I’m a fan. So much a fan that I won’t hear a bad word uttered against him.
I’m delighted, then, to see his kin revere him. His daughter Nancy who has been pictured with me, and granddaughter Amanda grace the opening of tribute show Sinatra: The Man and his Music at the London Palladium.
It was my extreme pleasure to see Sinatra in person at Ibrox. I remember the shoes glittering when the curtains parted, and the man himself walked on stage at the stadium. In living memory, a performance to cherish. My recollection of Carol Kidd doing the warm-up is vague.
I did, at least, wave goodbye to the genius at the stadium gates.
On wrong foot
Hae ma doots. Aboot Boris Johnson who I’m touting for Lord Provost of Edinburgh.
But Boris with his carefully dishevelled hairstyle, quizzed by somebody in his London audience, snapped: “Why aren’t you even standing? That’s what we all want to know.”
“Because I’m in a wheelchair,” replied the member of the audience.
Cor! Got out of the Western just in time. The hospital has been walloped on hygiene and cleanliness.
I don’t see the NHS shouting in defence. Cleanliness, besides being next to Godliness is what the Western should be all about.
I’ve been there but, I believe, I’m not dead yet.
Words of wisdom
Your attention, please. Hark at Pope Francis: “The Earth, our home, is beginning to look more and more like an immense pile of filth.”
I can but agree with His Holiness. Never a truer word.