- Does he feel up to giving the Redfellow Hovel lawn a touch of the mower?
- What is that strange low ache in his left side? Is it terminal or just a strained musclette?
- Who is the arse who drives a lorry, sans le pot d’échappement, past at 3 a.m. each morning, during the second sleep? If it’s News International, can it be legitimately bombed?
- Is there really an estate agency with a balanced number of complaints and plaudits?
- Is Eric Pickles really necessary? Or — the nightmare alternative — is he Jabba the Hut in drag?
… and so on.
This Monday morning two particular considerations perplexed Malcolm:
- Is it a given that David Tennant gets all the juicy parts?
- Did Lola get about a bit?
Let him deliberate further on that last one.
That’s one reading of the seminal text, including the glitch which wikipedia explains as:
The original song recorded in stereo had the word “Coca-Cola” in the lyrics, but because of BBC Radio’s policy against product placement, Ray was forced to make a six thousand mile round-trip flight from New York to London—interrupting the band’s American tour—to change those words to the generic “cherry cola” for the single release.
Referring to the iTunes library on the Big Bastard back-up hard drive, Malcolm reckons there there may be three, at least, very different versions. At TCD the undergraduate Malcolm would now pencil a note in the margin of the Homer, Horace or Herodotus text: variae lectiones (“variant readings”, i.e. the editors still haven’t sussed what the original could have been, but some medieval monken copyist clearly got it wrong).
The three locations for the club seem to be Muswell Hill, Notting Hill and — of course — Old Soho.
Why this matters
Lola is the anthem for Muswell Hill and its Hill-billy population. No New Years Eve party (or similar booze-up) really takes off until, suitably slaked, the gathering can reclaim its own inner Davies and join raggedly in the chorus.