I know that I've written about things I've seen on the goggle box three times recently already and this makes no 4 but I'm nevertheless going to get on my high horse again and complain about the latest Coke ads to make their way onto our screens.
The ad shows beautifully shot footage of cold bottles, covered in condensation, the sensuous(!) shape of the bottle, the effervescent liquid looking wholesome and inviting. It claims that there are no artificial ingredients in the drink and that basically you can really trust Coke to provide you with a thirst-quenching refreshing drink that is not at all bad for you! Not only that, but it's always been good for you and has never contained any dodgy ingredients.
Well, I may be overclaiming the "no artificial ingredients" because this is based on my memory of the ad and as I've not seen it for a few days, I may have got the ACTUAL words wrong.....anyway, no matter, I think we can all assume that's the impression the company's marketers and ad agency want to convey even though they may be only able to make the claim about the "flavourings" - I'm sure their legal team were very careful to only claim what they could legally substantiate, even if they want you to believe that the product is and always has been truly wholesome. After all, the mighty Coca-Cola can't possibly say anything that might lead to a legal battle, can it?
So, never anything nasty in Coca-Cola? Er, well what about the aspartame in their diet formulations? Er - what about the cocaine that was in large quantities in the formula until 1903, then reduced substantially but still present until the 1930s? And while we're about it, what about the Sodium Benzoate linked to hyperactivity in children?
Not to mention having different corporate standards regarding the levels of pesticides that find their way into their products in countries where they think they can get away with lower standards? See Wikipedia's comments on this subject here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coca-Cola, where an Indian organisation (Centre for Science and Environment) found levels of pesticides in Coke at 30 times the maximum allowed level in the EU.
But at the end of the day, who cares? Consumers buy it (and many, many people love it). The company makes a huge profit and provides stacks of money to governments all over the world in taxes - who am I to suggest that perhaps you should question the claims of wholesomeness and naturalness? I'm just an ordinary soul who thinks this is fundamentally wrong. I'd prefer to see companies being stopped from making these sorts of claims - even if they start saying that drinking Coke will make you more sexy, have a bigger penis or bigger breasts - surely at least these sorts of claims are so crazy that most people will see through their pretence.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
Wednesday, 6 August 2008
Discretion is the Best part of valour
Can anyone tell me whether they are looking forward to seeing "Totally Calum Best" on the telly?
For anyone who doesn't know what this is, it's a reality TV show where Calum Best has to forgo sex for 50 days and 49 nights while his friends try to tempt him to sample the pleasures of the flesh.........
Oh please???!!!
Can this really be considered entertainment?
As far as I can tell, Calum Best has only one thing that makes him a "celebrity" and that's a Dad who was a gifted footballer and a fatally flawed human being in equal measure.
So, we, the Great British Public are now so discerning as to consider someone who is famous ONLY because his Dad was famous as interesting enough to feature on "celebrity" shows - we really are plumbing the depths aren't we? I must say, I couldn't care less whether Calum Best ever has sex again - as far as I can see that's much more information about the nearly celebrity than I'll ever need to know.
Let's face it, is it really so tragic/difficult/virtuous to go for 50 days without sex? I'm sure there are many folks out there who would love to have the opportunity for sex once every 50 days - in fact, I'll be prepared to bet there'll be many who'd be happy to get it once a year!
Dear, dear me, poor Calum.....how on earth is a man used to getting all his own way EVER going to manage to keep his dick in his pants for 50 whole days? It really is going to be such a terrible challenge. Strangely, we both (that's DM and me) think the so-called temptresses on the ad look rather less human than alien but that's a story for another day.
For anyone who doesn't know what this is, it's a reality TV show where Calum Best has to forgo sex for 50 days and 49 nights while his friends try to tempt him to sample the pleasures of the flesh.........
Oh please???!!!
Can this really be considered entertainment?
As far as I can tell, Calum Best has only one thing that makes him a "celebrity" and that's a Dad who was a gifted footballer and a fatally flawed human being in equal measure.
So, we, the Great British Public are now so discerning as to consider someone who is famous ONLY because his Dad was famous as interesting enough to feature on "celebrity" shows - we really are plumbing the depths aren't we? I must say, I couldn't care less whether Calum Best ever has sex again - as far as I can see that's much more information about the nearly celebrity than I'll ever need to know.
