Eight years? For that? Blimey. I don't file damning reviews very often - I'm a nice guy. But it was hard to be nice (though I did praise the actor Con O'Neill, who played maverick loon Joe Meek. See, I can't be a complete bastard). And not only did I forfeit 180 minutes of my life to watch Nick Moran's dross, I picked up a parking fine courtesy of the good people at York City Council (if the time on the ticket is right, they placed it on the windscreen before we'd actually got there). Thus, any money that I might have earned from sitting in the dark was instantly negated. Moran was in the theatre, prompting loud, forced laughs from those sat around him, who were courting his favour. One of them was a critic. This disappoints me. There was nothing funny about Telstar. There was hardly anything remotely dramatic. If I had spent eight years on that, I would feel hideously ashamed. But apparently Mr Moran is following the show around its tour of Britain. People talked through a big chunk of the play. I can only congratulate them and hope that they, too, follow the tour. Can I be a music journalist now, please? I've had enough of enduring crap in a sterile environment.
In head entertainment: The Tornados - Telstar. (Please, leave me alone!)
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