What the hell is this?
“It is me reward f’r being a good lad, it is.”
You talking about the ice cream or the girl?
I heard you went to Lock’n.
“Pitiful. Simply pitiful. Who’s the great big oily tit?”
The one that plays guitar?
“‘E won’t stop playing guitar, more like it. I found the amount o’ soloing oppressive, and I knew Garcia. At least when ‘e was playing, ‘e wasn’t singing. Like a minstrel act.”
That’s a harsh accusation, Sam Cutler.
“You know I’ve seen actual blackface, right, me son? They did it in England up until the mid-80’s. Slade performed all blacked up f’r their first two records.”
I don’t know if that’s true.
“An’ than there were cover bands. Like down the pub. Playin’ the same kinda guitar as Garcia an’ all that clobber. I was physically ill, I was. Were I a river, I would’ve flowed from the area, but I am sadly not, and so I had to listen to the bollocks.”
You’re very judgemental.
“You know ‘oo I am, right?”
“I was there, me son. Wherever ‘there’ was, I was present.”
You weren’t at Woodstock.
“Too true, because I was managing the Rolling Stones at the time.”
That is a very good excuse.
Was there anything at Lock’n you liked?
“There is a queue of food trucks, and bugger me if each one isn’t tastier than the last.”
“I’m Sam Cutler.”