The Eejit

The Eejit Chapter 3: If You See Her, Say Hello

At this time, as it happens, I had embarked on my first proper, quasi - grown – up, all - in relationship. Until this point, my attitude to relationships had been very similar to my approach to academic work, which had been to do the bare minimum and only do that at the last minute. I found the whole relationship thing to be more demanding than I felt comfortable with. I was as profoundly lazy a boyfriend as I had been a student; equally satisfied with the knowledge that I probably could have if I really wanted to, but just as happy not to bother at all.

Lulu made me feel different.

She was a forceful personality, a risk taker and had an unfamiliar appetite for rumpy bumpy which rather took me by surprise. Nothing in my Irish catholic upbringing had prepared me for this and I found myself drifting into uncharted territory.

Now, I should say at this point that we are not heading into some cringeworthy chapter entitled 'I dun it wiv a lady, me' here where I lay bare an increasingly nauseating list of sexual exploits whilst standing with hands on hips, wearing britches and imagining I'm Stewart Granger with a cheeky chappie grin. Not at all. That's the next book. But relationships and musicians are often strange and important er... bedfellows and these life events often have the most profound effect on the development of a musician's trade.

Look at Bob Dylan's seminal Blood On The Tracks or George Michaels's staggeringly good Older, both inspired by love and loss. Look too at Keats, Shelley and of course, Barbara Cartland. Love makes us yearn and yearning makes us creative. Easy.

I have always admired those musicians for whom the road was always clear and the end point always in focus. These are the people who endure the hardship and the solitude of vocation for the promise of very little in return. I know many of these people and their dedication astounds and inspires me. But for me it was different. Things were never that clear for me and the various strands of life as I found it, always needed to be somehow knitted together in some grotesque accommodation that suited everyone and no one equally. Maybe I was just too much of a pussy to make a decision or commit.

Back to Lulu.

She was a year younger than I was, which seemed about right, rusty – blond hair with a worldliness about her that I found very seductive. I thought she was very pretty, out of my league almost certainly, and had an impish and mischievous quality about her, which I found very attractive. It also put her firmly in the driving seat as far as our relationship was concerned. In my naivety, I think what I liked most about her was the fact that she liked me enough to want to take charge of me and change me bit by bit, starting (it seemed) with my underwear, until I became the better man she believed, and that I had always hoped, I was. She provided me with a direction, and that was something new to me. She was smart enough to appeal to my innate vanity and I was vain enough to mistake her attempts at control for attention and flattery.

And she had her own car.

The feelings I was beginning to cultivate for Lulu took me to a new and uneasy place. It made me feel like I do when I travel on an aeroplane, like I'm not in any control of the direction or speed and means of travel and so I should just drink as much as possible. This unease inspired my first love song, Lady Love Me Tonight.

Playing a partner a song you have written for them is at the apex of the songwriters box of tricks. Billy Joel wrote the achingly beautiful 'You're My Home' for his first wife, telling her it was all he could afford at the time, Dylan wrote 'Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands' for his wife Sarah and it took up an entire side of the LP Blonde on Blonde and Mick Jagger wrote 'Angie' for er ... David Bowie's wife. Which is nice.

Lady Love Me Tonight was not a great song by any means but it was the first time I'd written anything as an emotional reaction to a situation I was personally experiencing. It was a milestone. Lulu seemed please, which was always a good thing.