Let's face it, is it really so tragic/difficult/virtuous to go for 50 days without sex? I'm sure there are many folks out there who would love to have the opportunity for sex once every 50 days - in fact, I'll be prepared to bet there'll be many who'd be happy to get it once a year!
Dear, dear me, poor Calum.....how on earth is a man used to getting all his own way EVER going to manage to keep his dick in his pants for 50 whole days? It really is going to be such a terrible challenge. Strangely, we both (that's DM and me) think the so-called temptresses on the ad look rather less human than alien but that's a story for another day.
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
talking to the sea
Since writing my little piece about whether or not there is anyone out there listening to what I'm saying, I have got to thinking "does it matter?"
You see, for whatever reason, writing is a burning need for me. It can't be stopped.
So, I thought about whether I needed an audience for what I have to say or not and decided that audiences can come in many forms and to be honest, perhaps there is something in speaking to the wind rather than writing it all down for some total stranger to throw brickbats at. A "guest" told me last week that I am going to rot in hell for the whole of eternity and that my only hope of salvation was to "embrace the one and only true Lord". Er right on - in fact, somehow hell seems like a better place to be than rubbing shoulders with this sort of nutter.
I decided that there might be a perfect solution. I could stand on the top of a cliff on the Coast Path and let the wind whip my words from my heart and soul. Let my thoughts be heard by seagulls, cormorants, sky larks, wild flowers, the wind and waves.
So, what to say......
Well, in order to make the effort of finding myself a perfectly remote spot, with weather wild enough to take my words and carry them away from me, I need something of value to say.
Can I write something in advance? Hmmm - I'm not sure I'm confident enough to consider my own words worthy of my wild listeners.
Can I recite someone else's prose or poetry? Well, I could, but where to start - I think the arena requires poetry rather than prose but I know so little poetry that moves me. In my somewhat limited education, the only poetry that I came into contact with was the First World War poets and despite Wilfred Owen's "Anthem for Doomed Youth" certainly being worthy of such an audience, it's also just about the bleakest sentiment I can imagine and that's not good for my struggling soul, trying hard to find hope. Since then I've been stirred by poetry I've come across in other contexts, like a lovely e.e.cummings poem that I found quoted from in a book I was reading. My knowledge of this huge area of literature is, therefore about as limited as it's possible to imagine.
Therefore I revert to what some may describe as a lesser form of poetry and have found my perfect anthem for my cliff-top eulogy.
If you should find yourself somewhere on the 258 miles of Cornish Coast Path and you see a middle aged woman with her arms outstretched, a glint in her eye and a smile on her face, it'll be me. I'll be the one letting the rain hit my face and the wind whip the words from my mouth while I yell out at the sea......
#.........if we get caught in this wind then we could burn the ocean
if we get caught in this scene we're gonna be undone
it's just a simple metaphor, it's for a burning love
don't it make you smile like a forest fire......#
I may be a philistine where poetry is concerned, but this will do it for me. This will give me satisfaction for my soul. They may not be my own words, (they belong to that wonderful musician Lloyd Cole) but they are a start. Those who consider themselves students of poetry or indeed poets themselves may think this is a poor substitute for "the real thing" but it's very much a real thing to me.
You see, for whatever reason, writing is a burning need for me. It can't be stopped.
So, I thought about whether I needed an audience for what I have to say or not and decided that audiences can come in many forms and to be honest, perhaps there is something in speaking to the wind rather than writing it all down for some total stranger to throw brickbats at. A "guest" told me last week that I am going to rot in hell for the whole of eternity and that my only hope of salvation was to "embrace the one and only true Lord". Er right on - in fact, somehow hell seems like a better place to be than rubbing shoulders with this sort of nutter.
I decided that there might be a perfect solution. I could stand on the top of a cliff on the Coast Path and let the wind whip my words from my heart and soul. Let my thoughts be heard by seagulls, cormorants, sky larks, wild flowers, the wind and waves.
So, what to say......
Well, in order to make the effort of finding myself a perfectly remote spot, with weather wild enough to take my words and carry them away from me, I need something of value to say.
Can I write something in advance? Hmmm - I'm not sure I'm confident enough to consider my own words worthy of my wild listeners.
