The Rolling Stones by The Rolling Stones

You know that wedding that you went to one time, where they obviously wanted a big do but things were a little tight, so instead of booking a proper band they found a group of young upstarts who your cousin saw playing in a pub once, who said they would play covers of that American music the young people like in exchange for free drinks and the left overs from the buffet.

Okay, they’re a little bit rough and ready, the lead singer fancies himself and the bassist is already casting lecherous glances at the young bridesmaids, but they’re only playing for half an hour before the DJ arrives and they will drown out the noise of the caterers putting out the food for the evening guests. Nobody really pays them much attention, except your auntie who has had one too many sherries and is gamely trying to dance along with mixed results.

The mood drops noticeably when they try to sneak a couple of their own tunes claiming that they were written by someone called “Nanker Phelge” but eventually they shuffle off stage and disappear with pockets stuffed with sausage rolls and half empty bottles of plonk.

What did they say they were called again? The Strolling Bones, or something like that? I wonder whatever happened to them?