I went out with my friends to some hall or other and I met The Monkees. This was the time when I was a Davylover (of course now I’ve had an eye test, I’m a Nezhead), and when I saw him I was like “Becky, look, it’s Davy Jones!”
“Who’s Davy Jones?” she asked, confused.
“It’s that short one with the nice bottom over there!” I answered, excitedly.
So we went over and said hi, how you doin’ etc. And I kept on thinking “Oh I’m stood two inches away from David Jones!” and then joy of all joys, he snogged me! “WOOOOOOOHHHHOOOOO!” I thought to myself, as you would.
Then Becky looked at me and said, “But Heather, he’s a 51 year old man!”. Davy looked at her like she was stupid.
“You must be jokin’! I’m not even 21 yet!” he protested.
“So there,” I giggled, snogging Davy again.
Then I woke up.
I’d gone to a Westlife concert and after the gig I met the guys. I said to Kian “Oh I could’ve married you when you started singing Wild Thing, it’s one of my favourite 60s songs!”
Then Shane looked at me and said, “Well, if you like 60s music then I’d like to introduce you to someone who’s helped our career more than we can thank him for!” and I thought “oh I can’t stand Ronan, I hope it isn’t him!” “Mike Nesmith,” he finished.
“Mike Nesmith?!” I asked, “Like, you mean, MY Mike Nesmith?”
“Yeah, he’s just here,” he told me, as we walked through a door and into an American diner/café thing. “Nez, got someone here to meet you, looks like a fan of yours,” he introduced me to him.
“Only for four years!” I stuttered. “Nez!” I gulped.
“Hi, who are you?” he asked. I noticed he was Old Nez as opposed to being a millionaire at 25.
“I’m Spev. Will you marry me?” I asked.
“I can’t marry you. I’m already married, remember?” he reminded me.
“But I love you more!” I protested.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Eighteen,” I lied.
“Well I’ll tell you what, you can stay here for the day and help me out here and we’ll see what happens from there,” he decided. So I stayed and helped him in the café with the customers, and we talked and laughed and flirted all day long. I wondered why they kept playing his songs in the café but then I realised that he owned the place. When closing time came he dimmed the lights and put the ‘Closed’ sign up and locked the door.
“What am I doing hangin’ ‘round?” I asked.
“I thought you’d like to stay here with me for a while,” he replied.
“I’d love to,” I agreed.
“You wanna dance?” he asked.
“With you? I’d love that even more!” I replied. So we danced to a few of the tracks from Pretty Much Your Standard Ranch Stash, like Some of Shelly’s Blues and Winonah. Then Born to Love You came on.
“What a poignant and very true song this is, Nez,” I told him.
“Oh hell yeah,” he whispered, giving me a kiss. Then the next thing I knew we were having sex on one of the tables. Which was quite novel, I must say.
Uh, and then I woke up.
Mike Nesmith was doing a concert at the Preston Guild Hall, a concert theatre just a few miles away from my house. So naturally I camped outside for weeks before the tickets were released so I could get prime perving position. Even though he is 58, he’s still Mike Nesmith, you know what I mean? Anyway, I got my ticket and bumped into one of my friends, Frank.
“Hiya Frank, how are you?” I asked. “What are you doing back there?”
“Me? Oh I’m in the support act for the Mike Nesmith concert,” he told me. I grabbed hold of him by the shoulders and started shaking him quite violently. Not the smartest move to make on a manic depressive but, uh, what can you do?
“You’re in the WHAT?” I demanded, not believing my ears.
“Yeah, I’m supporting Nez on tour. Do you want to meet him or something?” he asked. I rolled my eyes.
“Francesco. I’ve camped outside the bloody Guild Hall for four weeks to get this ticket. I’ve been a fan since I was thirteen years old, I know practically all the episodes off by heart and I own nearly all of their albums. Of COURSE I want to meet Mike Nesmith!” I answered, sure he was losing his mind.
“Oh, right. Well, I tell you what. On the day of the concert, you go to the side door at about one o’clock and tell them you’re related to me and that I said you can come over,” he told me. So on the day of the concert I knocked on the side door of the theatre. Some angry looking Anne Robinson type woman came to the door.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I’m Frank Piras’ cousin and he said I could come over,” I replied.
“Are you hell!” she answered.
“No, really, I am, just go in and ask him!” I pleaded. So she went inside, came back with a blank piece of paper and handed it to me.
“Right, okay, if you want to see Mike Nesmith, he’s in that room there,” she told me. So I went through the door and there he was, lying on top of this huge big massive bed.
“Mike, you’ve got a concert in a few hours, why are you in bed?” I asked.
“Well, Spev, I just thought I could do a bit of thinkin’,” he answered.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“Frank’s told me all about you. You’re not his cousin at all are you?” he asked. I shook my head. “Still I guess now you’re here, you may as well come and sit by me here,” he continued.
“Right then,” I answered, going to sit next to him on this bed thing. It was in this big office. Some people have desks and chairs, Mike Nesmith had a six foot bed. I like his style. All of a sudden he gave me a huge big snog. “Mike, what are you, umm…” I began. Then he rolled me onto my back and was really getting stuck in kind of thing, which let’s face it, I wasn’t complaining at.
“You’d like me to have sex with you wouldn’t you?” he asked.
“Well, looks like we’re about to anyway,” I answered. “But yes, I’d like that a lot.”
“Well I’m not going to,” he told me.
“You’re what?” I asked.
“I’m not going to.”
“Mike, honestly, trust me, you were about to, there was something happening down there, I could feel it in my kni-, umm, I mean… bones!” I protested.
“Yeah well, I’m a bit past it now,” he decided.
“Bugger,” I sighed.
“I’m too old for that too. Wait a minute! I’m a guy, I CAN’T do that!” he answered. So anyway, we just we laying there, having a cuddle, when the warm up act went on. “I guess you’d best go, honey,” he told me.
“Do I have to?” I asked.
“Yeah. But give me your number and I’ll call you,” he promised. So I did and off I went to watch the band. When Nez came on he was stood behind this big six foot tall fence thing and the only way you could see him is to kneel on or stand on top of lab stools. I didn’t have one so I had to keep jumping up and down to see him. I think I saw about two minutes of a two hour gig. The moral of that story is, don’t try to be a groupie for a 58 year old country singer.
Oh, yes, you guessed it. Then I woke up.