Chad Stuart & Jeremy Clyde
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Jeremy Clyde's Letter From London

Jeremy thanks his birthday well-wishers...





Thank goodness I'll never be 70 again! Family & friends went completely bonkers and the partying went on for a week. My health may never recover. The whole thing has been overwhelming, not as I expected, with the realization that Tempus is Fugitting, as my old friend & lyricist David Pierce likes to put it, but rather that so many people quite unexpectedly sent their best wishes.

The torrent of cards that came from the USA was astonishing & my gang over here were duly amazed. The cards were displayed at one of the Mighty Celebrations to the astonishment of all. I cannot tell you all how much it meant, this outpouring of affection, and I thank you all very very much. I've now returned home to discover scores more birthday wishes scattered across the internet. Perhaps I will get a chance to thank some of you personally at future gigs. Chad wittily described the great event as A Milestone Round My Neck, which I thought was clever. I am trying to dream up some apt phrase to mark his Big Day later this year.

And now I shall sign off with a quote from the late Queen Elizabeth [that's Helena Bonham Carter in The King's Speech to you lot] who ended a letter to a friend during the War with this remark... "Well, tinkeytonks, old fruit, & down with the Nazis."

And so say all of us.

Thanks, chaps,

Jeremy

PS. Below is a little something that David Pierce wrote for me to read aloud at my birthday party. I do hope you enjoy it.


tempus fugits
(or) time sure passes donít it the bitch

you know tempus is fuggiting when your back goes out more than you do-

when you get winded playing solitaire

when you feel like the morning after but you havenít had the night before-

when you have to kick start old rocking chair

and when itís your knees that buckle not your prized guchi belt

yes you can be sure father time is a-scything when you finally know some of the answers

but nobody asks you the bloody questions!

when a funeral procession passes it stops to see if you need a lift

when everything hurts and what doesnít hurt doesnít work

when you turn out the lights itís not for romantic reasons but to save money

and when she whispers shall we go upstairs and make out dear

you say pick one

yep tempus is fuggiting when getting a little action means you donít need a laxative

itís when your sweetheart gives up sex for lent but you donít realize it till the fourth of july

ah! the golden years- when work is a lot less fun and fun a lot more work- when you stop buying green bananas-when you sink your molars into a thick juicy steak they stay there

when the glint in your eye come from sun on your bifocals

when your little black book has only numbers for hair clinics proctologists and osteopaths who make house calls

ah those golden years -just when you should be waxing nostalgic you canít remember anything to remember

but thereís a dance in the old dog yet amigos and sure as hell one more brew

and with a little luck God willing and the creek donít rise ill get to spend at least some of them with some of you (exit smartly left to wild applause)







An Electric Paintbox production.
Copyright 2011  Frank Jason Rhoden.
 

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