'TREE-MENDOUS TIMES WITH JEFFERSON STARSHIP’S WEBMASTER' OR 'CLOSE TO THE HEDGE'

I don’t know how long it will take you all to twig what is happening, but I will take a leaf out of the work of the best journalists, and try not to branch out too far.

Rob Ayling was trying to contact Rick, the Jefferson Starship webmaster, who emailed him saying: “Call me any time. I am grounded. A Freaking tree fell on me. Not supposed to do much. Except laugh at the chances”.

Rob, who is a Fortean after my own heart couldn’t let a statement like that stand without investigating it further. He wrote back an email with a wonderfully inappropriate spelling mistake which I shall not quite because it will get me sacked, and finished the message with a brief: “PS how the hell did a tree fall on you ?”

Rick answered, spilling the beans on the whole sad tale:

“I was walking down a path in Albany, a shortcut, to a store called Price Chopper (there is a joke there somewhere.)”…

This is just not fair. I do my best to leave the smut out of the Gonzo Daily, and look at the temptations which beset me. Rick continues:

“ I was going to do some shopping and play my guitar (it was late-about 3 AM, but for me it was the middle of the day be cause I work nights). I can play guitar there because the noise doesn't bother anyone. Some folks actually like it (One drunk said, "he plays Pink Floyd and everything" to which another replied "wow, waz Pink Floyd?")…”

But how go you go from playing Pink Floyd to having a tree fall on you? Maybe it was a conifer? Wish you fir here. Bark side of the Moon? Rick continues:

“I got tangled in some vines. While trying to extradite myself a tree swung down on me like a wooden Tarzan and knocked me to me ground. I thought I was dead and considered the newspaper story, man killed by tree in Albany. The humor of it helped me to stagger to my feet and make it to Price Chopper. Other than beer I don't remember what I bought. Took a cab back home and was sick for the next twelve hours.

 

Later the doctor told me that was normal for someone in shock and pain, other than that I had a pretty good day.

Had a Newcastle much later. Very good indeed.”

Rob has an even better journalistic nose than I do for a good story and asked for a picture, to which Rick replied:

“It was very hard to identify the actual tree because it was dark, I have these photos however”.

Having been denied the use of two prime pieces of smut during the composition of this piece there is nothing I can add, except to say to Rick:

Sir, I assume that by a ‘Newcastle’ you mean “a borrrul o’ broon”. I hope that you realise that this is sacred stuff. That when you partake of a borrrul o’ broon you are supposed to stagger up to a total stranger, put your face a few inches away from his. Shout “did yooo call wor pint a lass?” and chin him. Alternatively (if he is wearing a black and white scarf) you hug him affectionately, and say “Yooor mah best pal, son. Yoo know that”.. and throw up all over his shoes.