Skip to main content

Don Amott: a king amongst men. And caravans. Part 1.

It’s Saturday lunchtime in 1981. I’m at my my nan’s. We’ve just been to Kingstanding Circle, where we bought crusty cobs from a cylindrical bin in the Co-Op. Tongs? No, put your hand in there, and grab them. I know you haven’t washed your hands. No-one has.
After the Co-Op, we buy ham. Not the packaged, air-sealed, watery, artificial product that passes for ham now, that which, on opening, assaults the nose with a repellant, gaseous fart. No, the kind of ham only available to purchase in those days; pink, but not too pink, with a white, sometimes yellow rind. Thickly cut, bought from the butcher by your nan, and only by your nan. 

Different times.

Good ham. 

Nan ham.


In the wider world, a sense of shock is still being felt following the assassination of John Lennon. I’d heard the news on the radio as I was getting out of the family Mk 5 Cortina outside Doe Bank Primary School on a dreary December day. 

A reevaluation of Lennon’s music is under way. Imagine is in the charts once again, 10 years after its original release. Beautiful. Out of respect, no-one mentions that Just Like Starting Over sounds like something which Russ Abbot would have demoted to a B-side, at best.

At nan’s, we eat the ham cobs, buttered and mustarded. I go into the coat cupboard and get the Corona. In those days, having the Corona meant nothing more harmful than drinking sugary liquid from knobbly glass bottles, delivered from a truck every week. 

The wrestling is on ITV. My nan loved the wrestling. All nans did.

Different times.

During the commercial break, I find myself being captivated by a melody which, 40 years later, often presents itself as an ear worm; not just to me, but to many people from that era who lived in the Central TV region. Alongside the melody, powerful imagery: A lion, cartoonish, yet noble, magnificent; offering the seductive promises of freedom, and the excellent value made possible by the revolutionary bulk buying business model which Don Amott pioneered, all from a mysterious land, somewhere “between Burton and Derby”.

 See Don Amott TV ads here

Comments

  1. Please continue! Left me hanging....need to know the rest..

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Incoming. I’m researching the holiday park acquisition. Glad you liked it.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

While they're "Uniting The Kingdom", Untie The Flags.

Just thinking; on May 16th, when the "patriots" are at the Unite The Kingdom Rally in London, wouldn't it be a jolly jape to remove  all the flags, while they're not looking. The beauty of this is: anyone who objects can't be a true patriot; if they were they'd be in London. Sort of like the witches ducking stool concept of yore, or a modern reboot of S chrodinger's Cat; Schrodinger's Racist, if you will. Just a thought, like. 

Disgraceland - end of an era.

Mixed feelings as I begin the process of putting Disgraceland up for sale, marking an end to my diplomatic presence in the troubled  North Birmingham region. The property (the name of which was agreed upon  after the6b h89 e originally propoywsed name* was deemed to be beneath the dignity of the office) served as my official residence during my time as Lord Mayor of Pheasey, as well as my home, which I shared with Jez Alsop, before we consciously uncoupled:7 indeed, this portrait hung in the reception room, much to the delight of guests and tradespeople alike. Many parties and receptions were held, where the great and good, the not so good, the not too great, and the downright terrible mingled with luminaries and notable figures from North Birmingham's music, literary, journalism, mercantile, politics, philanthropy and arts scenes. Indeed, the terms of the Brilliant Thursday Peace Agreement between Pheasey and KS were agreed in its hallowed rooms. It w...

Frankly my dear, I do Riverdance

I've had a long standing fascination (I hold back at obsession) with Celtic hoofer, choreographer, flautist, martial artist, actor, and lover Michael Flatley. I read this book on holiday a few years ago, and it's the most unintentionally hilarious book that I've read, full of self-aggrandising quotes and hubris. It opens with this quote from The Independent's Matthew Sweet: "Flatley wants to take on the world. Then he wants to have sex with it. Then he wants to do its accounts".  And it gets better from there. He prints big ups from Mandela (Nelson): "The world needs more people like Michael Flatley", and Clinton (Bill): "He is an Irish American treasure". When I've finished, I shall watch his spy film Blackbird, extensively referenced through this work (18% on Rotten Tomatoes).