Mark said to Cleo as she sat back in her daily bath
Have you seen the price of milk you must be having a blooming laugh
Should have never gone to war, should have never left the trouble and strife
You always try your best and still you find yourself on the end of a knife

Kings and Queens, Ladies and Gentlemen
All the same, you know what it meant to them
Vagabonds, paupers and ne'r do wells
All had the same sorry tale to tell, it's true
What love can do
You know what love can do

Good time Charlie had an eye for a nice big basket of fruit
And pretty Nell could never think of ever giving him the boot
But his thought were never far from what was hidden in his pants
12 other women waiting by for the dance

Liz and Dickie got it on playing old Cleo and Mark
And soon they had more than just the studio car park
It was always a thin line between the pleasure and the pain
But all too soon you know they were at it again

You Know What Love Can Do

Might be just a British thing

Fat Paul Weller looks sharp in all his gear
Where's the lads they said they'd all be here
Radio plays a modern song
Living in a world gone wrong
Fat Paul Weller sups another beer

Fat Paul Weller stares at today's front page
It's enough to fill you up with rage
Being told what to think
Enough to turn a bloke to drink
The world belongs to people half our age

Can't improve on 79, Stuck in amber, stuck in time,
Never should have broken up the band,
Same old haircut, same old barber, same old music, same old lager
Fat Paul Weller doesn't understand

Fat Paul weller should have given him a bunch of fives
Why leave you bin halfway across my drive?
It used to be alright round here
Now we all just live in fear
This is our path just you tell your wife

Where are you now?
Someone else's wife?
Do you ever think of me?
Of a different life?

Fat Paul Weller knows what he knows
What is right and where to get his clothes
Here it is a good old tune
The lads should be here pretty soon
Fat Paul Weller know what he knows.

Fat Paul Weller

Ever get that feeling?

Who's that in the mirror, who's in my chair at dinner?
Is it me, is it me?
Who's that in my bed, who's that in my head?
Is it me, is it me?

Pinch me now, is it me?
Plug me in and let me be

Thought of her on Sunday, then she rang on Monday
Is it me, is it me?
It don't make no sense, can't be coincidence
Is it me, is it me?

That glitch in 86, was it fate in 88?
Or a glimpse behind the curtain?
What I saw in 94, how I survived in 95
You know what? I can't be certain

What did they pay you Baby? It's in your programme maybe
Is it me, is it me?
I'm not even kidding, where's the camera hidden
Is it me, is it me?

Was it you in 72, was that me in 73?
Or was I wired up in some other place?
Was I alive in 2005, did I dream 2018?
Or has the lizard King revealed his face?

Is It Me?

I definitely had someone in mind when I wrote this, but it works for so many people these days, so a little like Carly Simon's 'You're So Vain' I wil leave it a mystery and the listener can project their own favourite idiot into the song.

The Doctor will see you now
You need a check up
Only from the neck up
Don't cause a row

He took a look at your charts
No brain activity
You've got no brain you see
Or a heart

Don't you want to be in this together?
Can't you feel that change in the weather?
Don't you wanna be on the side that's clever?
Or do we have to sing?

Congratulations you're the king
You're the king
Can you hear us sing?
King of all the idiots

King Of All The Idiots

Sunday night at the Church Hall
And he's the Dandy Highwayman
In his sister's pixie boots
And a waistcoat from his Nan

A can of Top Deck Shandy
Ordered from the hatch
And all the girls are looking
He really is a catch

Disco lights are pulsing
And the shadows move in time
But the boys hug the walls for now
Bravado in it's prime

And she's dancing there in the ring
And it's far too late to leave
Pencil skirt and eyeliner
Just like the Human League

In a room behind the stage
There's a table tennis table
Where the Curate's forehand smash
Has become the stuff of fable

And in a damp lavatory
The bovver boys are found
Telling dirty jokes
As a Rothman's passed around

the corridor by the kitchen
The smaller ones are huddled
Not a care in there sweet little heads
Couldn't care about a cuddle

But up a wooden staircase
That leads up to the stage
Behind the curtain a boy and girl
Are acting twice their age

The boys are on the dancefloor
And they push and jump around
Well let the brass band play
And the feet start to pound

But then the time has come
There's a crackle in the groove
Three times a lady
It's time to make your move

Nettles to be grasped
And a bullet needs a bite
He looks at her across the room
And walks through flashing lights

And the girls nudge each other
As her eyes just face the floor
But she let him take her by the hand
And nothing matters anymore

On Sunday Evenings In 1981

Satire can be dangerous. I had a conversation the other day about Insulate Britain (google it non Brits), and the bloke I was talking to had loads of anecdotal stories about protesters driving big cars and having generators powering music systems etc. I had the thought that even if this was true, it doesn't matter. They're right, even Boris Johnson believes in global warming these days. In a hundred years time they'll be seen as heroes and nobody will remember that they once put some recycling in the wrong bin.

