“It hasn’t been the same since
the violinist left!”
‘same again, please barman.’ I didn’t like the
sound of that, made me wonder if they somehow
recycled the stuff.
So there I was. Thinking, this would be a fine way
to earn a living.
And here I am, currently playing the piano on a
Danish ship, all these years on thinking... ‘mmm...
well...’
It seems extraordinary now that at fourteen I got
a regular job playing Fridays and Saturdays at the
sweet home inn in Poole (that one’s actually still
there). My status went through the roof when
somebody at school asked me if that really had
been me playing there the Friday before, and
how much did I get paid for that? I told him I got
two pounds fifty a night, which made him reflect
rather bitterly that his paper round required
getting up at quarter to seven, seven days a week
and paid a mere pound for the whole caboodle.
I pointed out, perhaps a tad patronisingly, that
whilst he was doing something worthy, delivering
www.thecartoonistsclub.com
information to a nation starved of the stuff (no
internet back then) I was merely playing the
piano, a greatly skilled thing to do, admittedly
but ultimately pointless; but he was inconsolable,
even though I kindly followed him around all day
reiterating the point.
I was all of sixteen when I answered an
advertisement for a pianist needed on the Costa
Dorada in Melody Maker. I wrote a very nice
letter listing all my experiences (see above) and
got a very nice letter back saying the job was now
filled but I sounded ideal and she would keep me
in mind for future occasions. A few weeks later
a telegraph arrived saying ‘pianist has broken leg.
Fly out as soon as you can’ and I sent a telegraph
back to say I was on my way.
I’d never been abroad before. I flew to Barcelona
wearing a three piece pinstripe suit which I
imagine made me look very grown up. In fact it
made me look (and feel) very hot. I took a train
to Calella. When I arrived there and introduced
myself the woman took one look at the sweating
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