Or maybe Like Father, Like Son: Jon Fleming Junior’s Childhood Behaviour Compared to Father’s Drug-Fuelled Rampages. This was the sort of stuff that ended up in the papers. Half a cocktail and a pretty smile, and I was singing like a lovable urchin on a barricade in France.
Except it’s less ‘This is just like the time your father got a tomatoey condiment all over the kitchen’ and more ‘This is just like the time your father said he’d come home for my birthday, but instead, he stayed in LA snorting cocaine off a prostitute’s breasts.’” “Yeah, my mum brings up my dad when I piss her off as well. Mum still brings it up every time she’s annoyed, even if it’s not actually Dad she’s annoyed at.” The kitchen looked like something out of Hannibal. “I can’t believe you’re giggling at my childhood trauma. The most scandalous thing my dad’s ever done was shake a bottle of ketchup without realising the lid was off.”
“I get recognised more, but ‘Hey, your dad’s that guy off that stupid talent show’ is marginally better than ‘Hey, your dad’s that guy who was in the news last week for headbutting a policeman, then vomiting on a judge while off his face on heroin and Toilet Duck.’” “Kind of.” I poked listlessly at my drink. “And it must be even weirder with the TV thing.” Except, right now, it was clearly 80/20 in favour of grumpy. It was beginning to sink in that, about eight million years ago, Cam had described me as hot and grumpy. Keeps them in the attic with the bell bottoms he hasn’t been able to get into since 1979.” “Okay”-he flicked another smile at me, less abashed than I would have been in his position-“so I don’t know what I’m talking about. Also, the lead singer of Steeleye Span is a woman.”
Steeleye used a lot of violins, whereas Dad’s a flautist.
Steeleye’s more folk rock, whereas RoM’s more prog rock. “Well, there’s a couple of subtle differences. “Yeah, but I can see how you got them confused.”
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