My struggling actor friend has formed a band – Hamilton Bentley and The Jesus Robots – and has just asked me to produce their first single.
‘I never imagined you as a singer, Ham,’ I laughed.
‘Wonderful, isn’t it!’ He flopped on to the leather sofa in the control room with a loud thump. ‘The idea hit me like an atom bomb.’
He played me some tapes of a recent rehearsal. It was awful. It sounded like Perry Como singing songs by The Damned.
‘You’re not serious, are you?’ I asked him.
He gave me a tight smile. ‘Deadly serious.’
‘Ham, I – ‘
‘More serious than I have ever been, dear boy.’ He was looking at me with the kind of focus that could, in fact, split an atom.
Raising an eyebrow, I showed a spark of appreciation and told him, ‘Leave it with me. I’ll have few more listens and see if I can come up with any ideas.’
‘At last,’ he sighed, ‘fame beckons.’
‘Indeed.’ I had to push him out the studio door. ‘You should go now, Ham, it’s time for your midday drunkening. The stimulation is just too much for me – if we talk about your new career any further, I’m afraid I may have an orgasm. I might spontaneously combust due to over-excitement. Cheerio.’
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