And what was No.1 when I emerged into a back bedroom in London NW2? A week earlier, it would have been Elvis. A week later, Ray Charles. But no, Pick of the Pops that week was this “humorous” ditty by an unknown cockney actor called Mike Sarne, accompanied by a young Wendy Richard who was already sounding as stroppy and miserable as Pauline Fowler. It isn’t a “classic”, it isn’t “timeless”, it’s dreadful. But Mike and Wendy evoke the time and place of my birth perfectly – in a way neither Elvis or Ray Charles ever could. And isn’t that what a birthday record should do?
Today is my birthday…..

- It was a quot...14th May 2016
- To Finch's in...12th May 2016
- The greatest ...11th May 2016
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- Happy Birthda...8th May 2016
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- Oh God. I sh...5th May 2016
- Leicester Cit...3rd May 2016
- A death you m...2nd May 2016
- To the paint ...27th Apr 2016
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- The Man who o...23rd Apr 2016
- The Queen at ...21st Apr 2016
- RIP Victoria ...20th Apr 2016 prev next