Can I recite someone else's prose or poetry? Well, I could, but where to start - I think the arena requires poetry rather than prose but I know so little poetry that moves me. In my somewhat limited education, the only poetry that I came into contact with was the First World War poets and despite Wilfred Owen's "Anthem for Doomed Youth" certainly being worthy of such an audience, it's also just about the bleakest sentiment I can imagine and that's not good for my struggling soul, trying hard to find hope. Since then I've been stirred by poetry I've come across in other contexts, like a lovely e.e.cummings poem that I found quoted from in a book I was reading. My knowledge of this huge area of literature is, therefore about as limited as it's possible to imagine.
Therefore I revert to what some may describe as a lesser form of poetry and have found my perfect anthem for my cliff-top eulogy.
If you should find yourself somewhere on the 258 miles of Cornish Coast Path and you see a middle aged woman with her arms outstretched, a glint in her eye and a smile on her face, it'll be me. I'll be the one letting the rain hit my face and the wind whip the words from my mouth while I yell out at the sea......
#.........if we get caught in this wind then we could burn the ocean
if we get caught in this scene we're gonna be undone
it's just a simple metaphor, it's for a burning love
don't it make you smile like a forest fire......#
I may be a philistine where poetry is concerned, but this will do it for me. This will give me satisfaction for my soul. They may not be my own words, (they belong to that wonderful musician Lloyd Cole) but they are a start. Those who consider themselves students of poetry or indeed poets themselves may think this is a poor substitute for "the real thing" but it's very much a real thing to me.
Wednesday, 30 July 2008
Perfect Peggy
I suppose a good place to start today is to tell that "I need Gok" upset DM because it was very bleak so I resolved not to post again until I felt a wee bit more cheerful. Hence yesterday and now again today!
Today's post is about a beautiful young woman called Peggy. She first came to my attention because she had the most wonderful hairdo. It's like a quiff stuck on backwards. She's very chic in her grey outfit, with splashes of black and white, she always looks immaculately turned out. Her jet black eyes sparkle and shine and she's a picture of health. She's got long, thin, graceful legs that go right up to her bottom as the saying goes. She's really beautiful.
She's a female chaffinch of course - who else?
She comes to our bird table every day, often several times in each day. She'll fly in and land on the back of a garden chair while waiting her turn on the bird table. (There is a definite etiquette among my little feathered friends that dictates who feeds when and who can be on the table with whom.)
When she lands on the chair, she does this little shuffle that none of the others do. She sort of wobbles, as though finding her balance, then she'll bob up and down for a bit, then she'll daintily fly up in the air, turning round so she's facing the opposite way. She's the only one of our birds to do this.
How can I be so sure it's her - perhaps all of the female chaffinches are doing it and I'm just attributing it to Peggy?
Well, she's only got one foot you see. The bobbing up and down is her trying to get her stump balanced onto the chair because she has no foot with which to grip.
What a remarkable little critter she is. She's as beautiful as a beautiful thing and she sure looks after herself well. When we first spotted her, we thought she'd never survive but we've been seeing her now for several weeks and she looks as good as ever.
In fact, what am I wasting time sitting here writing about her for when I should be making sure there is enough food on the bird table for her and her friends for breakfast...........
Today's post is about a beautiful young woman called Peggy. She first came to my attention because she had the most wonderful hairdo. It's like a quiff stuck on backwards. She's very chic in her grey outfit, with splashes of black and white, she always looks immaculately turned out. Her jet black eyes sparkle and shine and she's a picture of health. She's got long, thin, graceful legs that go right up to her bottom as the saying goes. She's really beautiful.
She's a female chaffinch of course - who else?
She comes to our bird table every day, often several times in each day. She'll fly in and land on the back of a garden chair while waiting her turn on the bird table. (There is a definite etiquette among my little feathered friends that dictates who feeds when and who can be on the table with whom.)
When she lands on the chair, she does this little shuffle that none of the others do. She sort of wobbles, as though finding her balance, then she'll bob up and down for a bit, then she'll daintily fly up in the air, turning round so she's facing the opposite way. She's the only one of our birds to do this.
How can I be so sure it's her - perhaps all of the female chaffinches are doing it and I'm just attributing it to Peggy?
Well, she's only got one foot you see. The bobbing up and down is her trying to get her stump balanced onto the chair because she has no foot with which to grip.
What a remarkable little critter she is. She's as beautiful as a beautiful thing and she sure looks after herself well. When we first spotted her, we thought she'd never survive but we've been seeing her now for several weeks and she looks as good as ever.
