i was born one stormy september day
in england
a small island off continental europe
my mother
who co incidentally was english
had been warned by a soothsayer
“sooth, sooth” the sayer had said
my father whos name was dad was pacing the corridor
“hurry up with that bleatin’ baby, joy” dad called from the hall
seeing my lateness was irritating dad
i decided to be born
a minute later i popped out
“hello, mother” i said a minute later
after the doctor had slapped me round
and i’d pretended to cry
“whats occurring?”
life in england
with my dad n my mother was ok
mick jagger was my baby sitter one day
he played me some chuck berry records
only recently available in england
“its all done with the little finger” he would mutter obliquely
as we proto-rocknrolled by micks tiny record player
i was 2 years olde by now
i’d written almost with you the year before
the xylophone part on el momento
was in fact conceived on my baby xylophone
“do ya think ya can get an english angle on it tho mick?”
i asked from my pram
mick was smoking some hash
and not being too careful about not blowing the smoke on me
he frowned proto-coquettishly
his evermoist lips forming an androgynous pout
“you cant always get what you want”
“you should use that one mick”
i said
leaving off on my bottle of formula briefly
“what?”‘ mick said puzzled
“”you cant always get what you want”” i said
“nah” said mick
“since when ave you been a songwritin’ expert….?”
and then
more fool me
i showed him a proto-version
of a song i was calling
“paint it blue”
about how everything in my nursery was painted blue
jaggers thirteen year old eyes lit up when i banged out
my rudimentary version on the xylophone
(this would account for my later marimba prowess)
i see a pink pram and i want it painted blue…i warbled
missing some of my teeth…
some of the consonants were hard to make…
i wonder if he could have mis heard me…?
that night as my mother paid him his 6pence
and rebooked him for next week
he asked her if she minded him bringing his friend along
“hes real good at baby-sittin'” mick said
perhaps with a slight smirk
it was hard to tell…my bonnett gave me blindspots in my vision
that week whilst waiting for micky n his friend to come back
i rolled other bits of random dialogue around in my head
i read something about lady jane seymour n it got me thinking
hmmm
my sweet lady jane….i crooned from my cot one evening at twilight
i set to work on the xylophone
i had a rattle to keep time
and set to work on some proto-elizabethan malarkey
the next day i heard my dad n mother arguing
over my dads piano playing which had taken a boogie woogie bent
whats wrong with mozart dear asked my mother
dad said
and i still hear the words hangin’ in the air there
i wished you liked …..honky tonk,woman!
bang it hit me
i set to work
i tickle n stroked my xylophone
becoming one with my little wooden mallets
“i met a milksoaked wet nurse down in dartford
she tried to pick me up for a burp”
i could couldnt get it out of my head
all that week songs poured outta the universe to me
that sunday mick arrived with a scruffy little sod
with black hair n big ears
“ere, stevie” he said
after mother n dad had split
“play summa them songs on that xylophoney
for my mate keithy, willya?theresaniceboy!”
ah so naive
so naive
how was i to know…?
i was only a little over 2 years old
soon to migrate to australia forever…
“ok boys listen to this
its called” milk sugar”
a familiar riff emanated from the xylophone
da da dahdah
da da dahdah
da da da da
da da da da

xxx me