The grudge that wouldn't budge
Grudge-bearing is not an admirable trait I'll grant you. Some would say it's akin to taking rat poison, then waiting for the rat to die. On the other hand, some more hard-boiled souls think they can help you survive the instability of life by holding on to them like a tick on a farmyard dog.
Lest we forget the philosophical musings of that great sage Chuck Berry in his profound opus 'No Particular Place To Go' while trying to have his lascivious way, but for a faulty seat belt, with a young lady. 'Riding along in my calaboose. Still trying to get her belt a-loose. All the way home, I held a grudge. For the safety belt that wouldn't budge.'
Mind you, Chuck had a bit of previous transporting young girls around. So much so, he was convicted under the Mann Act for crossing state lines with an underage girl for immoral purposes. Although he denied it, and there was an element of racial prejudice in the court, he went down for 20 months, which unsurprisingly changed him from an easy going fellow into a bitter man with a grudge the size of the Hoover Dam. Having said that, I've always found his rock 'n' roll classic 'Sweet Little Sixteen' a tad creepy and don't let us get anywhere near ' My Ding-ALing.'
I should have a major grudgefest against Jimmie Nicol – who? He was a short-term replacement for a flu-ridden Ringo Starr when The Beatles toured Australia in 1964. At the time I was stepping out with an Aussie Sheila called...you got it – Sheila.
The reason this raven-haired beauty choose me, was she shunned John, Paul, George and saved her affections for Ringo. Although I was a foot taller, I did have a rather forlorn downbeat melancholy persona rather like Ringo wandering aimlessly along the towpath to the sound of 'This Boy' in 'A Hard Day's Night.' Oh, and I had a big hooter. Sheila had a penchant for the underdog until we went to see The Beatles at the Centennial Hall, Adelaide.
Once she clapped eyes on Jimmie, who was a handsome cove I'll begrudgingly give you, that was the morose also-rans (yes, and you Ringo) down the gurgler – big snozzles and all. I really ought to feel the stirrings of rancour when I play the sweet soul sounds of The Temptations on the radio these days (see ad below).
The grudge goes back to the early 1970s when I went to interview them in Brighton at a venue 3 years later an unknown Swedish acronym and palindrome would win (before it went bent) the Eurovision Song Contest.
This was the height of the Black Panther movement and I was, pre-show, the only 'Honky' in the house. The group and groupies had no time for Whitey Ashley – pretty sure I heard asides that Mother was a trucker too – very odd, as she worked in Ye Olde Tea Shoppe in Woebegone Worthing.
Ironically, at least 95% of the audience that evening were palefaces. Hell's teeth, this was Sussex, not Salem by the Sea. We weren't 2 eye-holes in a pillowcase away from joining the KKK. However, in mitigation, the Motown Misanthropes were equal opportunity bigots – they hated each other too.
I really should feel ill-will toward Danny Baker, but I can't. He is a fine broadcaster and scribe, but he did steal a gig off me. At the time, I was presenting a Saturday sports show on the then national Talk Radio. Taking a break with the Current & Final Mrs Ashley spending some time sunning ourselves on Crete, one fine morning I was partaking of a full English while reading the English newspapers (I do like to immerse myself in the local culture) when I spotted an item announcing Danny was joining the station to present a Saturday sports show. I thought terrific. One of my favourite broadcasters joining us doing – 'hang on ...my show.'
While I'm at it, a well-known 'agony aunt' got my grudge back up. All us Talk Radio presenters had our publicity photos taken and then displayed on the foyer walls. Mine was right in a prime position in the middle of the top row. The next day it was moved to the end of the bottom row closest to the loos. I know it was you – Ms Raeburn.
Any grudges a-go-go always welcome; ashleybobble@hotmail. com