Just when you thought it was safe to come out of the toilet...

Hi All, Doris here. Happy New Year. Bit off the pace, I know. Other writing duties have cramped my style somewhat. Just published the second novel, ‘The Quarry’, under my authorship name (Peter Webb) after finding excellent success with the first, ‘Ladies of the Shire’ which was published in 2009 (an unashamed plug now follows – you can get copies of both books from Waterstone’s and also off’f Amazon (where you can also read reviews) and you can access further information about me - as if you're interested - from my website; peter-webb.com). I’m just embarking on a 12 novel series but also wanted to reacquaint myself with past readers of this blog, send my apologies for being so lax over the past couple of years and try to rectify it…bet all three of you can hardly wait. So throughout this year I’m going to post a daily file about music in the possibly misguided belief that, like me, the names, places and events in music stir all kinds of thought-trains, annoyances and interest…if you’re not like me then this could be a long and uninteresting haul for you. OK, first one as a teaser.January 1st – Hank Williams died on this day way back when. Not a momentous occasion for me, well it was in 1953 and I was only five at the time…and I’m not a C&W aficionado. I liken it to listening to someone drowning themselves in syrup whilst covered in perfume and nostalgia. No, what struck was that, even in that dim and dark recess of modern music, he died of an overdose of pills and booze…goodness, even back then! At 29 years of age he was, seemingly, setting the standard for dying young and making a beautiful corpse…although, I doubt James Dean, Marc Bolan or Buddy Holly did the latter very well: sorry, don’t mean to be irreverent; Buddy Holly is a personal favourite of mine, just thought I ought to clarify…anyway, Hank Williams…
Yet another artist who was burnt out by his agent, his manager and his tour booker. It seems odd that someone who hailed from one of the states where The Lord prevails so much in everyday life, and where there is a strong belief that God created the world 10,000 years ago...or 6,000 depending on which authority you rely on, oh, and dinosaurs too, just to really confuse us (does this mean that Rachel Welch really did wrestle with a diplodocus?) it seems odd that someone with that kind of religion underpinning their understanding of how the world works should be so bound up with the Devil’s Brew…and cocktail it with either Methedrine or Mescaline...or just Grand ole’ Opium… Oh, OK, right, hang on, I think I've sorted it. Apparently about 20,000 turned out to his funeral; wonder if they knew him at all?