Solihull-Olton LP, Innuendo, and Trig Trip

Triangulation Point 12770 is the church spire down the end of Solihull High Street, with the still pending Mason’s Arms to the left

Jackie had a 3:30 appointment in Olton well after Jimi’s 10:30 final post-op visit, so we made our way to Solihull to dick around in the shops.

I bought a humorously named ‘meat mincer’ (growing up in the 70s, I’ve known a few of these…hell, I’ve BEEN one). Sitting around to watch the yuppie scum (the Old English word for them is, in fact, Solihullions), we examined the lit inside said mincer’s package (let the innuendo begin) to find these other labels to snigger at:

Screw;
Mincing cup (ah, both genders of meat mincer…how modern);
Shaft spacer and Shaft; and, of course,
Sausage nozzle.

Speaking of innuendo, one of the few American Football players I actually idolised as a child, like Y. A. Tittle and Joe Namath and Alex Karas (this clip from Blazing Saddles features him and some of the best jokes from the whole movie), just passed away. Dick Butkis was an absolute animal and, of course, he had the funniest name in the NFL: Dick, Butt Kiss. Outstanding. Chicago born, raised, and spent his entire career there. Rest well, monster.

Dick Butkis single handedly stopping the entire contingent of the Packers

We also went to this fabulous used record shop Jackie found last year on a day off work. She was kind of loaded from the Mason’s Arms (which we fell short of time to visit this trip so I still haven’t broken that membrane…NEXT time, for sure). On her solo trip, there were some old musicians shooting the shit with the proprietor who seemed to have had near misses with fame whilst their compatriots at the time did quite well indeed. She stopped thumbing through the stacks and was staring off into space when the shop owner asked if she was okay; “oh, I’m just eavesdropping, sorry…do carry on” and they did.

The cover photo of “Scott” is eerily similar to Noel Gallagher and Walker’s real name is Noel Scott Engel . . . freaky

Hounds of Love was playing when we arrived and I went through the cheap stacks and found a Walker Brothers best of and decided it was worth 3 quid. I was looking through some Doors records looking to replace The Soft Parade when the owner sidled up and asked if I was interested in 60s music to try to steer me and I told him we were probably going through every category before we left. He indicated the album I was holding; “Oh, this…Scott Walker’s voice just knocks me out.” He asked if I really liked “Montague Terrace” but I wasn’t sure, that the only one we knew the title of was “Jackie“; “oh, that’s a Jacque Brel song,” he noted and I added, “mm-hmm … in a stupid-ass way.” By the time, seconds later, we stopped laughing he had pulled the first solo album out of the stacks and headed over to put on side 1 (not a lot of things would find me willing to interrupt Kate Bush like that, but side 2 became our dinner music that night). Here’s Jimi grooving to it at the time:

Jimi finds “Amsterdam” — another Jacques Brel song — copacetic

Verdict on “Scott”: it’s alright, you should listen to it.

After Solihull, I had some time to kill in Olton and found a couple of Cut Marks.