“That’s that bloke you like,” he said. “But he’s not a proper bloke you know. He wears (expletive deleted) make-up, and look he’s in a (expletive deleted) frock. You’re a weird kid.” It was 1973, back in a long-forgotten time when parents did not share their musical taste with their children. My dad loved Andy Stewart so much we played A Scottish Soldier at his funeral. The very idea of him accompanying me to a David Bowie concert – if I had been so lucky – would have filled me, and him, with... Read this story