I expect many of the Suffragettes went home and cooked their husbands teas.

Crusties are raving in the woods
Telling us we're up to no good
Telling us we're all getting greedier
Living life off the grid
Keeping generators hid
While using social media

They're lying in the road again
All they're doing is causing pain
With all their little demonstations
If they want to get us on board
Use the pen and not the sword
And I might just up my insulation.

In not so long, will this be gone?
Was life on Earth just fleeting?
And all along, they were never wrong,
But you had to cancel your meeting.

These ladies with a shapely ankle
Are doing things that are bound to rankle
Whatever will be next
But here's the mystery, fools are made by history
Long live the Suffragette.

And so the crusties had a woodland rave
But now we're sinking down below the waves
And history has proved some sense
But have I told of the the day?
Sitting static on the motorway
Oh the inconvenience!

Oh The Inconvenience!

The Baton

Over and Over the needle is stuck,
The same old question, who did you...?
Muck about with behind her back
Like it or not now, you're on different tracks

A lifetime together then you hit forty five
And then you wonder if this is your life
A meeting of eyes with a wow and a flutter
Change record you thought of everything but her

From Hi-Fidelity
To No Fidelity
Should of let the balance be
Pressed Auxiliary

No extended play,
Nothing stereo,
Just a single now, 
Back to Mono

All you're left with is a box of L.P.s
Your wedding album and her set of keys
Turn out the lights, put that old record on
Drown out the misery with another sad song

A hiss and a crackle at the end of side two
Round and round in the run off groove
Turn it over drop the needle again
It's  same old album but the song's not the same.

Featuring the fantastic Mike Vaughan on Drums and piano https://soundcloud.com/mikevaughanmusic
And on liquid lead guitar the lovely Geoff Kinch https://soundcloud.com/southern-drift
Thanks so much guys as usual x



Back To Mono

Watch and waiting from the window to the high street below,
And to think you were promised a gite in Bordeaux,
Wrap yourself tight against the cold of the flat,
With a microwave meal for one and a tin for the cat.

Forty years behind glass and stamps and destinations,
And the jokes and the gossiping with the regular patrons,
A smile and a wink for the man with dark hair,
And then he'd unwrap you once he'd got you upstairs.

Oh the winter's wet and cold here,
It's a lonely time of life,
And the things you were promised once
He'd left his nagging wife.

So there's white wash on the windows and dust on the shelves,
And all the people with their letters are going somewhere else,
The days spent with the TV and a sherry after four,
There's no more bell downstairs as he comes through the door.

Take a look at a postcard, yeah he's still got that writing,
Did you feel for a moment life could be once more exciting?
But the words are just empty and it's too much to bare,
No kiss, no being missed, no wishing you were there.

Thanks as usual to Mike Vaughan for the great drumming 
https://soundcloud.com/mikevaughanmusic 


The Postmistress

I drank too much last night and I felt like an artist
Purged of my ennui and full of catharsis
With wild inspiration and a frenzy of thought
I wrote three songs last night and did a painting of sorts

Be my motive, be my muse
Be the spark to my fuse
Be my vision, be my sight
Be the moon in my night

A stroke of a brush and a handful of clay
A sonnet, a poem, a script for a radio play
Be my darling never go away
When nothing makes sense in the cold cold light of day

Multi media mastery in wood, paint and glass
I looked at the world and it made sense at last
I've been writing a novel but it may be a play
About life and love and the modern malaise 

Thanks as always to Mike vaughan https://soundcloud.com/mikevaughanmusic for the wonderful drums



Be My Muse

You got him in to fix the skirting
You wanted a craftsman's touch
But now I've caught you flirting
I never knew how much

I found you in the carpenter's arms
You fell for his carpenter's charms
I caught you giving him a squeeze
As they called time gentlemen please

I was scraping across the surface
You were going against the grain
Just a pint had been my purpose
But now those plans have changed

I thought our lives were dovetailed
But now I'm left on the shelf
Next time even if I might fail
I'll be doing it myself.

