Doc’s Goodbye

Now we are in the Late Late Show studio of fading images. Only with Allbright’s infrared specs can we see the apparitions: shadows who have flickered across the box. - Some perhaps more dead than alive. Old lags such as R. Moore and J. Nicholson still hanging in there I see. Danker and Der Springer sadly gone to the other side.

A word should go to the Doc’s family and friends; the guys from Splinder, ESP Luci; awkward customers like Maldodor. The Shiekh I see has come in disguise naturally but you can’t fool the doc with those old Foster Grants. Here’s to the BB girls, Hadja, O, Felice you were my muses once. A special thanks to Kola, too I will not forget those thousand and one nights, nor will the General come to that!

The world may still be run by erseholes, Sharkhunter. I know Childe Harold is itching to qualify that. Well, we’ve got the c***s, Harold. - At least here in the box. We’ve nailed them on the head and stuck them in their coffins. They can only come back as Vamps.

Whilst we are on the subject. - I see Mart has mislaid his rizlas, well they’re under the seat, Mart – behind you. - We can, since we are all, are we not, actors in this Empire drama, choose to put a stop to the spin. - Go about the tough, awkward biz of negotiating for the peas on the plate. Even if it might well take more than just a couple of hard-nosed New York lawyers to button up the Elders and stop the Sheikh’s more trigger happy friends from tearing each other’s throats in some splatter-day Homeboy vid. -

There’s nothing much else to say. Except, there’s a tub full of champagne in ice out the back. And some eats. - Foccaccia courtesy of the aunts. Though I would not touch the quiche, Aunt Lorraine always skimps on the eggs. Afterwards there’s lemon cake. By all means go for the lemon cake. - That’s made by Mum.

P.S. Bill Burroughs is whispering in my ear to try some of that yage. Personally I think I’ll just stick – along with the Sheikh - to the qat.