performing ferrets

Oh, that charismatic little band of rapscallions, the thinking man’s Barron Knights, the co-writers of Boogie Knights, the Baron Hartogs of…

Hang on, my tourniquet has slackened off.

Now, how much do I owe you?

Well you can sing for it, buster.

As Skillers, (Paul, our ferretably splendid vocalist) once said, imagining the outraged cries of the ‘crowd’ as realisation dawned upon them as to what they were supposed to have been listening to, “We were allowed to give donations!”

We must surely have been one of the few bands that played gigs which resulted in the audience demanding their money back because we did do an encore.


A fellow outfit, or combo, in our homely town of Maidstone, ‘Vocal Attack’, released something called, ‘Insanity is only a hairsbreadth away’, which I always thought was a rather tactless way of referring to Steve Grayell, a jolly chap who admittedly did follow them around rather closely.

He stuck by the Ferrets too, as did a ginger bloke known as Spike, a moniker that had nothing to do with the haircuts I used to give him using a razor at my bijou salon-come-welding shop named ‘Fenneros’. Here, you had a choice of either a roostero or aberro style. I’ll never forget young Spikey settling in the chair and imploring me “don’t be kind.”

Not the policeman

There was this fellow called Trevor Lock, who conversed with himself on the top deck of the 89 bus to Coxheath. Less enlightened individuals laughed at him, but he went on to become Catherine Zeta Douglas.


Get away, it’s my turn on the computer!


Now, strange as it probably doesn’t any longer seem to you, and how you must be yearning for the days when it would have done, whenever the good ole Ferrets stalked the streets on a fly-posting excursion, (i.e. illegally pasting up home-made posters around town warning people of our impending gigs), the code for ‘a policeman, or woman, is approaching!’ was ‘Last train to San Fernando’, sung by the lookout. One evening, I filled the latter role, and, spotting a copper, I commenced to croon. Steve, (the guitarist who would benefit from a better life), was on sticking-up-the-posters duty, and, so absorbed was he in his work, he failed to recognise my warning warble, and continued gaily to splatter wallpaper paste.

Luckily I managed to distract the oncoming officer with my renowned impression of Stan Boardman doing his take on Marlene Dietrich performing her, ‘vag.-and-all tour’ Madonna interpretation.

The constable, having scrutinised me, gave a wry smile, buffed up his helmet, and whistled on his way.

If you can tell me what tune you think the policeman trilled, there’s a big sort of cash prize* in it for you!!!

Which brings me to a fun new novelty spot that’s set to run and simply run along the inches of my column…


Life’s A Riot!

This is your forum, (do you remember that magazine?), where you can share with our ‘readership’ your amusing music-based anecdotes. CASH will be awarded to those deemed worthy.

This time’s WINNER:

‘ Dear L.A.R.

I played drums in ‘the Ferrets’, and went on to do so for ‘the Floating Adults’ and ‘Miaow’; unfortunately all of them were ultimately unsuccessful. Do I win the money?’


Our runner up, who receives a ‘FREE’ pair of marigolds, sent us this:

‘Even as I start to write, I realise I have no amusing music-based anecdotes, or any anecdotes at all, amusing or otherwise. I am known locally as the broccoli woman.

Also, I do pass water several times on my way to work.’

Mrs Almondpaste, Taintedlove, the Lake District.


Tug Of Love Child Related To De Caprio!

Yeah, well, if you wanna, like, drag it outa me, there was this, you know, TUG O’ WAR competition, organis-ised by Kevin Hewick, between The Ferret Band and The Fall. It was quite a sight, the gurning faces of Messrs. Smith, Scanlon, Riley and Hanlon, oh, and Baines, tensely struggling against the feeble yankings of Chatfield, Skilbeck, Maguire, and Fenner, oh, and Brooks. But, laugh raucously as you may, it was la Brooks who dug her heels in and caused the sardonic Bingo Masters to collapse across the line. In a scene resembling the Peterloo massacre, the V-knecked Mancunions were licking their wounds, administered to by their second, Ms Kay Carroll. Bless her. The ferrets, clad in skimpy silver lame, flounced home in triumph to their respective sordid tenements.

I, of course, was known for my sexual prowess. Sadly I didn’t know what to do with it, and swapped it with a member of Joy Division for a scratched copy of the debut L.P. by the Gang of Four.

Damaged goods indeed.

the drugs bell has rung, so I’d better say cyanaro for now,

Chrust Almighty of the Pants,

Redwigton, Loonshire.

(visiting hours, 13 hundred hours to 13 fifteen, every other leap year on Shrove Tuesday)