In the early 1970s when I was in my 20s, I was sharing a flat in Hampstead, northwest London, with a like-minded group of jazz enthusiasts. I had just had my first and only novel published and was also pursuing a fledgling career in advertising photography.
George Melly had recently released a highly successful album track called Nuts (“get them from the peanut man”). One evening my flatmate and I drove to the Cricklewood Tavern to see him on stage. He was announced as “Good Time George” and introduced himself as “Mick Jagger’s grandfather”.
Anyone watching any rare clips of his performances on the internet today would understand the reason why. He had many of the characteristics of the Rolling Stones frontman including the wide eyes, loose mouth and boundless athletic energy. George Melly’s rendering of Frankie and Johnny, which involved a combination of blatant innuendo and a carefully arranged pair of shoes over his shoulder, was a sight to behold.
At the end of the performance, my housemate and I returned to my very old P1800 Volvo and, much to our surprise, George was outside the venue attempting to kickstart his motor scooter. The rain was lashing down and George was jumping, kicking and swearing in a scene very similar to Basil Fawlty’s famous altercation with a tree branch and a small vehicle.
Without much thought, I walked up to George and asked him if he would like a lift home. I knew he lived in my area and without hesitation he abandoned the scooter with a final kick, grabbed his bright yellow crash helmet and squeezed himself into the front passenger seat. My somewhat surprised flatmate volunteered to relocate to what can only be described as a small shelf in the back of the car. Overall, it was a very tight squeeze for all of us. George immediately lit a huge cigar which rendered visibility inside the vehicle to almost zero. Visibility outside the vehicle was already very bad due to the misted-up rear window, the missing wing mirrors and the malfunctioning wipers that reluctantly crawled across the windscreen on a very random timeframe.
George seemed oblivious to the perils of the journey. He was busy issuing directions: “first right”, “second right”, “next left”. Eventually we stopped at a set of lights and as they turned a very foggy green, he announced, “I don’t know where I go from here!” Vehicles behind were tooting, lights were flashing and I responded, “Well, I’ve got to get away from these lights.”
“Oh,” he said, and issuing one of his wicked smiles, continued: “I wasn’t talking about directions, I was talking about my life in general. Straight over the lights ol’ man and drop me on the corner.”
