I once worked with a guy back in the 1970s who went on to be immensely famous as CEO of a fairly major airline.
(And then not.)

But that’s a different story.

Appalling musical taste, but we were still pretty good mates.

As in “play-some-tennis-kick-a-football-around-the-local-ground-go-home-drink-a-bottle-of-gin” mates.

He even moved into our house (shared with a couple of other airline guys and a very spoiled mynah bird called Wop, who had the Financial Times to shit on and picked up “Shut the fuck up, Wop” quite quickly) for a while and the “drink-a-bottle-of-gin” skills were, of course, quite useful.

If not essential.

But musically, he was useless.

Dicky H asked him – about 20 seconds after he’s moved in – what sort of music he liked.

“Oh, heavy music”, he said.

Dicky looks like he’s just won the Pools.

“What, like Uriah Heep, Atomic Rooster, Wild Turkey? That sort of stuff?” with an expectant tone. Like “too good to be true” tone.

“Noooh” he said teutonically. “I like Beethoven. And Wagner”

Blank looks all around.
Quick scan of the dictionary reveals that “heavy” is synonymous with “serious” in German.

So that ruled music out as a topic of serious conversation.

I don’t think he’d ever bought a record in his life.

So we talked about football and birds. Mostly birds.

And Dicky and I kept on listening to Uriah Heep, Atomic Rooster, Wild Turkey, Free, Rod Stewart, Vinegar Joe.

Stuart W, Wop’s owner, listened to Middle of the Road, Tony Orlanda and Dawn and that sort of stuff.

Not much use, either.

But when it came to pulling birds, this guy had the most upfront, outrageously successful chat-up line

“I bet you haff never made lerve to an Orrstrrian”, he’d say

We couldn’t believe it!

Won’t say it worked every time, but a bloody sight more often than

“Ever shagged a Kiwi?”

Which was utterly unsuccessful.

As was “You don’t happen to like Joni Mitchell, do you?”. which was Dicky’s line.

Or “You wouldn’t happen to have any food, would you, dear?”. Dave W’s line

Then this guy buys a record .

Abba wins the Eurovision Song Contest in April 1974 with “Waterloo”.

A truly great song. (And wasn’t that blond Swedish bird in the band a cracker. Bloody hell!)

And he thought it was excellent, too.

“I shall buy ziss rrrecord” he announced.

No-one had the vaguest explanation for this epiphany, but it was a step in the right direction.

So off he heads to Hounslow on Monday afternoon and proudly returns with a 45 that he pops on the turntable.

Waterloo, Waterloo
Where will you meet your Waterloo?
Every puppy has its day
Everybody has to pay
Everybody has to meet his Waterloo

“Vot ze fuck ist ziss”, he yells.

Wop chimes in with “Shut the fuck up, Wop”

He yells “Shut ze fuck up, Vop”

The rest of us are creased up on the sofa, pissing ourselves…..

Waterloo. Stonewall Jackson. 1959.

Waterloo. Abba. 1974. Not in the shops yet

Waterloo Sunset’s even better, though.

Here’s the Kinks.

And the Pretenders