Peter & Gordon

No, no. This is too cruel.

I remember Peter and Gordon - I was learning guitar and P&G and Chad & Jeremy wrote and sang pretty songs with which I laid siege to young ladies' chastity.

In fact, I think the nerdy one - Peter Asher - was Jane Asher's brother and that Paul McCartney was balling her at the time so they got some nice freebie chansons under pen-names. Anyway ...

Gordon was the cool good looking one who looked like the captain of rugger and Peter had this ridiculous wimpo haircut and glasses which you couldnt laff at because that's also how *our* hair was, if your housemaster turned a blind eye.

But what on earth is going on here?

Two fogey Americans whom I dimly recognise are trying to announce P&G and pretend they are *rock* legends but the scrawny one who's introducing them hasn't a fucking clue who they are because he has to read from a cue card and even that he does badly.

Listen, idiot: they weren't *rock* stars, they were airy-fairy tunesie folkies like that Big Girls' Blouse, 'Mellow Yellow' Donovan.

So, here's this old fart rambling all over the place trying to whip up enthusiasm for these blokes of whom no-one has heard and then comes the dread moment for Pete and Gord to actually shuffle out from the wings - shy-making clasps of hand and thumbs up and ... good christ almighty - what a tuneless super-annuated paunchy pair they've sunk to. Their voices ... they don't have any namoore.

Pure dancing bear sadism for the mob. They shoot horses, don't they?

Actually, now I've started on this morbid search, I find too many of my childhood saints kept on and on. And on. Remember Hank Locklin and "Please help me i'm falling"? Well, dear Hank (who died this week) seemed not to know when to stop falling - this is heart-rending, for the wrong reason.