The Cohen Manifesto

Location: Soho and environs.

Present: Tim Footman, The Mother of Rock, Annie Slaminsky, Llewtrah, Billy AKA Yours truly.

Apologies: LC.

That we, the undersigned, recognise and appreciate the genius of Clement Freud, making particular reference to that joke, you know the one, about the man covered in vomit.

That we, the undersigned, like our alcohol, in the form of halves, or Breton cider.

That we, the undersigned, would have preferred not to have been kissed by that man, however honest he was being about using the money he was raising to buy beer, rather than, say heroin, or heaven forbid, tea.

That we, the undersigned, wouldn’t have minded being outside, had it not been raining.

That we, the undersigned, have slightly aching feet, resulting from trekking around Soho looking for somewhere to eat that didn’t involve a five thousand year wait for a table.

That we, the undersigned, are fans of those nice Greek people who must have been actually Greek, or they wouldn’t have served chips with everything. And they rescued the umbrella.

That we, the undersigned like the music Phil Spector made, but are more than a bit scared, even prior to current events.

That we, the undersigned, agree that, in the pantheon of drummers whose surnames begin with “p”, Cozy Powell should be singled up for a special mention.

That we, the undersigned, are squicked out by Chris Tarrant, despite the chortle, and feel he has a face for radio.

That we, the undersigned, accept Leonard Cohen as the greatest exponent of slightly rude, literary, folk-based music in the Brahmin-esque Jewish tradition.

That we, the undersigned like buses, but not in that way. Certainly not to the extent of making a lengthy video about them.

That we, the undersigned, are always amused by the little bits of knowledge we know about each other that come out at these things.

That we, the undersigned, appreciate that this comes across as a series of random in-jokes that you had to be there to enjoy, but would like to point out that it was all in good taste, and its not like we were attempting to produce a leftist justification for the war in Iraq.

Signed: …………..
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On this day, Saturday the eighteenth of April, in the year two thousand and nine.