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History : 1983

We cruise to Scandinavia, to revisit our Nordic chums!

Early 1983:
Bid (guitar, vocals)
Foz (guitar, vocals)
Andy Warren (bass, vocals)
Nick Wesolowski (drums)
Foz, fearful that his wages- of the finest seafood- may not impress his landlord, humbly asks for a loan. In a moment of great largesse, we propose that, in return for us cutting his hair, we will pay him the (we inform him) princely sum of 100 Krona, with which he can purchase a substantial property in sunny Kamchatka! Where the coconuts come from! Dewy-eyed with gratitude and visions of Ursula Andress in a bikini, he readily accepts.
Upon arrival at our country retreat, I retire to the kitchen to prepare the evening feast. The chaps inform me that they have managed to borrow some professional-looking and keen-bladed tools from a local coiffure to perform the operation. He agrees to offer his services for some parsnips, which are rare in Norway.
Having set the tough meat to boil, I make a crisp, dry and somewhat experimental Martini and take it out to Foz, where my spirits are lifted by the obvious merriment had by all in the balmy sub-zero temperature. The Norweigan gentleman has kindly brought along a special kind of local yoghurt, which he then proceeds to spread onto Foz's delicate scalp, no doubt an arcane secret to aid shaving. I tell Foz that he looks like an idol! "Which one?" he jovially enquires, as I hastily retreat indoors.
Evidently impressed with his new image, Foz inspects himself in the mirror I have prepared for him. "I look just like Clint Eastwood!" he delightledly exclaims. I must agree, putting down my copy of 'Rawhide: The Book', which I had been perusing. "What do you think, Andy?" I ask, waving my scissors and paste bottle in excitement. "Yeah, and he looks the same from the back," Andy replies, as he joins the others huddled around the rustic stove and a smell of ammonia fills the air.
To go with his new jet-set image, Foz sports his naval officer's jacket on the return journey home, and, thus attired, he is to be seen joyfully strolling the decks of the vessel, taking the sea air. This blazer, coupled with his new hair-do, which admittedly looks the result of an oriental infidelity, altogether lends him the guise of a well-travelled sea-dog! It is therefore no surprise when an elderly lady enquires of him the docking time of the ship, and, still in character, he replies in colourful expletives!

Troubled, disturbed, dangerously unstable.

Not only happy, but rich!