Booker T, ageing, fascism, fishing and Purple Rain ......

Another blast from the past last night.

Booker T.

An amazing concert with cover material from Bob Dylan, Prince and Jimi Hendrix plus of course, Booker T and the MG's.

Booker's band consisted of his son on lead guitar, a young and incredibly talented drummer who were accompanied by a Bass Guitarist from LA.

The best word that I could come up with was 'Musicianly', speed checker hasn't flagged that in Red so maybe it is a word after all.

Part of the show was a relaxed and senior riff on ageing. He told us that he was 74. But clearly he is, like Marvin Gaye, Alan Bennet, Eric Clapton and The Redskins  'Keeping on Keeping on'.

Strange that every time I buy tickets for The Sage in Gateshead they are for an old timer who continues to perform with youthful energy.

I have quoted St George, aka Georgie fame before, St Georgie promised that as long as he could remember the words and get up on stage he too would, 'Keep on Keeping on'.

So at 74 I find myself challenged each day to keep on keeping on. The biggest challenge is hearing, part of the problem is that I am now old enough to have heard most of it before.

Jokes? Yawn!
Sarcasm? Yawn!
Irritating behaviour? Yawn!
Constant Challenges? You should have lived with my Father!

But it is true that apart from choosing not to listen, my hearing has gone from bad to worse. Eyesight I can live with and I enjoy wearing spectacles which are an adornment, I have a few, not as many as Elton John, but a few more than people normally have.

But hearing aids, No Thanks.

They are clumsy, ungainly, don't go with my shavenheadedness and actually in practise don't help me to hear any better.

So I have an appointment with and audiologist.

The hospital sent me a form to fill in. If you are British, and can prove it, complete section one and go to section five.

When I got to the end I was tempted to write that I was the patient, but increasingly, losing patience with the actual and the implicit, what can only be termed, 'fascism', in the rest of the form.

If you come from outwith the UK or Britain, the NHS may as the form clearly states:

'need to ask the Home Office to confirm your immigration status to help us decide if you are eligible for free NHS treatment'.

 There is more to the form which goes on at length.

Given that my name is Smith (Purcell Smith) I guess that sounds British enough, but then it was a John Smith who founded Jamestown in America so I guess ........

But what if my name was not so classically English, what then?

When I travelled to Spain as a Chaplain in Fuengirola, the indoor critic battled with MS and though we didn't know it at the time, Breast Cancer.

So we registered with the Health Service.

Registering with the Health Service in Malaga was straightforward courtesy of the E111 card we both possessed. There was some impatience at our lack of fluency in Spanish but no 'fascist style' threats. But then I suppose that a country that has experienced actual 'fascism' wouldn't be to keen to repeat the experience or visit it on anyone else.

It's all part of the Brexit madness that has caused our country to change to the point that it is petrified to allow a 19 year old Mother to return to her family and the country where she was born and raised.

Sometimes as Dylan Thomas advised his dying father the only sane response is to 'Rage, rage against the dying of the light'. 

 But having raged for most of my adult years I am tired of raging, so the temptation is, like the disciples, to go fishing.

And, conveniently the fishing season begins at my local water, Derwent Water, on March 9th. So, whilst I will continue as a fisher of men, indeed I won't even leave the parish, I will like the disciples go back to fishing although in my case it will be for Trout.

I walked the dogs round the Reservoir today and noticed just how low the water is which is worrying given that it is only February. But the glass is falling and we are promised rain in the next few weeks as it becomes colder again.

So 'Tight Lines', as fishermen say.

Or as Booker T sang last evening, Purple Rain.

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