SIR ROD’S MY ROCK’N’RAIL HERO
FEW things delight like the mellowing of rock stars.
The Rod Stewart of my childhood was the grinning lothario on the cover of the Blondes Have More Fun album, his arms wrapped around a raven-haired disco belle in leopard print duds.
Jammy b ***** . It was almost as if he were laughing at us ten-year-olds who didn’t have girlfriends.
Four decades on, the grin remains and more fun continues to be had – now with the vast model railway he keeps in his Los Angeles home. How long did it take him to build? Twentythree years.
How glorious that the man who used to appear on record covers with a pose that said ‘look how easily I pull ’em’ now revels so unashamedly in a pastime which might have pushed ’em away.
Rock stars are such terribly hard work when, late into their careers’ evenings, they strive to be cool.
People whose lives their music has touched for years would surely rather they were happy – which Sir Rod clearly is.