In fact, what am I wasting time sitting here writing about her for when I should be making sure there is enough food on the bird table for her and her friends for breakfast...........
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
tonic for the soul
There was more than one occasion, indeed many occasions, when I questioned why I did my five-year-long blog on pbase (www.pbase.com/lindarocks). Although overall the experience was hugely positive, sometimes the "chore" got me down and occasionally, a stupid guest comment got me mad.
This week, I have found myself with a huge smile on my face three times because of all that work and effort I put into pbase. Three non-pbase women who were regular readers of my blog have contacted me regarding various things.
Firstly Mindy - thank you for the comment on David's pbase - it made me very happy.
Then Christa - I was so glad to hear from you too - again I got a big smile from hearing from you.
The one that really stunned me was from a lady called Susie who has been following my life through pbase and she emailed me this morning to say she'd been inspired by me to follow her dream and go to her first gig. She's a mother of three whose family thought such things were bad so as a young woman she never ventured to a live music venue. Last night, she went to see George Michael, having seen me write about the thrill of live music and realising that if this "middle-aged woman" (me) could do it, so could she. Her email's tone was soaring with pleasure and happiness. She said I made that happen for her. I'm sure that she made it happen for herself but if she wants me to take credit for "enabling her" then I will happily do so.
One of the terrible things about clinical depression is the way that you think you are totally useless, without redemption. Reading the notes of people who had a thirst to see more of my world made me realise that I've "touched a few souls" with my writing so maybe, just maybe, I'm not completely useless after all.
In total now, I know that a few pbasers are also finding their way here so welcome to Gail and Gordon from pbase and Teresa of course (and anyone else making the journey). Thanks for being kind friends.
Sorry, I know this sounds a bit like an Oscars speech, but I just wanted to show you all that your faith in me has given me a boost.
Overall, the blogspot experience is difficult to guauge - there is no feedback about page views and you only know about comments by scrolling through your entries and looking at the end of each. Sometimes, since I started this new journey, I've been feeling as though I'm at best talking to myself because there is no way of knowing if anyone out there looks at this. So, a little plea, why not leave me a message?
This week, I have found myself with a huge smile on my face three times because of all that work and effort I put into pbase. Three non-pbase women who were regular readers of my blog have contacted me regarding various things.
Firstly Mindy - thank you for the comment on David's pbase - it made me very happy.
Then Christa - I was so glad to hear from you too - again I got a big smile from hearing from you.
The one that really stunned me was from a lady called Susie who has been following my life through pbase and she emailed me this morning to say she'd been inspired by me to follow her dream and go to her first gig. She's a mother of three whose family thought such things were bad so as a young woman she never ventured to a live music venue. Last night, she went to see George Michael, having seen me write about the thrill of live music and realising that if this "middle-aged woman" (me) could do it, so could she. Her email's tone was soaring with pleasure and happiness. She said I made that happen for her. I'm sure that she made it happen for herself but if she wants me to take credit for "enabling her" then I will happily do so.
One of the terrible things about clinical depression is the way that you think you are totally useless, without redemption. Reading the notes of people who had a thirst to see more of my world made me realise that I've "touched a few souls" with my writing so maybe, just maybe, I'm not completely useless after all.
In total now, I know that a few pbasers are also finding their way here so welcome to Gail and Gordon from pbase and Teresa of course (and anyone else making the journey). Thanks for being kind friends.
Sorry, I know this sounds a bit like an Oscars speech, but I just wanted to show you all that your faith in me has given me a boost.
Overall, the blogspot experience is difficult to guauge - there is no feedback about page views and you only know about comments by scrolling through your entries and looking at the end of each. Sometimes, since I started this new journey, I've been feeling as though I'm at best talking to myself because there is no way of knowing if anyone out there looks at this. So, a little plea, why not leave me a message?
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
I need Gok
Here in the UK we have a TV show called "How to look good naked". It's hosted by a fabulously extra camp chap called Gok Wan. Gok takes a woman who has lost herself and brings her alive again by encouraging her to make the most of her assets, whatever they are and to love the parts of her that she's come to hate.
