The Ballad Of George Formby by Michael Conboy – Featured in Issue 74 of Mudhutter fanzine (November 2019):
I scribble pen to paper the ink slightly smudging the words as I write at what seems to be at a rate of knots, cough, splutter and dock out an imaginary “Capstan Non Filter” (1) in an ever filling ash tray of wonderful memories , actually I used to love being given a new text book at Middle School, blue cover, opened to lines and lines of clean pages just waiting to be populated with a load of waffle and incomprehensible equations.
Inside the cover write your name and form number, then would come the important and interesting stuff, what to populate the front and back cover with.
For me and my likewise class mates it was always going to be The Jam, that mod target you drew with a blunt circumference compass that had been passed around the local approved school to make Borstal tattoos. We wrote “The Jam” with the Who defining down arrow on the “M” something Weller had copied from Townsend.
Confessions….and I confess pre my text book artwork I was what was known as a Teddy Boy, Rockabilly music, The Stray Cats, Elvis, who to be fair is one of my earliest musical influences and still one of my favourite artists. I think though on this particular Saturday morning Elvis and my Dad must have been on the same tee at Coble Hall Golf Club, a sight to behold same haircuts! I wonder if my Mum charged Elvis the same price for his haircut as my Dad.
9.30am Mum up the street for the 768 bus into town to meet my Grandma, coffee and cake, then to Marks and Spencer to return last week’s purchases. Did they wear the stuff out through the week? no they just lay on the bed in a constant state of indecision. “David what does this look like?” my Dad is hardly the Georgio Armani of Leeds. His fawn slacks have had the pockets repaired that many times a field mouse would struggle to get some small change out of them.
House free I make my way to the garage, feeling rebellious like a poor mans Danny Zuko, I fluff up the collar of my PVC Marks and Spencer’s “ faux leather” jacket, pink socks on show, I spark up a week old docked Capstan feeling like one of the T Birds I prop myself up against the garage door, once inside I find a can of car spray paint from the back of the garage, fuck it we are Teds! A shake of the spray can I shake and aim towards the rusty old work bench, here we go I spray “We Are TES” I am not sure who “TES” is but I think I must be the first dyslexic Ted in Leeds.
The long hot summers passed, early rising listening to The Beatles then up the woods at the back of our house, dens, BMX’s, fires, cans of Tennants Super lager and chipped teeth opening cheap bottles of cider. The world was our oyster until it was time for tea, you never knew whether the fried egg with your chips had been cooked on the pavement as the heatwaves hit record temperatures.
We are three years apart in age me and my older sister, it’s the early 80’s Grandma is sat on the sofa sucking on an endless supply of polo mints supplied by her dealer down Old Lane Beeston, arms and hands busy knitting another Mo Hair jumper, she drops a stitch, the ball of wall runs away with itself, pupils dilated a young feral kitten named Charlie takes full advantage of a plump rounded domestic kill presented to her in the front room, it never stood a chance!
The ball of wool unravels uncontrollably like the memories unfolding, early 80’s I am sat on our black horse Dusty, Denim jacket, Leeds scarf, jeans and doc boots, the big Sister about that time would not have looked out of place on Mississippi river boat as an extra in a Culture Club video.
Fast forward what would only seem like a few Months but could be a year it’s all changed, Maroon Sta Prest trousers, the classic Skinhead Fred Perry Polo shirt black with the yellow trim for me, for her we have gone full on Sade hair tied back with big hooped ear rings and red lipstick, very much the “Smooth Operator” (2).
Its late 1983 I am sat on my bedroom floor pencil in hand trying to wind back in a C90 cassette my Sister has given to me…….
The Jam SNAP was released in 1983 a bold compilation album i don’t think many words were exchanged when she handed over the said cassette through the gap in my bedroom door, like being on covert ops with an undercover operative. No words were required once I had listened to SNAP once – brilliant would have been a vast understatement. I was aware of “Beat Surrender” and “Bitterest Pill” (3) in 1982 and the demise of The Jam, but I was still probably getting my head around The Beatles later albums, far out man!
There is a knock on the door, loud, bold and era defining! I can hear the stepladders unfold in the parent’s bedroom, Mum on a stepladder peering through the gap between the curtain rail and curtains. “David, there is blue car in the drive, go see who it is!” Dad finishes his highly polished quiff and slowly makes his way down stairs, leaving a trail of small change from his fawn slacks pocket as he goes.
