Wierd, this. Imagine the scene. Starved of Fairport stuff, along comes this oddity, of which more later. But they had named the LP after my first pubescent love. Doggerel ensued, from which:
“The week that Fairport Convention released a record of your name” 9/2/73
This morning I found a letter
From the days when things were better;
She wrote that thirty months ago
Before my life was full of woe.
Ah! what fantastic times we had
When winters still got really bad;
The tennis club’s deserted snow
Where Sunday mornings saw us go.
Yes, just before our Bible class,
Behind the sacks of seed we’d pass
And nibble at each other’s lips
And smoke our menthol filter-tips.
And then my Polo mints we’d share,
And quickly comb our tousled hair,
And she’d rub Quickies on her lips
To drown the smell of filter-tips.
And after class we went away
To where she weekly had to play
Piano for the Sunday School,
While I hid in the bog, a tool.
I’ll never meet a girl as pretty
In this, or any other city,
As Rosie was three years ago
So what’s the use of life below?