I think Gok gets away with things that no straight guy ever could in the same situation - I was all at once both horrified and thrilled when he buried his head in a woman's chest and sighed "you have magnificent bazookas". No-one with a sexual attraction towards their subject could get away with that without being totally creepy, yet when Gok does it you admire his cheek and long to be that woman!!!
I watch this show with a real mix of terror and elation, knowing that the women who agree to participate are at the end of their tether, with sub-zero self esteem, much like myself. He treats each woman with utmost kindness and respect, coaxing them out of their "sacks" that they hide behind. He shows them that their self-image is way from the image that others have of them - they will almost always describe themselves as much fatter than they are, they often have hang-ups about stretch marks and other things they see as blemishes. Gok shows them that they are indeed lovable and beautiful. He gives them back their self-esteem by gently showing them how to dress to suit their shape. He offers these women hope that they'd forgotten existed.
The two best bits of the show are the bit where the woman is photographed naked and she always comes out looking like a glamourous, vibrant soul, no matter what her size or shape. It's done with such attention to detail and care that the woman's "best bits" are highlighted, drawing the eyes away from the so-called blemishes. The other wonderful bit is where the woman models her new wardrobe (and self) on a catwalk in a busy shopping centre, culminating with a walk down the catwalk in underwear and finally a cheeky naked glimpse at the end. The reason why this is so joyful is that a woman who starts the show crushed, broken and bleeding suddenly sees what others see. Her family is in the audience and to be honest, the look of pride and happiness on the husband/boyfriend/best friend/Mum as she struts her stuff is so uplifting. It's real soul food.
Each time I settle down to watch the show, I realise that these women often display at least some of the characteristics of depression. They are fragile and brittle in a way that looking in seems heartbreaking and "plain wrong" given that we as the viewers don't see them with their own eyes, we see them with at least unbiased eyes and (in my case and that of many of my friends) see them with eyes that are full of kindness for the lost soul who is being helped by Gok.
I need a Gok in my life. I could never get my kit off in front of a camera or strut my stuff on a catwalk, I'm just too far gone to ever achieve that. BUT I can see how someone stroking my hair, telling me how clever/kind/caring/pretty I am and helping me to see that for myself could help me up from the abyss that I'm making tiny steps already to climb out of. Oh how I wish that I could have my own confidence restored and to become a Linda that I recognise, rather than this ghostly, pale, scared soul that I've become.
My psychologist is making some headway here but my mind keeps finding its way into black corners that are difficult to see how to escape from.
I think Gok gets away with things that no straight guy ever could in the same situation - I was all at once both horrified and thrilled when he buried his head in a woman's chest and sighed "you have magnificent bazookas". No-one with a sexual attraction towards their subject could get away with that without being totally creepy, yet when Gok does it you admire his cheek and long to be that woman!!!
I watch this show with a real mix of terror and elation, knowing that the women who agree to participate are at the end of their tether, with sub-zero self esteem, much like myself. He treats each woman with utmost kindness and respect, coaxing them out of their "sacks" that they hide behind. He shows them that their self-image is way from the image that others have of them - they will almost always describe themselves as much fatter than they are, they often have hang-ups about stretch marks and other things they see as blemishes. Gok shows them that they are indeed lovable and beautiful. He gives them back their self-esteem by gently showing them how to dress to suit their shape. He offers these women hope that they'd forgotten existed.
The two best bits of the show are the bit where the woman is photographed naked and she always comes out looking like a glamourous, vibrant soul, no matter what her size or shape. It's done with such attention to detail and care that the woman's "best bits" are highlighted, drawing the eyes away from the so-called blemishes. The other wonderful bit is where the woman models her new wardrobe (and self) on a catwalk in a busy shopping centre, culminating with a walk down the catwalk in underwear and finally a cheeky naked glimpse at the end. The reason why this is so joyful is that a woman who starts the show crushed, broken and bleeding suddenly sees what others see. Her family is in the audience and to be honest, the look of pride and happiness on the husband/boyfriend/best friend/Mum as she struts her stuff is so uplifting. It's real soul food.
Each time I settle down to watch the show, I realise that these women often display at least some of the characteristics of depression. They are fragile and brittle in a way that looking in seems heartbreaking and "plain wrong" given that we as the viewers don't see them with their own eyes, we see them with at least unbiased eyes and (in my case and that of many of my friends) see them with eyes that are full of kindness for the lost soul who is being helped by Gok.