Top bolt unlocked, bottom bolt unlocked the gate keeper is almost there just one more lock, door open and what can only be described as a taller, stockier version of Nick Leesam is stood there looking a little worse for wear, blonde hair slightly electrified after a heavy night on the trading floor with a magnum of Moet, more likely scenario though a skin full of ale at the Barley Corn with the local Cricket team! Holding a “mobile” phone which is as big as breeze block and looks far from mobile. The rest as they say is history! “Happy Together” (4) he will become my Brother in Law and in later years more like the Brother I never had….
I have seen Paul Weller more times than I can count now, unfortunately I binned all my ticket stubs years ago in an OCD cull. Each concert has great memories for me, some of the most enjoyable been shared with my Sister and Brother in Law.
Fast forward to present day and a lovely Birthday present from them both, tickets to Paul Weller at Dalby Forest Summer 2019. This will be my second time seeing him there. The first time was some what eventful. I went with two of my female friends both Paul Weller fans, we got lost on the way there and stuck in a terrible traffic jam getting out of the venue which subsequently ended up with us not getting home for a further two hours! Not that I am mentally scared by the experience.
Concert day has finally arrived and didn’t get off to the start I had anticipated to say the least.
Limbs all over the place, white boxing gloves landing confident body shots and some stunning upper cuts. Positive defensive head movement and lovely blocks.
For the last 20 years I have been crawling around on my hands and knees when I hear the metal sound of that ladder being every so gracefully propped up against the window, the swishing of the shammy leather. Not this unfortunate summers Friday morning, this soldier had been caught out in his own trench.
If we go back a paragraph or so I can hopefully cast some blame of what is about to unfold, but then again he could he been warning me after all we have “always been thick as thieves” (5). I have to think the cleanest cat in Tingley was alerting me in the only way he could.
Half asleep my cheek firmly moulded into the pillow I look up into a dimly lit bedroom, the cat has his head forced through the 4th slat of my bedroom window blind, white boxing glove paws through the 5th slat either side the picture not far from resembling a peasant in the stocks from the Victorian times.
This sight is nothing new to me, a familiar silhouette of my silly little cat shadow boxing in his white boxing gloves on the window sill against the “Burning Sky” (6) of the dawn of a new summer’s day. Thinking nothing of it I turn over, I smirk to myself as the cleanest cat in Tingley unlaces his white boxing gloves giving each paw a wash before curling up next to me we both fall asleep.
KLAXON!!!!!!!! 7.00am the big alarm booms out BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!!!!!! Until I am able to turn it off. I am alert and now fully aware the dice were always unfairly loaded not in my favour this morning. All the evidence had pointed one way, the cat had all but let off smoke flares, spelt it out on the lawn in cat litter in big dirty white letters which could have been seen from Mars. Still I missed all the “Clues” (7) ignorantly oblivious.
7.05am stripped bare of all my armour apart from my boxer shorts, eye sight of a poster boy for Spec Savers I saunter across the landing to the bathroom arrogance personified like Liam Gallagher invading the catwalk at the Versace Menswear show in Milan all those years ago.
As I sit there like a middle aged “Porcelain God” (8) phone in hand checking the BBC News and Sky Sports I suddenly hear the metallic sound of a ladder banging against brickwork behind my head, shortly followed by a piercingly jolly whistle and watery cloth wiping the window.
The sickening reality suddenly kicks in, I am half naked sat on the toilet with the window cleaner looking in behind me. Apologies for the graphic image that portrays!
Beads of sweat begin to form on my forehead, thoughts are racing through my mind of what my next move can possibly be, if in fact I actually do have a next move available to me. Do I say good morning as if nothing has happened? Do I use the reverse camera on my phone like a modern day periscope to get a clearer view of his actual location?
I opt for silence and complete backside numbing stillness. Head down in sheer desperation the salt from the sweat stings my eyes as it runs down my forehead forming clammy particles on my upper lip. I can taste the realisation as I now look up, pure unadulterated horror as I see that the bathroom door is wide open and so is the door to my office across the landing! Is the window cleaner now on his way to clean the windows at the front of the house which will give him the front view of me sat on the toilet?
