Number One - Mick Pointer (ex-Marillion drummer)
I recently had the misfortune to bump into one of progressive rocks forgotten sons, Mr Michael PT Pointer, no less. I happened to be minding my own business one Wednesday evening, queuing up in McDonalds with some mates, after our regular football game. All of a suddenly, this old fat bloke, with a gorgeous blonde on his arm, comes up and stops me.
"What they like nowadays?" he asks, pointing at me.
"Luke warm and greasy, like always", I replied, thinking about my quarter-pounder and fries.
"No, you fucking tosspott, Marillion", says the blonde, jabbing my pirzed "Hooks in You" video shoot t-shirt.
"Oh, them. Well, the new singers alright. A bit wet, maybe. Y'know, different to Fish like"
"So he's not a fat Scottish cunt then?" said the bloke
"Ha ha ha ha ha", I replied, unsure of my ground here. And wanting to get away from these weirdos and eat my burger.
"What's the music like now" he probed.
"Well, um, more boppy, like, not so involved like it was in the old days"
"They were really good bak then, weren't they?" the blonde said, deliberately missing the 'c' out of 'back'
"They were the best" the mystery bloke says.
"Too fucking right" I chimed in, "And d'ya know what?" I said, getting into the swing of this now, "They'll never do another Script!". Hey, I was on a roll. Well, the promise of a sesame-seeded, grease soaked bap, anyway.
"Too right" said the blonde. Then "Do you know who this is?". She points at the bloke.
"Er, somebody with burger sauce dripping down his face who used to like Marillion a long time ago but has now lost his grip on reality and accosts anyone wearing a Marillion t-shirt?", I thought.
"No, I don't" I said.
"It's Mick POinter"
"What, with a capital 'O'?"
"Fuckwit!" she breathed sexily.
"It isn't" I exclaimed.
"The fuck It isn't!" said Mick, showing me the label on his underpants. 'St Michael" it said. 'Unwashed' it sang. Surprise, surprise. It WAS him. Stone the frigging crows, me dearies.
"Bloody hell!" I cried, trying to use as many different swear words as possible, just to make myself sound more intelligent. "St Michael! I mean Mick Pointer! What the blazes are you doing here?"
"Eating McDonalds" the quick-witted one replied.
"Ha ha, you should have been a comedian", quoth me.
"I would have been, but my tim....."
"Was bad!" the lady belched.
"I see. So anyway" I said, wanting to return to reality, "What are you doing nowadays?"
"Mick's got his own Kitchen building business" said Mandy
"This is Mandy, me bird" said Mick, remembering his manners, at last. "Yeah, after I quit the band, I felt that I'd achieved all I wanted in the music business, so I went back to me old trade, carpentry."
"He's cornered the market in bespoke kitchen fitments in the Herts, Beds and Bucks tri-county area" said Mandy, with the enthusiasm of youth. "He's even had mentions on Chiltern Radio!"
"Hey, don't forget Radio Bedford"
"See ya later man, we're off down the Heath Park to get slaughtered" said my mates, departing in the way mates do when faced by greatness.
"But I've still got my drum kit, out in the garage somewhere. Do you want to buy it?"
"Well, I might know someone who'd be interested in it. How much do you want for it? How about some drum lessons?"
"I don't need fucking drum lessons" he erupted. "You lot are all the same. I COULD drum properly. I could. I could. I could!" he said, spitting milkshake all over the walls like a demented porn star.
"Er, right. I meant for me. But never mind, eh. I can see it's a saw point"
"Oh ha ha, carpentry joke, eh?"
"No, just another spelling mistake. I must learn to spell properly"
"Don't bother, you got it right then"
"So you haven't kept your hand in at all?" I asked.
Mandy looked all sheepish at this point. "He's always got his hand in" she giggled.
"And I thought he'd just eaten a Fillet'o'Fish!!!"
Mick gave a grin that split his face from ear to ear, and from here to there, revealing several brown and broken teeth.
"I can honestly say that I haven't picked up a drum stick, in anger, since the day I left the band, all those years ago. And if I did, it would only be to stick it up Fish's ar..." Mick said, before getting slapped.
"Let it drop, Mickybabe, There's been a lot of water under the bridge since then. You know your shrink said not to dwell on the past. You've got to look forward, and learn to forgive and forget"
At this point, I felt that I had to make my exit, as I could hear my Guinness settling in a pub a mile away. It was calling my name. As I left McDonalds, the enormity of what had happened hit me like a kebab on a cold winters night. I met Mick Pointer. Blimey. And I had witnesses, who hadn't heard of him.
So next time you're in you're local and some wag chimes up with the old "I wonder what Mick Pointer's doing these days", you'll know the answer. Fuck all.
Mind you. I wish I'd gone for a Burger King instead.
Charlie O'Mara.
