Better never than late

LINDISFARNE are one of me favourite Geordie bands. Everybody knows their plaintive yet defiant Geordie anthem Fog on the Tyne but it is a less well-known song that has inspired this radgie to put pen to paper this week (actually, it’s not literally pen to paper, but I still use olden-day words such as tape instead of record and I’ve even heard youngsters exclaim “ker-ching” when coming into cash, even thought they were born decades after the last mechanical shop till rang out its final farewell.

The song in question is a track from their 1970 debut album Nicely Out of Tune and is entitled The Things I Should Have Said.

I’m sure this resonates with most of us, as research done with elderly people supports the fact we usually regret the things we haven’t done with infinitely more anguish than the things we have (arch criminals and totalitarian dictators included.)

The first verse deals with the situation of being alone with somebody you really fancy and being too terrified or embarrassed to say anything.

The song’s creator, Rod Clements, had obviously been there.

The first verse deals with the issue of not telling someone you fancy them. You are unexpectedly alone with the object of your desire – in the ideal situation to speak your truth.

You have rehearsed this moment in your head for months, years even – when either a choked silence, or even worse, inane utter cobblers replaces the lines from the script you are desperate to share.

To quote the song – “And the things I should have said that were whispering in my head would not be spoken...”

One mate of mine, when faced Lindisfarne

with that long- cherished golden moment of opportunity of being with the woman of his desire, so feared the corrosive chasm of silence that was developing that he blurted out the first thought that flitted through his terror-addled mind.

Unfortunately, it happened to be his observation on how the previous evening’s heavy consumption of a dark Irish stout had changed the hue and tone of that morning’s bowel movement. Oh, the things he should have said!

Even more alarmingly, there are always the things that other people should have said too.

The object of my desire during my second year at university was a very pretty Welsh girl with whom I got on very well. We moved in different social circles. She cut a dash among the cool and politically active in crowd who went on demos and sit-ins.

I, on the other hand, lived in a flat with a gang of canny but radgie lads who went on pub crawls and midnight streaks. Furthermore, The place was minging – untidy and awash with inane and immature behaviour. All of these factors combined to produce the girl-repelling equivalent of a vampire’s reaction to garlic, stakes and crucifixes. Nevertheless, this girl – unbeknownst to myself – was actually really into me.

She even told my good mate Mick, who – in his infinite kindness – then passed the good news on to me when we were sat in a pub one afternoon.

The only problem was that he imparted this information last year – rather than in 1984 when it might have been of some conceivable use.

This raises the question about a new verse for Lindisfarne’s fine song – “but the things I should have said, which I didn’t bother saying until 40 years after the event, would probably been better left ****** ing unsaid in the **** first place!”

■ Mike is performing his own, allnew, one-hour show entitled “On yer Bike Mike – Giz a job” at The Stand comedy club on Monday, April 29.