As ever, there’s been some truly remarkable music-on-tv of late. They had a docu-thing all about the Eagles. Early, middle, late, pre-trial, mid-split, post-litigation, apres rehab, the usual. So much that it was in 2 parts, both long and luxurious and easy on the ear.

On Saturday night it was Wham night on BBC2. Ahh brilliant. Wham! Who I remember as being a bit Club Tropicana, a little Take me to the Edge of Heaven, and overdosing on leather jackets, brilliant white teeth and Georgios Michaelovich prancing round on stage like God’s very own personal gift to every red-blooded woman in the world. The gay men also loved him but only because he empitomised the heterosexual dream. Once George actually came out, the allure was gone for them, oddly. And the girls were all tragically disappointed that the dream would never become a reality. This white knight was never going to rescue them from their tower, he was in the shed with their gardener. But of course George went on to big things as a solo artist, because he was a talent, with a fab voice and great skills.

So I must have just kind of revised the history in my mind and thought Wham! were some proto-supergroup instead of just some silly pop duet consisting of an impossibly handsome Greek geezer and the guitar holding, slightly sickly, pretty worthless, ‘Other C**t’. Oh, him. Yes I remember him, sort of standing there on the stage, getting in George’s way, the Other C**t. But they weren’t a supergroup, they were pop bollox and this BBC retrospective programme only lasted half an hour. Thirty minutes. Clive Dunn got 45 minutes and he only ever sang ‘Grandad’. And they didn’t even play Careless Whisper, because George sang it as a solo artist, even though, ironically, it was actually written by the Other C**t. Odd eh? That’s why when George was off being the biggest celebrity in the universe, the O.C. did nothing. He didn’t need to because he wrote Careless Whisper and must get about a zillion quid a year in royalties.

I met George Michael once. No, not on Hampstead Heath, you horrible horrible person. But many many years ago, before George had er, ‘revealed his true self to the world’ I went to a party at my mate Dom’s. And for some reason, probably that Dom was gay in every single respect other than that he was totally heterosexual, George was coming to the party. A few other people were there, can’t imagine why, Dom’s never been very popular, which you’d understand if you know him, but it was crowded and fun and then and then AND THEN…

Then in walked this rather small, pretty nondescript geezer with a terrible complexion and a monobrow. Ok, maybe not a monobrow, I seriously can’t remember. I think I’d fully expected the house lights to dim, the floodlights to fire up and this massive SUPERSTAR to show his ever-grinning super-white teeth to the crowd, bare-chested and dancing his way round the room singing “Babeee, I’m you-ou-our Maaa-aan…” But no. He just stood there looking a bit shy and a touch creepy and left the superstar duties to me. Well, whatever. I avoided the ‘you look much more tall/bright/handsome/normal/smooth/confident on’t telly’ conversation but everyone’s disappointment was almost tangible.

I’ve never forgiven him though I don’t think this affected his career too profoundly. But 30 minutes for Wham!???

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx