I started to go through some drawings today and this one popped up. On the back it says "audience from th'Groover's view point on stage, as he starts to play his first number" The shock is evident but I wonder what number he started with? I'm sure I have some old tapes that were put together when th'Groover recorded his EP. I seem to remember a Garry Glitter parody that went something like 'I'm big, I'm bad, I'm butch - you can look but don't touch'.

It was about the time when The Sweet were huge and Benyon really hated them. He drew a caricature of the band in the NME, showing them as being fat and ugly on really high platform shoes. Of course they phoned up and asked for copies because they found it really amusing. It was carpet eating time.

It's illegal to say anything detrimental against St Bob, so God bless him and let's hope he never makes any new recordings

The sun is possitively beating down today. Is this summer or one of those phoney warm days that makes you throw away the fur rugs and strip down to the surfs up shorts and flip flops. I've been mugged like that too many times although I shall lunch outside today if I can find a warm wall in the beer garden and there aren't any screeching children. Quartermass was of course the first terrifying black and white British television thriller which traumatised an entire generation which later turned to recreational drugs for therapy. The BBC has a lot to feel guilty about.

I was looking out of the window thinking "lots of white  horses out at sea this morning" when I though of a band called White Mule. How odd, they haven't crossed my mind for decades. So, I may Google them before walking into the village.

Now, this is a pre Groover strip drawn in response to early Glam Rock, Ziggy Star Dust and the Spiders from the promotions department. When it was hip to be camp, and essential to exhude bisexuality. Every hairy arsed hetro axemen was slapping on the glitter and tights. Ah, those were the days when platform shoes pushed waxed spike haircuts into the low ceilings of sweaty clubs. Note another early appearance of the talking rat's  head codpiece.

Well, I managed to get to the 'archive' this morning, although I can't remember what I've posted and what I've left out.

I must stop wandering about on the beach on cold nights when alcohol has lowered my body temperature. It makes one extremely vulnerable to every type of passing virus especially when one is no longer in the flush of youth. Waking up at dawn face down on wet sand in a torn tee shirt is perfectly acceptable for a sixteen year old, but I can't do it anymore even  in the summer without suffering for days. Anyway, onwards and upwards....c'est le groove.