A retrospective.

It was with great pleasure this week that I was invited to BBC Radio Bristol to record ‘My Last Beats’, a programme much in the same mould as desert Island Discs, but hosted in Bristol and featuring songs which remind one of times in ones’ life one would either cherish, lament or quite like really to forget about. There are many ‘tracks’ as the youngsters call them which I would prefer to be deleted. But there are many more which evoke fond memories of people, places, performances and in one case, litigation.

Six tracks and a mystery food. Here is a transcript of the show

“Hello. (OFF) Is this on? Are we on this time? Okay. (normal) Hello. As the more perceptive of you will know, I am Tarquin McPhereson, actor, wit, writer, critic and bone vivante of the acting world. It is my honour to guide you through the tracks of my life which I feel something for. This is ‘My Last Beats’.

I was born on a notorious day. The 5^th of August remains synonymous being the anniversary of the last Danish army invading Britain, the Americas stops flogging criminals and the day the BBC stopped showing neighbours. But 1955 was the year I made my debut, cast out from my dressing room (my Mothers’ womb) down the wings (her cervix) and finally onto the stage (exiting her vagina). I don’t mean for a minute that my Mother gave birth on stage, that would be terrible, and lead to a lot of bad reviews, especially if she had to do it six days a week with matinees. No, I am using what is called a metaphor.

The lines I had that day were limited but the scope for development was there. ‘Waaaaaaaaaaa’ I emoted, so convincingly a dummy was placed in my mouth reducing the possibility of further dialogue.

1955 was a good year for music, and I am only too sorry I didn’t arrive on this Earth sooner so I too could have enjoyed Doris Day, Pat Boone and Perez Prado, but sadly I was occupied filling my nappy and screaming all night to really take an interest in popular music. One song which did touch me though was Dean Martins’ Memories are made of this, which I recall playing in the car on a family holiday to Lowestoft, while my father shouted and my Mother tried to get the sick off my clothes. Happy days.