Rome. 1988? 1989?
We did a week of live lunchtime performances on the same TV programme every day. The line-up sort of grew throughout the week, so that by the week's end, even myself, La Kirsty and Cashman were kitted up, though I cannot recall if T Woods ever actually made it. Reflecting our well-known enormous enthusiasm for doing Television, the Pogues only reluctantly gave up their other commitments to do this junket. Or not. You could look at it this way: "It's a week's All-Expenses in lovely Roma in the middle of Summer with my mates The Pogues, interrupted only by a couple of hours work each morning. What's not to love?" OR you could look at it this way: "Fuck this, I haven't seen my fella for 4 weeks and I'm damned if I'm going to ponce around on Rome TV when I could be in Hamburg with him for a couple of days (as originally planned), catching up with the TV show about midweek." I looked at it that way.
The guy at the end with the straw hat and the huge piano. That's DR JOHN, that is. DR JOHN THE NIGHT TRIPPER HIS-SELF. Mr Rebbenack (sp?) was also held captive in Rome that week and had no pressing engagements with Blond German Giants to detain him.
But this is EXACTLY why television is so CRAP. You get THE POGUES and DR JOHN together, literally heel by heel, on the same stage, for a WHOLE WEEK, and NO smart Tristano or Rosaria thinks "Hey, that's kinds cool. Wonder how they'd feel about playing on each other's tunes?"