Joe remembered the parrot sign from childhood daytrips. Everything behind the lofted image of the cheeky green bird had been decimated. And now all he could see was scaffolding. Welcome to Pleasure World. Yet all that lay behind was an ugly metal structure and the sprawling bleak beyond.
The parrot’s smile took on a different meaning, as if it was grinning in the face of adversity. It had worn that painted smile all through the gradual demise of this seaside casualty. Maybe, the day they tear the parrot down, will be the day of the last tourist.
“Come on Joe. Let’s make the best of this weather while it lasts. It’s forecast for rain later”
Alan had wandered further ahead along the prom. The clumsy black guitar case appeared heavy in his frail and bony hand. What he would once have carried with ease he now carried with a strained face and a stoic determination. His sickness had failed to dampen his stubborn resilience and tenacity though it had mercilessly wasted his muscle. It had turned a big man in to a little one.
Black hair with persistent grey streaks blew back and forth over his bald patch in the inconsistent wind. The gaunt face stared back at Joe, awaiting a response, and it was hard, though still just about possible, to remember what Alan had once looked like. It was Morecambe cold but an ill sweat was ever visible on his forehead.
Alan’s eyes where an angry red. Eyes that had seen at least a thousand nights in Leigh miner’s club. Eyes that now stared confidently through illness to one last gig on Morecambe promenade.
Joe glanced up once more at the parrot and gave it a cheeky wink. Did it just wink back? See you on the way back, Polly
Every May for the last thirty they had come to Morecambe to perform on the prom. It wasn’t for the money. They both had boring but decent paid jobs. They had first come here on Alan’s whim in May 1978 and since then he had got it in to his head that it should become an annual ritual. An event to cement the bond of two lifelong pals. Because that is what they are- pals. Good pals.
Neither was good on the guitar. Neither was a good singer. Joe knew this. Alan didn’t. Alan had always been far more committed to this project than Joe.
They had set up near the Eric Morecambe statue as they always did. They had embarked upon the same old set list. The Kinks, Cat Stevens, Van Morrison. Classic after classic viciously butchered. But it didn’t seem to bother the people who strode along the prom. Not like it secretly ate away at Joe.
Alan took on the majority of the singing as always. It was fine by Joe. Every word Alan sang seemed to strain his body to the maximum. He no longer looked as if he was enjoying it. He was ill last year and had shown signs of struggling. This time it was worse. He looked bad. Exhausted. It was turning in to a tragic performance.
Most of the people there were old couples taking their grand children for a day on the beach. Everyone who passed smiled wide. Joe remembered reading an article in a paper in which Thora Hird had offered up a strong defence of Morecambe as a serious holiday contender. If the people enjoying their days out here were anything to go by then Old Thora was right. You were right Thora.
One old couple with a child of about six had stopped to watch. This made Alan put even more in to his performance. Veins were pulsing at the sides of his face. The old man tried to join in with Dedicated Follower of Fashion. He looked like he was trying to help Alan out. He didn’t know it well enough. Joe remembered a time when he used to like this song.
At the end of the next song Help the old woman threw a coin in to Joe’s guitar case, offered a “well done, we enjoyed that,” and the three of them, Granddad, Grandma and Grandson moved on. A seagull shat on Eric Morecambe’s head. The latest sadness fell on to Alan’s face. It was clear to Joe this was the last time they would do this.
“Let’s play Sweet Caroline and go home” said Joe
“All right” said Alan, and strummed a b minor
As they walked back along the prom Alan puked up in a shop doorway. Ahead of him Joe could see two work men taking down the parrot.
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