I was boarding with the Gs in 1977, when Demis Roussos turned up on television one night. That was the difference between Sweden and the UK; you would actually get famous people just popping up on the screen here.
Never a big fan, I had, nevertheless, been a fan, and had an LP or two. I can no longer remember what my favourite tracks were, because for some reason Demis became one of those who were eventually purged from my collection. I don’t know why. It’s not even as if getting rid of a few LPs gave me all that much more space.
He was a bit unusual. Perhaps that was it.
Anyway, there we were, eating dinner with the television on in the background. Mrs G exclaimed when she saw him enter the stage. She was someone who knew when something was amiss in the Messiah, and she knew that Dr Hook were playing locally (when I moaned about missing them), but she had not come across Demis.
‘Just wait until he starts to sing,’ I said.
Yeah, I don’t think either Mr or Mrs G expected what they heard. But you know, with hindsight, he was all right. If you ignore his [lack of] dress sense.