Georgie Porgy Pudding and Pie
Kissed the girls and made them cry
And when the boys came out to play
He kissed them too cause he was gay.
It made me laugh when I received it on one of those emails from friends that you hardly ever look at cause you think it’s going to be something stupid without a point. This time, however, it was my buddy David that sent me this one with one comment: “Find Thyself, m8!” Sometimes I think he thinks I’m bloody stupid. I practically invented that verse. It was funny in 1976, Dave. Nothing against the guy but sometimes…
I’m in a bad mood. I realised today, at rehearsal, that I don’t think my voice is going to hold up two and a half hours fifty times. I don’t know how it’s even going to be possible, considering I’ve been in rehearsals for a couple of weeks and I’m feeling the laryngitis coming on. Not of the kind that I sometimes get when I want an excuse to pull out of a show, but the real kind. My throat is sore, my voice is getting scruffy… and oddly enough smoking weed doesn’t seem to help either. And I thought weed was the answer to everything bad. Confusing.
So I thought, right, I’ll record a live track just in case I can’t pull off the whole show. So that way I can get away with miming the tracks and be there and avoid the fireworks it will cause if I pull out. When it’s done live in the studio, how are they going to tell? Most people are surely just going to one gig – and the other freaks that are going to every single one, well, what can I say… So I called Elton and I said “Surely you don’t sing all your songs, three hours a night, 300 times a year?” and he said “Yes I fucking do.” Huh… interesting. So I said “I’m thinking of doing a backup solution, a live track in case I don’t feel like singing or my voice is going bad. That’s ok right?” and Elton said “You’re charging people an average of seventy quid a ticket and you actually think you’ll get away with miming? Does a rocking horse have a wooden dick, George? Does it? No. And that’s the answer to your question, you lazy shit.” I knew there was a reason I hated Elton. Elton sucks. I’m doing it. You little fucker.
I’ve been thinking about these suicide bombers and stuff. They always go for the big airlines aren’t they? Top choices being American Airlines, British Airways, Virgin Atlantic and others that actually go directly from city to city. I was looking into flying Ryan Air to most of my destinations on the tour, because surely, there’s zero to no chance of these terrorists blowing up a bloody Ryan Air plane, innit? Think about it, these people wanna end up in paradise – not thirty miles by coach away from paradise. So I might do that. Or hire my own private jet. I’m getting Kenny to take flying lessons, that way he can fly himself when he goes to America so I don’t have to worry about a terrorist running off with him. Who’d help me spend my tour money if someone else took him?
I don’t know what to do about this live thing. Cause I couldn’t possibly just go out there and perform the best I can, cause most of the time my best isn’t good enough by my own standards. Of course Elton can do three hours in a row without a backup plan. He doesn’t have my ear. I hear all my own mistakes, I can’t sound less than perfect, and I haven’t done a full gig for 15 years where I didn’t sit on my arse for the whole duration of the show with a control panel in front of me. I was in full control. This time leave that into the hands of someone else, I’ll have to move, do the George Michael dance and those moves I learned from Paula Abdul 19 years ago. I can do it. Walk to the left, walk to the right, clap hands, wave torso back and forth, snap fingers, do a little jump perhaps. I’ll look awesome!
George xx
