A READER draws my attention to the Keith Richards autobiography, Life, recently out in paperback, where three unnamed Sheffield lasses make a brief but undoubtedly heroic cameo.
Describing a Fulham apartment where he, Mick Jagger and Brian Jones lived in the summer of 1962, the legendary guitarist recalls the South Yorkshire trio from the flat below.
“The student teachers from Sheffield are probably headmistresses now,” writes Keef. “But at the time they were a randy bunch. Which we had very little time for. We were in and out like Flynn. Mick and Brian were down there but I never got involved with them. I didn’t fancy them. But I found they came in handy. They would do a bit of laundry for you.”
MUSIC of a different kind and lovely to see Brassed Off – the film starring Pete Postlethwaite and Ewan McGregor, and inspired by Grimethorpe Colliery Band’s struggles – on TV again over the weekend.
Surely the only movie that’s ever made the flugelhorn seem hot.
REGULAR readers – there must be one or two of you out there – will be well aware of my dislike for the chuggers who occupy Sheffield’s Fargate and The Moor every day.
But over the last few weeks I’ve come to the conclusion there’s a far more unpleasant pest: the pigeons.
These animals are every bit as bold as their charity counterparts, and (for the most part, anyway) even less hygienic.
They’re either flapping and flailing about at face height - or, worse, are simply too lazy to move out of your way, expecting you to walk around them instead. And, yet, if you give these fat furballs a quick, well-desrved boot up the backside, it’s suddenly you that’s the bad guy.
Meanwhile, the idiots who feed them don’t understand that they’re essentially encouraging a flying rodent. Well, it’s not on any more.
I’m all for animal rights but I also believe in the right animals.
In this case we need a city falcon to put a bit of fear into these fat flappers.
Over to you, Julie Dore...