section of seats at the back. From the moment they sat down, they would smoke like chimneys and sit there in their own hazy blue atmosphere, a self-sufficient nicotine-fuelled ecosystem, taking much of it with them when they finally disembarked, while always leaving enough behind so that we wouldn’t forget them.
For a while I became friendly with an older man who travelled part of my route each day. He would have been in his sixties and wore a dark pinstriped suit; his hair was whiter than white. We got talking and one day it emerged that he was none other than Bonnie Tyler’s father. There surely can’t be any readers who need reminding that Bonnie was a familiar voice in the charts from the seventies onwards with hits like ‘Lost in France’ and ‘It’s a Heartache’ – although, at the time of my daily journeys, she had been notable for some time by her absence from the hit parade. One morning on the bus, her dad, with some pride, told me how she had been in New York working with Jim Steinman.
‘Do you know who Jim Steinman is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He wrote and produced Bat Out Of Hell .’
‘That’s right.’
‘I know.’
‘Well, she’s been working with him and the new record is coming out soon, and I think it’ll be a Number One.’
‘Ooh.’
Deep down inside – in fact not that deep down, actually quite near the surface – I doubted that Bonnie would be enjoying a Number One hit. How wrong could I have been? A few months passed and before you could say, ‘Turn around, bright eyes,’ she was at the top of the charts everywhere with ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart’. Given my early-morning chats with her father, I’ve always felt slightly connected to the record; I feel that I should, to some small extent, be credited with having played a part in its success.
It was 1983, a good year for Number Ones: ‘Billie Jean’, ‘Every Breath You Take’ and ‘Baby Jane’ for Rod Stewart. David and I went to see him at Wembley on the weekend that ‘Baby Jane’ got to the top of the charts; we stayed at the flat behind the chemist’s shop. When we got back after the gig we put Rod’s album on loud and David walked into the bathroom to find me in front of the mirror, miming into a hairbrush.
Not long after Bonnie had been at Number One, David Bowie took the spot with ‘Let’s Dance’; everyone had the album and stayed glued to the television, hoping to see the video. I’d had a soft spot for Bowie since singing along in the car to ‘Life On Mars?’ at the age of eight.
It’s a God-awful small affair …
To which my mother quickly replied, ‘It may well be, but we won’t have that sort of language here …’
And especially since discovering that his real name was David Robert Jones.
Years later, I was staggered to hear him being interviewed on Radio One and saying that, when on the tour bus, he liked to watch Cruise of the Gods . The presenter hadn’t heard of it and Bowie said, ‘It stars the guy from Marion and Geoff … you know … what’s his name? Umm …’ The presenter not only hadn’t seen Cruise of the Gods , he also had no idea who the guy from Marion and Geoff was.
The two of them spent a good minute stumbling unsuccessfully towards my name while I shouted at the radio, ‘ It’s me, it’s me! ’
My cries went unanswered by the Thin (Forgetful) White Duke.
Ground Control was unable to make contact with Major Tom …
I could go on.
Cruise of the Gods was a curious melting pot of talent; new, established and undiscovered. Written by the splendid Tim Firth it tells the story of Andy Van Allen, former star of sci-fi series The Children of Castor , who has now fallen on hard times and accepts a booking to appear on a fan cruise where he will mingle with and answer questions from a collection of fanatical devotees of the show. While on the boat he comes into contact with his old co-star from the series, who is now a huge star in America. I played
For a while I became friendly with an older man who travelled part of my route each day. He would have been in his sixties and wore a dark pinstriped suit; his hair was whiter than white. We got talking and one day it emerged that he was none other than Bonnie Tyler’s father. There surely can’t be any readers who need reminding that Bonnie was a familiar voice in the charts from the seventies onwards with hits like ‘Lost in France’ and ‘It’s a Heartache’ – although, at the time of my daily journeys, she had been notable for some time by her absence from the hit parade. One morning on the bus, her dad, with some pride, told me how she had been in New York working with Jim Steinman.
‘Do you know who Jim Steinman is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He wrote and produced Bat Out Of Hell .’
‘That’s right.’
‘I know.’
‘Well, she’s been working with him and the new record is coming out soon, and I think it’ll be a Number One.’
‘Ooh.’
Deep down inside – in fact not that deep down, actually quite near the surface – I doubted that Bonnie would be enjoying a Number One hit. How wrong could I have been? A few months passed and before you could say, ‘Turn around, bright eyes,’ she was at the top of the charts everywhere with ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart’. Given my early-morning chats with her father, I’ve always felt slightly connected to the record; I feel that I should, to some small extent, be credited with having played a part in its success.
It was 1983, a good year for Number Ones: ‘Billie Jean’, ‘Every Breath You Take’ and ‘Baby Jane’ for Rod Stewart. David and I went to see him at Wembley on the weekend that ‘Baby Jane’ got to the top of the charts; we stayed at the flat behind the chemist’s shop. When we got back after the gig we put Rod’s album on loud and David walked into the bathroom to find me in front of the mirror, miming into a hairbrush.
Not long after Bonnie had been at Number One, David Bowie took the spot with ‘Let’s Dance’; everyone had the album and stayed glued to the television, hoping to see the video. I’d had a soft spot for Bowie since singing along in the car to ‘Life On Mars?’ at the age of eight.
It’s a God-awful small affair …
To which my mother quickly replied, ‘It may well be, but we won’t have that sort of language here …’
And especially since discovering that his real name was David Robert Jones.
Years later, I was staggered to hear him being interviewed on Radio One and saying that, when on the tour bus, he liked to watch Cruise of the Gods . The presenter hadn’t heard of it and Bowie said, ‘It stars the guy from Marion and Geoff … you know … what’s his name? Umm …’ The presenter not only hadn’t seen Cruise of the Gods , he also had no idea who the guy from Marion and Geoff was.
The two of them spent a good minute stumbling unsuccessfully towards my name while I shouted at the radio, ‘ It’s me, it’s me! ’
My cries went unanswered by the Thin (Forgetful) White Duke.
Ground Control was unable to make contact with Major Tom …
I could go on.
Cruise of the Gods was a curious melting pot of talent; new, established and undiscovered. Written by the splendid Tim Firth it tells the story of Andy Van Allen, former star of sci-fi series The Children of Castor , who has now fallen on hard times and accepts a booking to appear on a fan cruise where he will mingle with and answer questions from a collection of fanatical devotees of the show. While on the boat he comes into contact with his old co-star from the series, who is now a huge star in America. I played
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