A lovely cheerful account of a Rock Star’s life – which he frankly acknowledges is pretty good: bags of money, impressive cars (he likes Lambo’s – translation for us plebs = Lamborghini), flocks of beautiful, leggy blondes, mansions in the UK and Los Angeles, drugs du jour – he’s quite open about his coke taking – apparently its prevalent in the music industry. His great passion, alongside music, sex and drugs, is FOOTBALL. He and his entire family are absolutely football mad. Rod currently plays for a team in LA, I think they’re called the Expats. Mark you, this man is in his early 60s.
His saving grace is his wry humour throughout the book, particularly a chapter, yes an entire chapter, related in deadpan detail, on how to create and maintain his famous spiky hairstyle. Several of the Book Club Ladies related how, during the 60s, they would ask their hairdresser to “give us a Rod” and would emerge with the spiky, tousled Rod hairstyle.
The Ladies reminisced about Britain in the 60’s – going to the pubs & clubs, hitch hiking home, late at night, and how safe it was. Alas, no longer.
Living in Rhodesia in the 60s, we didn’t have nearly so much fun in our colonial outpost, being 10 yrs behind the times, although bell bottom trousers, mini skirts and wedge heels had arrived in darkest Africa. In the late 60s there was the escalation of the Bush War, continuing into the early 70s, and we PARTIED. A country at war takes refuge in hectic partying, it’s a well known fact.
The same ladies agreed we all love Rod Stewart, we’ve loved him since the 1960s, and we continue to love him 40 years on – the man’s practically indestructible, when you consider how his music still sells, and in Christmas 2012 there was a TV special Rod Stewart’s Christmas and there he was in a natty tartan jacket (he loves tartan, proud of his Scottish heritage) warbling away with the great and famous.
The book has great photos and tons of fascinating anecdotes. I bet you didn’t know he’s a model train fan? He built vast layout/rail network in his Los Angeles home, necessitating the removal of interior walls so that the track could extend across the width of the building. Nice to be a Rock Star, hey?
And in closing I must confess I want his marvellous pounding anthem Rhythm of my Heart to be played at my memorial. I don’t want a funeral, but I do want a gathering, and they’re all going to have to listen to Rod.
OLD HABITS
It’s ridiculous, I know, but I just can’t stop myself. They say old habits die hard, and it’s true. I know you’re going to laugh – feel free. One of my persistent habits is my inability to throw away kitchen foil. After using it to cover a cooked dish before putting it into the fridge, I carefully rinse it off, wash it in hot soapy water, rinse again, smooth it out and leave it in the sun to dry, before folding and storing it for re-use. By now you’re shaking your heads and saying: Huh? But WHY ??
I’ll tell you why. For a period of about six years, kitchen foil was unobtainable – it was a luxury, along with kitchen cling-wrap, chocolate, MacIntoshes’s toffees, South African wine, and a massive list of other products that we all used to take for granted. In a word: sanctions. In Rhodesia during the mid-1970’s we had a trade embargo slapped on us by the British Government, and apart from vital commodities like fuel and mechanical spares, the minor items of life were also removed from our grasp. We had to live with fuel rationing, which was calculated to virtually the last drop, and you learnt to plan your driving very carefully so as to accomplish the maximum tasks with the minimum driving around. But we managed. And kitchen foil was a happy memory from easier times. There just wasn’t any, and if you did succeed in obtaining a precious roll, you guarded it with your life and used it sparingly, again and again and again.
During my first years of living in South Africa I remember watching aghast as
South African women cheerfully ripped off generous sheets of foil to double-cover a small plate of food, or double-wrap leftovers. It was all I could do to stop myself from leaping on them shouting, “Stop! That’s enough – you’re using too much!” and then on other occasions watch people rip off the foil covering, crumple the foil into a ball and drop it in the trash can … oh, the horror!
Of course, I could label my quirk as THRIFT, which is a good word, we should all be thrifty, eco-conscious citizens, should we not? I cannot tell you how it cheered me to read an article which revealed that HM Queen Elizabeth keeps string, in a certain desk drawer, thriftily saving it for future parcels. Apparently it was a habit she cultivated during World War II when Britain faced austerities on every level, and as I said at the beginning, old habits die hard. On the other hand, I do wonder whether her Majesty still wraps her own parcels – somehow I feel there should be a white-gloved footman bearing away the gifts on a silver tray, to be wrapped and parcelled by some lesser minion in a Palace storeroom. Times have changed, even in royal palaces. These days I bung gifts into a padded, ready-to-seal white bag (all sizes available) no string required, and that’s that. But I do still own a monster ball of brand new string.
At one time I did have the instructions for crocheting dishcloths out of string – now that’s super eco-thrifty – maybe I’ll churn out a few and use up the redundant string? Or maybe not; my To Be Read pile of books is beaming invitingly at me ….
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Filed under HUMOUR, SOCIAL COMMENT
Tagged as economic sanctions, petrol rationing, Rhodesia, silver kitchen foil, string, thrift, trade embargo