Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Justin Timberlake dropped round my local boozer for a bevy recently. Unfortunately, I was at work and couldn't make the date. Not that I would have recognised him even if I had been there. As someone whose last-remembered Top of the Pops coincided with "Mad World" being a hit first time round, these days I live in blissful ignorance of who's in the singles charts. I've always been an albums kind of man anyway; never had any time for all this 45rpm nonsense. Oh. You mean, they don't any more? Ah, well. . .
I'm told that Justin had an orange juice, said "please" and "thank you" a lot to the bar staff, and was generally a very well-behaved young man. Bless. In my day, if you hadn't knocked back two and a half bottles of Jack Daniels, shagged three convent-girls up the bum, and developed a serious smack habit in time for the One O'Clock News, then you were either a sissy, or Aled Jones, which is even more worrying.
I hear Justin's the latest candidate for the Future of Rock 'n' Roll. If his behaviour round my local is anything to go by, then the dear boy's still got a long way to go.