The lookalike contest

Thurs.27.11.08. Understandably there will be no work on the car today as it the funeral of Chris’s mother scheduled for 10.30 at Wigan Parish Church. Chris continues to be perplexed about his future direction. He has suffered three personal setbacks over the past month; he doesn’t seem to have the heart for much these days.

 

Sun.30.11.08. November has been and gone. The project has ground to a halt with seemingly little chance of re-starting. There has been no communication with Paul regarding the engine repair; the weather has turned decidedly frosty descending to minus degrees throughout the night pushing back any thoughts of driving leisurely along leafy sunlit lanes. Ignoring the vehicle almost denies its existence: it has become an irritation like unwanted hair in the ears and nose.

The band has played the last gig on Saturday at Witton Chimes, the decision to take a ‘sabbatical’ is wise preventing the inevitable implosion that is the conventional exit for most ‘groups’. Pragmatically, I cannot see us ever getting back together; this is the end, closure. I have received my ‘bus pass’, or ‘concessionary travel pass’ as it officially is called, so I can use trains, trams and buses throughout the boundaries of Greater Manchester without charge. I am feeling old, unquestionably useless; hardly a time to celebrate.

Billy and the Temperamentals were gigging at the Oak with a new drummer, fiddle player plus ‘Richie’ was guesting on guitar, sax and vocals (it is odd how things move on quite quickly). But, by the time Jo and arrived the ‘lookalike’ contest was already underway. Billy has always been slightly flamboyant when it comes to dress sense but recently he has exceeded himself. He has taken to wearing scarves, cravats, loud ties, brightly coloured waistcoats, frock coats, his forehead wrapped in bandannas. So much so that he has cloned into ‘David Essex’, the self proclaimed gypsy of the canal boat. With his tousled hair, craggy features, broad grinning face he resembles his long lost twin brother, divided at birth, sold to a horse trader having being brought up in a north of England mobile home. Kenny was the first to adorn a silk handkerchief around his neck followed by Ash sporting a collarless, boldly printed shirt, but it was Lewis who was dressed head to foot, waistcoat, torn levis, cowboy boots, suede waistcoat with silver hunter and chain, cotton pin striped sleeveless shirt, roughly tied spotted neck scarf, false ear ring, curly gelled hair.  Billy did join in with the chorus of ‘hold me close, don’t let me go’ but withdrew his vocal contribution when the entire pub went on to ‘Rock on’. Lewis carried on with the impersonation determined to provoke Billy to snap. Meanwhile Graham, the ‘ex’ roady turned pie importer, has grown a beard, has bought a waxed jacket and flat cap. He is touting for business as ‘the Lowtie tribute band’. He is taking the task seriously by having shouting lessons with Johns rival, fat Tom of Standish, last years winner of the gold cup event, vigorously practising the complementary violent hand waving movements whilst simultaneously pulling out murdered wildlife from his poachers pockets. The contest continued long into the afternoon reaching its nadir with the ‘ganzy’ competition. Chris had dug out a heavy woollen brown number first bought, at great expense, in the eighties from ‘Kendals’ of  Chester. This, together with his recently purchased leather coat gave him a look of ‘Vandervalk’ the slightly off the wall ‘grass smoking’ Dutch detective. In Sam’s bar earlier in the afternoon he had already run the gauntlet of a loudly hummed version of the theme tune by the ‘vault boys’ who had taken a break from the ‘let’s fit fuck into every possible word contest’. Naturally this incident travelled to the Oak where an alternative rendition was offered by the ‘Roy Castle’ corner. Jo and I left after the last number from the band but I suspect one, if not all, of the ‘lookalikes’ may have snapped at some point in the evening.