Simon Rushworth
It’s that time of the week when Self Made Man takes centre stage and delivers his thoughts on the world of classic rock.
Read his exclusive column right here every weekend!
So where do you keep yours? That’s if you haven’t chucked them away by now.
And if you’re fortunate enough to be allowed to display them, are they framed? Or do you rely on the tried and trusted method of sellotape, drawing pins or blue-tac.
Earlier this week, the Classic Rock-produced Rush Fan Pack dropped through my letter-box which features the much-anticipated (and rather excellent) Clockwork Angels CD, a hugely enjoyable 132 page magazine dedicated to the Canadian trio. a key ring and a two-sided poster.
The album’s been played countless times, the mag’s been read cover to cover and even the rather fetching keyring has replaced by old one.
As for the poster, it’s gathering dust in the newspaper rack. Such is life for a married man, whose wife thinks rock posters and Laura Ashley wallpaper are not a natural combination.
Of course, she’s right but that’s no consolation to me, who now has three lavish posters without a home.
Personally, I blame Classic Rock and their splendid decision to issue fanpacks, crammed with various gifts. In the past year, I’ve bought both Slash releases, courtesy of this promotion plus Whitesnake’s Forevermore album.
So at least that destitute Rush poster has two companions, a rather cool Slash pic and a slightly less trendy shot of David Coverdale and his latest Whitesnake incarnation.
Like most blokes, I’d love to have one of those “men-only” rooms, preferably with a snooker table taking centre stage.
In the corner, there’d be a bar with real ale on tap and Peronis in the fridge with a well-stocked wine rack alongside.
A state-of-the-art music system would compete for my attention with a wide-screen telly with thousands of DVDs and CDs neatly stored within easy reach.
Then, there would be my football programme collection, which features several pre 1930 items which over a decade ago, I had valued at over £100 each. They’d be situated in a corner, next to a book shelf with books on history, politics, sport and music.
And then of course, there’s the posters, framed in reclaimed oak, tastefully occupying all four walls.
No feminine interference. Just a temple to my passions. Dream on, Murtagh, dream on.
Never mind such extravagance, I haven’t even got my own private study to indulge my interests.
The fact is my study and work-station has multi-purpose functions in chez nous and therefore I’m not allowed to stamp my personal touch on it.
And our downstairs loo is occupied, so to speak, being emblazoned with photos of the kids from their primary school days.
The last time I had posters on the wall was back in my student days. There was a Michael Schenker one with the self-titled mad axeman and his Flying V in classic pose, a Led Zeppelin poster and, for balance, a glorious Steviie Nicks pic and of course, the ubiquitous tennis girl, rubbing her bare bum.
In that student house, occupiied by six red-blooded males, we also decorated the little boys room with Page 3 girls, much to the embarassment of our parents when they came visiting.
So my darling wife should understand that putting up a couple of harmless music posters, isn’t so bad after all!
Ian Murtagh