It just goes to show that you never can, even for one minute, take your eyes off the elderly. The last time Bob Geldof was allowed to leave his residential care home, he managed to sneak onto a boat on the River Thames armed with a megaphone before he began shouting obscenities as he held two fingers up to those members of a democratic society in the UK who were campaigning for Britain to leave the EU. Luckily, before he could do any further damage, Bob’s night nurse managed to find him and coax him back to the care home with a promise of his favourite tapioca pudding for his tea. Unfortunately last weekend Bob escaped again. This time though he ended up in a field in Brentwood, a quite salubrious part of Essex. It was very apt that Bob showed up there because Brentwood is home to what was once known as Warley Hospital. Years ago it was a well- known lunatic asylum. The mental hospital is still there but has long since altered its name and today is known as Brentwood Community Hospital. However it came as a total surprise to me that Bob was a patient there.

Once Bob had put his teeth in and managed to escape from his ward bed, he made his way to the grounds of the Brentwood Centre. Apparently he had heard a rumour that he was headlining as opposed to flat-lining which his career has been quite used to for the past thirty years! Here he was met by a collection of fossilised and long forgotten eighties pop stars who know an easy buck when they see one. So they now spend their lives reforming while trying their best to be relevant. The list of 80s bands read less like a line-up and more like a memorial. Personally I hate nostalgia. If you really yearn for the good old days then turn off the fecking air conditioning!!

Anyway, Bob met up with a few of his old friends who, instead of opting for the safety of bingo at the Dun-Laoghaire Community Association, decided to treat the crowd to the musical dirge that they produced during the years before which any of the Brentwood audience had been born. As an Irishman who was the only punk in his village and fronting a band that hasn’t had a hit since the days of black and white television, and with a back catalogue thinner than the book on Belgium war heroes, Bob knows a thing  or two about famine.

Now I’m sure we can all agree that Alzheimer’s is a terrible affliction but poor old Bob displayed the first tell-tale signs. That being the inability to know exactly where you are. And so with a mixture of sympathy and sadness the crowd remained silent as Bob clearly believed that he and his band had just arrived at Woodstock. Clearly agitated that the audience had no idea who his band were or what international best-selling hits they had written Bob decided to that he had had enough and so launched a scathing attack on the audience’s………….clothes!!! Yes that right. He ordered them to dress like they were going to a rock festival. In Ireland of course, Primark is better known as Penneys which is what you can but any Boomtown Rats album for nowadays. But there are two points to make here. The first one is that, due to his advancing years, Bib was unable to appreciate the irony that punks do not in fact follow any fashion rules. Secondly, as the Boomtown Rats have more in common with the Bay City Rollers than the Sex Pistols, the only rock that can be applied to them is of the Blackpool variety.

Anyway I’m pleased to report that Bob was last seen having a bed bath and mumbling something about a band aid at which point the nurse appeared and plastered one across his mouth. 


20th July 2016.