc etc and he's spending long hours at Playford Road. I bet he must have had a look on here at some point.
75 years old today. I saw him back in May and he's still doing six miles a night strutting about and running all over the stage and his voice is still there. Hope I'm still rocking when/if I get that far on.
Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!