"So, what do you do?" I ask, because party conversation isn't all 'me, me, me'."Oh, I'm in the music industry," said the stranger, relieved to be able to talk about himself at last.
I am intrigued.
"I'm intrigued. What do you do?"
"I'm the drummer in a tribute band."
I am no longer intrigued.
"Oh. Right. Anyone I've heard of?"
"Yeah. You've heard of The Bootleg Beatles?"
Too right I've heard of The Bootleg Beatles. The acme of tribute bands – the post-Fab Foursome that started the whole massive tribute show avalanche.
"Bloody. Hell's. Teeth. You're in the Bootleg Beatles? You're the Bootleg Ringo?"
"Leave it out, mate. I'm in The Bootleg Bootleg Beatles. We're a Bootleg Beatles tribute act. Wango Carr, as it happens. Pubs. Working men's clubs. Church hall discos."
"Riiiight…"
"And see my Mrs over there?"
He points to a dumpy woman with a moustache holding a pint glass in each hand, holding forth on the qualities of various brands of cask conditioned ale.
"She's Agnetha in a Bjorn Again tribute act."
"Don’t tell me..."
He told me.
"Re-Bjorn Again Again. They've got a Teletubbies angle going. Very hot on the pre-school scene."
Christ, swinging parties have gone right downhill these days.
Life imitates LOLs: It has been brought to my attention that besides the original, Australia-based Bjorn Again act, there are also four officially licensed Bjorn Agains touring the world.
Which makes, I suppose, the last of them Bjorn Again Again Again Again.
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