Blinking into the sunlight

Word up!

So you thought VG was no more? Well let me tell you, he's back and he's better than ever. For those of you who are the tiniest bit interested, I've been on a bit a sabbatical 'oop north drying out writing my memoirs in a desperate bid to make some moolah for the forthcoming festive season. I decided to miss out all the childhood stuff - living in one room with 11 siblings ( mainly because I lived in rather a nice house in the suburbs with my own room)- and jump straight to the '60s. Five months later and I can only recall an afternoon in Earls Court with a australian backpacker who taught me the chords to 'Tie me Kangaroo Down, Sport'. Plus ca change, c'est le meme chose, as my old dad used to say (he was a french polisher).

So, now I'm considering, as they say, my options. Casting about in the muddy pool that is rock (or is that the rock pool that is Mud?), I see that anybody who's managed to survive the years of excess is now on tour peddling 30 year old songs in the hope that some anorak with a computer will sample something for their next downloadable ditty and save them the trouble of going out of the house at all. If you are Robert Plant, you stick a load of rugs on stage, burn some incense, play everything at half speed and call it world music. Cynical? Moi? At least you won't see me on Coronation Street. Yes I mean you, Rossi and Parfitt.

Anyway, I'm off to revisit my usual haunts in a bid to make binge drinking an Olympic sport by 2012.

Someone's got to do it...