In the pub last night we saw Eighties/Nineties pop senstation Marti Pellow. He looked quite well. He must be in the West End doing one of those songbook musicals, as the pub we were in attracts the theatre crowd.
We didn't speak of course, but we all stared a lot. He looked well; older, slightly grey, that trademark grin firmly in place.
I was thinking about Wet Wet Wet's oeuvre on the way home, and searched my ipod for any tracks, but alas there were none. But I was never a fan. I didn't like Wishing I Was Lucky, or any of the follow up singles, hated their number ones (especially THAT one), and only vaguely liked one song that troubled the lower reaches of the charts called Broke Away. I had it on an ex-jukebox single but it's long since disappeared into the ether.
The main reason I didn't like the band was because of Marti Pellow. I thought he was a toothsome popinjay who fancied himself rotten. He was cocky and full of it, and WWW were quite clearly a girl's band. Then came the heroin addiction which frankly I thought was a desperate cry for credibility, as I bellowed last night, not realising his pals were on the next table. But I stand by that.
But he seems okay now, even if he is reduced to dumb shows and the odd light entertainment appearance. At least he's working.
