Mad Dogs and Englishman

Dear James,
Let it not be said that this blog is a sad 70s throwback by two middle-aged men trying desperately to be ironic by pretending to like dodgy MOR tunes which they actually do like because they crossed the fine line of irony many years ago and are now clinging onto a vinyl copy of Tigermilk as their last shred of musical credibility. I've heard people say that about this blog.

No, this blog can also be a sad 50s throwback too, and who better for our first glimpse of the days when people wore dinner suits for light entertainment television and talked proper than that staunch heterosexualist, Noël Coward. I'm only pretending to like him because Freddie Mercury was compared to him so often. But look at how fast he sings! He's like Eminem in a tux.

Some interesting facts about Coward I cribbed off Wikipedia:
-He was a spy and in the Nazis' Black Book. That's their book of people to kill, not to be confused with their Red Book of hot flings from their decadent Weimar days.
-His chum George VI tried to knight him but Churchill blocked it because he thought Coward was a bit of a whoopsy. Has Graham Norton been knighted yet? No. And it's all that homophobe Blair's fault.
-Peter Collinson, Italian Job director, was an orphan at The Actors' Orphanage, of which Noël Coward was president.
-Noël Coward's neighbour in Jamaica was Ian Fleming.
-The Doctor Who novel "Mad Dogs and Englishmen" features a version of Coward who has allied himself with alien poodles and gained time travel technology. I wish I'd made that up, but apparently it's true.

Dear Daniel,

You'll have to shoulder that confidence-crisis yourself. I take no responsibility for the massive splurge of 70s nonsense for which Genesis was the, er, genesis. And bearing in mind I'm pretty sure something's going to get me by the time I'm fifty, I was middle aged at 25. I'm currently sliding pleasantly towards dotage.

I know virtually nothing about Noel Coward, beyond him being wonderful in the Italian Job. And the chorus to this. I didn't realise it was quite such a performance piece. It really only just manages to stay clear of rampant xenophobia, tricking you into thinking it's a harmless, self-effacing jibe at the niavity of Imperial toffs and at the same time slipping in a few stereotypes and ubba-jubba laffs at African dialects like a street magician with a charming smile who's secretly going for your wallet.

Eminem in a tux indeed.