Since 2015 promises new ventures, adventures and a sequel book, I decided it was high time Perking the Pansies got a face lift. I don’t mean a little nip here, a tiny tuck there, I’m talking the whole Barry Manilow. Not that I’m suggesting the septuagenarian crooner has had any restorative work done at all. Oh no. His recent denial on the Jonathan Ross Show was so convincing (tongue in drum-tightened cheek springs to mind).
I shouldn’t be too hard on old Barry. He comes across as a thoroughly decent chap and, in our image obsessed world, what’s a boy to do? He needn’t fret. Barry’s place in the pop pantheon is assured. He’s made many ladies of a certain age very happy and his fans have remained doggedly loyal. And I defy anyone to keep their shoulders rigid to Copacabana. The camp disco classic was also the name of a seedy dive I used to frequent in Earls Court back in my heyday. Believe me, there were plenty of Lolas at the bar crying over lost love and drinking themselves into oblivion.
Last year, Barry married his long term partner, Garry Kief. Barry and Garry? What fun. Apparently, some people were surprised. But then, some people are stupid. As for Perking the Pansies, it may have a brand new shop window but it’s the same old rubbish inside.