The Carpenter's Arms

Once there was a boy
Mean and Misguided
But he'd never known love
A stranger to kindness

Once there was a girl
With heart enough for two
Loved the boy until 
The both of them flew

When the impossible happens
Walking on winged heels
When deeds make you fly
Don't forget how it feels

Gravity's pulled since the pair of you parted
So go to her now open hearted
Forget the past, forget the pain
And learn once more to fly again

Once there was a girl
Who tried her best
But had the bird fallen
Too far from its nest?

Once there was a boy
Who pulled them both down
Broke the girl's heart
As they hit the ground

Once there was a boy
Who leaned how to live
Stepped lightly from the ground
And learned how to live

The Boy Who Could Fly

In ailse 22 there's a smack for a kid
Never did nothing I never did
Lessons are learned and promptly hid
One more beforethe bell

There's a mess of machinery in your garden shed
Chaos and calamity hiding in your head
Might need a remedy before it's time for bed
One more before the bell

The paper's piling up in the one day pile
Gonna put it all in a cardboard file
Throw it on the firemight bring a smile
One more before the bell

This is no epistle
I'm just looking to wet my whistle
Before the final knell
Give me one more before the bell

When I'm dead and gone take me out for a drive
Scatter my ashes on the M25
Nothing like the road to make you feel alive
One more before the bell

One More Before The Bell

Yesterday has gone its way
And i didn't do that thing
But the things I did, well God forbid
I wish I'd never thought to begin

I could write a book on what it took
To waste so many days
To procrastinate 'till it's too late
To even write a single page

I'll never make a mark, even make a start
While my thoughts get in the way
Oh why can't forget, take little steps
Do something good today

Take it one day at a time

All the things that could have been
Why did they not transpire
All the plans that will never land
I'll just throw them on the fire.

Typewriter illustration by me.

Take It One Day At A Time

Ten Second Song

Middle aged men tend to talk about the Clash every so often, and in one such talk I remarked that I knew the locations in the song Stay Free as I had grown up just south of there. For a split second even in my own head I saw myself as Joe or Mick strutting through the streets of South London. Who am I kidding, my gang was a bunch of schoolboy wannabes, nearest I got to writing to someone in Brixton prison was watching episodes of Porridge. 

Anyway, I did walk those streets as a teenager and what can get more punk than a two chord song? This is maybe my own Stay Free.

The last gang in town
All full of go an get'em
On the 190 Bus
Heading north up thrugh Streatham

The last gang in town
Not an ounce of sense betixt then
Downstairs at the back
Heading north up to Brixton

These are the streets you walked
And we walked them too
Nothing but a gang of kids
London calling for the afteroon

The last gang in town
A bunch of softies from the suburbs
Tearaways on a tube train
Haven't even told their mothers

We were young and lost and looking
Full of the innocence of youth
Little rebels without a clue
Lost and looking for the truth

The last gang in town
having a riot of their own
play punks for the weekend
Teatime they'll be safe at home

The Last Gang In Town

Do you like crystals?
First thing that she said to me
There's a place down in Bristol
All alternative remedies

I believe in Gaia Earth
Paganism, head witchery
I said, Aretha is my Sunday church
Escapism is what I believe

I said, art and stuff is what floats my boat
Freud and Bacon and a bit of Blake
She said, oh none of that is of any note
You're mistaken, that's your mistake

Painting died with Paul Cezanne
Modern art can take a jump
Oh Reubens he's the man
With his women oh so plump

Where do we go from here?

At the bar she was beautiful
When she spoke it was meaningful
Who am I to know it all?
You don't always have to be the fool

She said, I'm a child of the Seventies
Mumps and measels and the threat of nits
I said, well this was meant to be
Catweazel and the Ballroom Blitz

Catweazle And The Ballroom Blitz

The kids wanna go out Wednesday
Do or die to have some fun
Bringing home the party atmosphere
And giving it to everyone

Granny knows the times are hard now
Coz the the clocks don't make no sense
Gonna sleep through the afternoon
And escape the the present tense

Sleep through the morning people
Sleep through the afternoon
And dream all day

Mary's Man Friday's missing
But he longs to be where he belongs
Leaves his tools on an unmade bed
It's a wrench when he's gone

Drive home through an empty city
Even the ghosts have left this town
Hurry on home for teatime
And leave the circus to the clowns

Sleep Through The Morning

The Sham Rock sessions were something a little different for The Sturmeys. Recorded in a proper studio with Mike Vaughan on Drums and Glen Jevon on bass. They recorded it old style all playing together and then over dubbed later.

