By Roy Wood
It's May 1973 and I’m sitting in the kitchen of my house in Worcestershire In the corner of the room in this stately pile, Gothersley Hall in Stourton, stands a jukebox that’s rarely played. It’s full of old original label rock and roll records I’ve collected over the years. Very rock and roll. But I rarely play them. I know them all so well that they’re lodged in my head. I want to hear something new.
On the farmhouse kitchen table there’s a scrap of paper. Look over my shoulder, and you’ll catch a glance of a rough idea that’s half-formed. “Well I wish it could be Christmas every day...”
Be honest, who doesn’t? Even in the merry month of May.
No comments:
Post a Comment