And it's magic, if the music is groovy...

Typically, I’m about to write something that sets me up to be shot down, most likely by Misters Piper and Wood, stout musical yeomen that they are.

I’ve decided to believe in magic.

OK – I’ll qualify that. I’ve decided to believe in one particular magic trick, The Indian Rope Trick. This basically involved a magical suspending a rope in thin air, and getting his assistant to climb it, who would then disappear. The magician would then call for his servant to come down, get frustrated when he didn’t and then climb after him, disappearing himself in the process.

Then, at least in the supersized version of this little mystery, sounds of an argument would be heard, and the severed body parts of the assistant would fall from the sky! The magician would appear, climb down again, do some hocus-pocus crazy magic shit, and voila! Assistant back together in full health and everyone goes home happy.

Thing is (ignoring the severed body parts bit) there’s something so perfect about this trick, especially adding in the mysterious sub-continent element, that I’ve become enamored with it, and intend to begin my training as an Indian fakir. I’m so desperate for it to be real though, an actual piece of magic that defies explanation (and all the ‘explanations’ I’ve read, including wires suspended between trees, mass hypnosis, etc etc, just don't cut it for me I'm afraid), that the only way I’m going to be content is by heading off to B&Q, getting myself a suitable rope, and getting started.

Next gig should be interesting, eh?? (It’s Saturday at the Grapes by the way – see you there?)

Peter