Why not enjoy the video here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4BGgtucV7-8&t=41s

https://soundcloud.com/mikevaughanmusic

 Bow down to the truth, that waits under glass
For the microscope’s gaze to release it at last
Bow down to the data, the measurements equations
The cabbage and the ape and all our relations
Bow down to the need of the mutated seed
Of the first fish in time to slither out the slim
And survive it all and learn how to crawl
Mutating again ‘till it never was the same
Bow down to the rigour the sketches and the notes
The withstood the sniggers when they were first wrote
Bow down to islands and the creatures within
And the difference between them, where an idea begins
Bow down to the man who sort to understand
On a walk in the woods to learn all he could
Facts buried like bones, stooping to a stone
Then doing it again until the idea became
Bow down to the skies and the heavens beyond
To the atoms and the matter that have always belonged
Bow down to the stars, made of that matter
And the radio dishes, hearing galaxies chatter
Bow down to the eyes, that looked to the skies
And changed all the facts when the earth was still flat
And let’s not forget, bow down to the steps
That giants left behind on moons and in minds

Bow Down

The Sham Rock sessions were something a little different for The Sturmeys. Recorded in a proper studio with Mike Vaughan on Drums and Glen Jevon on bass. They recorded it old style all playing together and then over dubbed later.

Why not enjoy the video here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FC0URK8fjgQ&t=106s

https://soundcloud.com/mikevaughanmusic

I'm striking out for happiness
I'm on my merry way
I'm dancing down a different road
And I'll laugh at come what may

Goodbye to all the idiots
And their silly little lives
Gonna beat the blues, black and blue
With a jolly bunch of fives

Take me back to '76
Where the summer never ends
Let the joy in my broken heart
I see if it could mend

I'm striking out for happiness
I've packed a bag of cheer
there's nothing for me back there
So I'm happy being here

I'm striking out for happiness
Time's up for feeling down
There's no hope for hopelessness
I won't have it around

Take me back to '76
Where the summer never ends
Let the joy in my broken heart
And see if it could mend

I'm Striking Out For Happiness

Why not enjoy the video here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jV4KN52FWDw

When there's crumbs in your margarine
Tea spilt on you magazine
Alarm goes on the softest dream, hold on

When there's hair on you bar of soap
Loose your ball on the steepest slope
You want yes but the answers nope, hold on.

When your needle jumps the grooves
When the soul of your boot unglues
When the going's never smooth, hold on

When your bike's lost it's chain
Your T-shirt's got a dirty stain
You need sun and it's always rain, hold on

Hold on don't you know?
That's just the way it goes
And it goes till all the go has gone
Hold on to the fact
This is it and that is that
Hold on,hold on, hold on

When your biscuit's gone all soft
All the drinks have all been quaffed
Nothing left to raise aloft, hold on

When your trolley wheel get stuck
When you've run right out of luck
No one ever gives a        , hold on.

Hold On

'Wry Genius' -Mojo Magazine

Congratulations, you have stumbled across The Sturmey Archers time capsule that has lain buried beneath the Soundcloud sunken garden since the beginning of the 21st century. No doubt you are reading this from a future where music has become just that stuff in the background of funny video clips of dogs and babies. But historians amongst you will probably of heard of a time when music actually meant something to people. 

In the second decade of the 21st century a law was passed that decreed that all lyrics to songs should be about 'this night being the one' and stuff about 'putting your hands in the air'. These were strange times when songs about unique thoughts that sprung into individual's minds were considered retro, but musicians that copied German bands from thirty years previously were thought to still be original.

It was in the context of these times that small groups of renegade songwriters decided to carry on with the virtues of rock and pop's golden age and actually write songs about things, thoughts, feelings and other stuff. These were sometimes profound and and sometimes silly, but the words meant something, the music was playful and adventurous, and the tunes could be whistled by milkmen if they ever got the chance to hear them. They were on a mission to be at the very least, mildly entertaining.

Eminent musicologists of the time scoured the planet to find examples of this music that wasn't rubbish so they could bury it for future generations to enjoy. You now, the lucky archaeologist and future pop picker, have in your grasp the key to a world of wry world play, mad thoughts and old fashioned chord progressions. N.B. If Apes have taken over the planet, sorry for all the trouble we've caused.

The Sturmey Archers

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