The swish of his greying pony tail underneath his baseball cap, dressed in his camouflage jacket as I hear him slam my gate and exit my back passage.
Tick tock…..the clock is very much ticking, I quickly work out in my head I have approximately about 3 minutes to shut the bathroom door before his ladder and head appear in my office window.
Strategy and mathematical equations are needed in this sands of time scenario, like an antiquated task from the 80’s television show the Crystal Maze. But for the task that lies ahead I feel I have had the sand well and truly kicked in my face. Drastic action is need as I now only have 1.50 minutes left.
Soldier Stand Up! I am up sir, deliriously and in appropriately now reliving scenes from the film Full Metal Jacket in my head. Step one, step two, step three I am closer to the bathroom door as I reach out to shut it my left foot gets tangled in my boxer shorts and I do a Zola Budd, but at this point in time I am not sure that under the circumstances a pair of Nike Flame running spikes would have saved me crashing on my arse on to the cold tiled floor.
The window cleaner never reappeared so I can only assume when the cat was garrotted in the bedroom blind the window cleaner had done all the front windows. Dusting myself down I still had a morning at work ahead and a Co-Op meal deal to consume.
The afternoon completed event free its now 5pm and I am greeted by the twerk of a bottom and some big eyes looking up at me from a ginger haired face. Thankfully its my sisters littler cocker spaniel and not my local window cleaner staring back at me, he likes his back scratching, that’s the dog not the window cleaner!
We arrive at Dalby Forest in good time, get parked up and head into the arena to the sound of the support act Stone Foundation. A Weller influenced soul band who the man himself has written for and performed with.
My plan was to write a roving review of the gig but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I am still emotionally scared from a rejection by the NME at the age of 15 years old. Maybe I should have got over it all these years later? I wrote an album review of The Pogues – Rum, Sodomy and The Lash and sent it by Royal Mail to the contributors address from the inside cover of the NME. Patiently waited but never heard anything back! From that day on I swore I would never write another music review again. So its with a slightly bitter taste in my mouth I come to this part of the article as its absolutely crying out for a concert review!
The whole evening from start to finish was brilliant, great venue, great music and most of all great company.
I said I wouldn’t do this but the stand out tracks for me were always going to be Strange Museum, Holy Man and Into Tomorrow. I don’t actually think I have heard him play Strange Museum or Holy Man live. I know they featured in those iconic concerts from around 1994 the most memorable for me being Glastonbury 94, what an amazing set. He was like Icarus raising from the flames after being incarcerated in a darkened room listening to Traffic, Neil Young and Nick Drake on repeat since the Style Council split up.
Into Tomorrow always sounds amazing live a real 70’s rock groove to it and an amazingly long self- indulgent guitar solo and to hear it in an open air venue like Dalby Forest just as the sun was going down it didn’t disappoint.
Being sensible and having inside knowledge of past Dalby Forest concerts we decided to make our way slowly out of the arena half way through the third encore song Broken Stones.
As we are nearing the top part of the venue the Beatles riff from the Taxman aka Start begins, we stop in our tracks under the corner of the trees near the men’s urinal such a picturesque setting!
No fucks given and no lead need taken we all start dancing, the combined age of 152!
A three song Jam medley unfolds – Start, a brass version of Precious and the fans favourite Town Called Malice to finish, we were in the car and moving out for Malice.
I suppose I couldn’t end without a two finger salute to the corporate brand the NME and Happy 50th Birthday again to my lovely sister.
For those interested below are the musical references used.
REFERENCES
- “Capstan Non Filters” – lyric by The Jam from Saturday Kids from Setting Sons album 1979
- “Smooth Operator” – Sade from Diamond Life album 1984
- “Beat Surrender” and “Bitterest Pill” – The Jam from The Gift (deluxe edition) album 1982
- “Happy Together” – The Jam from The Gift album 1982
- “always been thick as thieves” – The Jam lyric from Thick as Thieves from Setting Sons album 1979
- “Burning Sky” – The Jam from Setting Sons album 1979
- “Clues” – Paul Weller from Paul Weller album 1992
- “Porcelain God” – Paul Weller from Stanley Road album 1995
TNH - The Northern Hemisphere 
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