I need a Gok in my life. I could never get my kit off in front of a camera or strut my stuff on a catwalk, I'm just too far gone to ever achieve that. BUT I can see how someone stroking my hair, telling me how clever/kind/caring/pretty I am and helping me to see that for myself could help me up from the abyss that I'm making tiny steps already to climb out of. Oh how I wish that I could have my own confidence restored and to become a Linda that I recognise, rather than this ghostly, pale, scared soul that I've become.
My psychologist is making some headway here but my mind keeps finding its way into black corners that are difficult to see how to escape from.
Wednesday, 16 July 2008
sex and drugs and rock and roll
One of the things I once liked most about myself was my rebelliousness. I would go out of my way to make sure that no-one could predict my responses to things or what I'd do next.
Music was a big part of that Linda and I was constantly drawn to artists on the Stiff Records label, including the bloody marvellous Ian Dury and the Blockheads, whose "sex and drugs and rock and roll" single spawned a whole load of fab merchandise - remember the button badges with one word from the title on? Remember the t-shirt, with the rubberised text and the stiff logo on the arm? I had one of those at the time, along with a "if you kill time you murder success" one! Well, when I spotted that t-shirt being re-issued recently I just had to have one. In fact, I also bought another which was a new Stiffy - and very apt in these days of "little blue pills". It bears the very irreverant and very typically Stiff legend "Stiff without any fucking pills".
These two shirts give me a thrill. (Sorry Mum)
Why? Well, they represent a Linda that has been lost. A young rebel who thought nothing of going to gigs five-nights-a-week or jumping into the car, going to Manchester to see a band on a Tuesday night, then driving home overnight, showering and going straight to work with no sleep but lots of great memories. A Linda who had dreams of becoming a http://www.pbase.com/lindarocks/strummer" rock photographer. A Linda who knew what she stood for and stood for it whether it was popular or "good" or not. A Linda who believed in things and didn't compromise her values for success or money.
Somehow that Linda got lost along the way, being replaced with a Linda who may have been considered by many to be less abrasive but who Linda didn't recognise.
I bought my two Stiff shirts and wear them proudly in the garden, while cutting the grass. A task that I loathe. Today, I have been wearing my "sex and ...." t-shirt, with a pair of friesian cow-print trousers, cutting the grass and singing along to myself.....
#....Keep your silly ways or throw them out the window
The wisdom of your ways, I've been there and I know
Lots of other ways, what a jolly bad show
If all you ever do is business you don't like.....
I may not be a rock and roll rebel any more, but perhaps now I'm the Great Pretender!
Music was a big part of that Linda and I was constantly drawn to artists on the Stiff Records label, including the bloody marvellous Ian Dury and the Blockheads, whose "sex and drugs and rock and roll" single spawned a whole load of fab merchandise - remember the button badges with one word from the title on? Remember the t-shirt, with the rubberised text and the stiff logo on the arm? I had one of those at the time, along with a "if you kill time you murder success" one! Well, when I spotted that t-shirt being re-issued recently I just had to have one. In fact, I also bought another which was a new Stiffy - and very apt in these days of "little blue pills". It bears the very irreverant and very typically Stiff legend "Stiff without any fucking pills".
These two shirts give me a thrill. (Sorry Mum)
Why? Well, they represent a Linda that has been lost. A young rebel who thought nothing of going to gigs five-nights-a-week or jumping into the car, going to Manchester to see a band on a Tuesday night, then driving home overnight, showering and going straight to work with no sleep but lots of great memories. A Linda who had dreams of becoming a http://www.pbase.com/lindarocks/strummer" rock photographer. A Linda who knew what she stood for and stood for it whether it was popular or "good" or not. A Linda who believed in things and didn't compromise her values for success or money.
Somehow that Linda got lost along the way, being replaced with a Linda who may have been considered by many to be less abrasive but who Linda didn't recognise.
I bought my two Stiff shirts and wear them proudly in the garden, while cutting the grass. A task that I loathe. Today, I have been wearing my "sex and ...." t-shirt, with a pair of friesian cow-print trousers, cutting the grass and singing along to myself.....
#....Keep your silly ways or throw them out the window
The wisdom of your ways, I've been there and I know
Lots of other ways, what a jolly bad show
If all you ever do is business you don't like.....
I may not be a rock and roll rebel any more, but perhaps now I'm the Great Pretender!
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