Substack Song Pour Tu (One of those times I had a knife pulled on me.)

At least this time it was in Paris.

The song I’ve made, I made quick. Whether it’s any good or not isn’t up to me. It’s up to you. At least you’ll get to say “I was into him, before he went commercial”.

The man in the police car, the blue chap, had gone absolutely mental in the street near my hotel in Pigalle. (I’ll never share its name, it’s that cheap, and that good). Anyway, old mate lost his marbles big time. I tried to calm him, but he did that dull, predictable thing of pulling a knife. Not knowing much French, I started with “C’mon mate, don’t be a fuckwit”. He looked more stunned than angry. I made the hands open “what the fuck” gesture, followed by the “stabby, stabby” one. He calmed down for a sec. Then began yelling things I didn’t understand. Possibly a treatise on how Trump and Christ are so very compatible. Anyway, no idea. I just repeated my aforementioned trilogy, ending with open hands.

Then the gardiens de la paix turned up, as you can see, and said something not that dissimilar to what i was saying, but they only gave him only one reading. Then, Pif, paf, pouf (as they say in Paris), he was in the car. I gave him a smile and a “tried to tell ya”, but he got a bit stroppy. Nice work by Les Flics.

I wish him well.