Tuesday, September 06, 2011

Mike Scott's hat

It's taken longer than I thought it would to get to 750 posts, but a slowdown doesn't mean a stoppage.

Once I whittle this old life of mine down to one source of income, one place of rest and a handy little scribbling desk I'll be able to pay more mind to old Radgery and give this here interlog a proper talking to.

I'm here now though, some dental work that went awry leading to a broken head, a proper ouch of an ear infection and the ringing in sick to work. Proper sick but proper bored, the guilt of an early morning call to the boss offset by his understanding and my own need to poke and prod at the sore bits in peace.

"Stop at it! Leave it alone!"

Here now with the telly off, with the window open, with the tinnitus ears and a half drunk coffee, weakened by too short a spell in the French press.

I'm thinking about Mike Scott's hat, which I encountered on Saturday in the Italian place off Nassau Street. Just myself, herself, Mike Scott's hat, Mike Scott and some boring dolt of a young one accompanying him.

Why a Waterboy should have to sit and listen to the witterings of a Krystle-faced chickenhead was beyond me, but there they were at the next table, his attentiveness and Scottish brogue matched by her tales of how she fancied some young fella but he was paying no mind.

She was guilty of not asking questions, just prattling on while Mike Scott's hat (featuring Mike Scott) took it all in, until a good hour later when she queried about his favourite place.

He paused a while, considered it, before saying that he didn't know. Different places held different charms for him, but as I waited to hear him expand on the point she came back in with tell of a 'text message from that dick Steve.'

Theirs was an incongruous lunch date.

As I got up to leave I turned and told him I liked his music very much, when all I know are the hits, and he thanked me for the compliment. I felt like a fake fanboy gobshite but turned it to my advantage when I met herself outside.

"Fuckin' Mike Scott," I said. "He just asked me if I was THE Radge, or radgery.com fame. I told him to go fuck himself."

She laughed, did Shiny, where few others might have.

11 comments:

canine letters said...

good one

Radge said...

Thanks AG.

Kath Lockett said...

I am ancient and ignorant because I don't know who Mike Scott is (cowers in shame).

Like your explanation to herself later on though.

shiny said...

I remember the hat more clearly than the laugh.

Annie said...

I never thought to count my posts. I count 760 and I feel I started way before you but I could be very wrong about that.

Conan Drumm said...

It so happens (and I'm not at all sure if this is a good thing) that Richard Curtis (he of Four Weddings and a Notting Hill, Actually, etc) has some paean to Mike Scott over in the Grauniad.

Radge said...

Kath - Lead singer of The Waterboys... 'Fisherman's Blues,' 'Whole Of The Moon'... That kind of thing...

Shiny - Not in front of the lads. My sweet, sweet credibility.

Annie - I started in 2004, but everything before 2008 haunts me.

Conan - Nothing worse than a paean in the Grauniad.

Annie said...

What do you mean you started in 2004? Impossible. Blogging didn't start until 2006 when I started.

Conan Drumm said...

Indeed, it must be worse than a dose of the diphtongs.

Holemaster said...

Dunne and Crush Frenzy?

Mike Scott. That brings back some memories of another version of one their songs which I called "You saw the whole of your room" which was sung into my brothers face after he was grounded.

Radge said...

Turns out I hadn't responded to you lovely people...

Annie - I feel old, both in blogging and real life terms.

Conan - We could go on and on.

Holemaster - That is some very gentle ribbing, right there!