Freddie And The Fahrenheits

Electric Boots And Mohair Suits

Wednesday 15th September 1976

It was a lovely morning and Freddie and David were sound asleep in their beds. Yesterday's band practice had gone very well and though it'd been rewarding for everyone involved, whether directly or indirectly, it had exhausted the pair.

Meanwhile, Elton was also in bed, but he wasn't asleep. Since about five he'd been kept up by Freddie's promise to go shopping he'd made the day before. He'd fallen asleep thinking about it and it'd stayed at the front of his brain ever since.

"What time is it?" The singer whispered to himself as he turned over to face his clock. It was a very pretty antique one, though you had to have quite the eclectic taste to feel the same way about it as he did.

It read 07:55am. He decided to get the others up at eight; it made sense. While he anxiously waited, he observed the rest of the space around him. One wall was covered in shelves adorning what felt like millions of vinyl records, even the ones he got when he was a kid - these had a different name scribbled on the dust covers in blue biro: Reginald Dwight.

Elton shook his head at the thought of his old name, as if it was an embarrassing memory from his school days that he wanted out of there. To him it was like when you get a song stuck in your head, an ear worm, vermin that seemed great at first but soon enough became a farce to deal with.

To distract himself, and to stop his brain from scrambling after shaking his head so hard, he looked at the other wall. It was his self professed poster wall - not yet patent pending - where he stuck all the posters of stuff he liked. Movie stars, fancy cars, adverts for bars, the lyrics that came in his more recent vinyls, they were all there (he had one of Sean Connery that he'd been meaning to put up since he'd moved in, but he hadn't got round to it).

But in amongst them all was the holy grail. Rock and Roll piano legend, Jerry Lee Lewis. Him, Elvis and Little Richard were the three he admired the most, but Jerry was his favourite. If not for him, he probably wouldn't have taken up piano as an actual career. He knew how to play it, sure, but he'd probably have ended up sorrowfully playing the ones in fancy restaurants, pretending he was a famous megastar when in reality he just worked at Tower Records helping wailing teenagers find their favourite Beatles album.

Elton chuckled to himself at the thought of this warped version of events, but his rushing psyche was interrupted by his clock striking the hour. He'd have to continue this private room and mind tour later; he had two sleeping beauties to wake up.

He went to Freddie's room first, partly because he was closer but mostly because he knew he'd react better to being woken up, especially if shopping was involved. David on the other hand would be a bit more work.

He tiptoed along the landing and sneaked into Freddie's room, getting down on his knees and leaning over his bed. Like he suspected, the ex-frontman was sleeping soundly.

"Freddie." He whispered. "Time to wake up, darling."

Freddie turned over and murmured in his sleep. Elton sighed - he thought he'd be easy. He started shaking him, repeating his name with each shake.

"What is it, Elton?" Freddie eventually groaned as he sat up. "It's eight in the morning."

"Do you remember what we're doing today?"

"No, and I don't want to remember." Freddie sighed. "I'm tired."

"We're going shopping!" Elton exclaimed. "Now do you remember?"

Freddie's eyes twinkled at that. He'd willingly get up at the crack of dawn if shopping was involved.

"That changes things entirely." He said. "If only I'd picked an outfit last night!"