Conceived on a Concorde flight to Bahrain and born not long after. Married into money at an early age and briefly tasted high life but was not favoured by divorce settlement (still embittered). Put myself through college tap-dancing. Moved to US to fulfil dream of winning an award (any award) – eventually won award for slowest skier (v. proud). Fell foul of strict incest laws in Utah (had married 34th cousin, 5 times removed) so fled by sea to Zanzibar. Worked as stablehand on an Alpaca farm. Retired to the leafy backwoods of Perth, attracted by electromagnetic emanations of the local community radio.
Well, we discovered a shared interest in music and just sort of hit it off, I suppose.
In a word: security. No matter where I am, at any time of the day or night, it’ll be there for me to turn to.
I found a severed human ear in Studio B once. I took it to the police and probably should have left it to them but I was excited about the possibility of discovering a dark side to this otherwise sleepy town. I discovered it alright. Still, when all was over I looked through the window of the very same studio and saw a mechanical robin sitting on a fence, singing.
Serf’s Up, the one showcasing 60s electric balalaika music on Wednesday evenings would be cool. Or, Your Time Starts Now, from 1:17 to 1:44 Friday mornings, featuring only songs lasting less than a minute, could make for an interesting challenge.