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A semi autobiographical selection of short stories as experienced by the author
Tyla J Pallas, the singer/guitarist/songwriter with the Rock Band 'The Dogs D'amour'
in his broad Yorkshire accent. -And we’ve got triple A coverage, I’ll gerruz a brand new un int’ mornin. I was still suffering the aftermath of the over consumption of a one ‘Uncle Tom’ bourbon. I don’t know what the hell it was made from but my sweat over the next few months took the varnish off my beloved 1962 Chet Atkins Gretsch, which had managed to hide the years until she fell into my debauched hands for £800 from Chris at vintage and rare guitars located then in Earls court, now located
him. So for three days he was in the company of the great Spanish artist. At the end of the 3 days there was to be big party, lots of androgynous bodies flowed, as did the wine. In came Gala, Dali’s wife and muse dressed as Fred Astaire followed by Dali in a huge flowing cloak. Dali sat down at the table and from out of his cloak he pulled a jar of honey then a pair of oversized scissors, he poured the honey into a glass of hot water and when I guess he’d judged the amount required he simply cut
it had all gone pear shaped. I called him to break the news. Ok he said lets just find a drummer and a singer, it shouldn’t be that hard. Well if you’ve seen the film ‘The Commitments’ the part where they are auditioning, well it was like that, plus a year before we had auditioned singers for what seem like ever and ever until Ned came along. So the thought of going through that process again wasn’t very appealing. Plus we only had one month to get our shit together as the studio and flights were
surrounding it. I mean insurance companies are all very well at taking your money, but come the pay out day, well that’s another story. I was once insured for a million dollars apparently, of course there was no need to panic, as I wasn’t informed of this until after our American tour. I did however get worldwide coverage for £90 from a United Kingdom Post Office when I visited the States in 2007, and by chance I did have to go for a check up while I was there. I promptly showed my insurance
expect with the art exhibition but there had been quite a lot of press about the show to come. So its Saturday morning and I’m driven to the Gallery, which was actually in the town hall. They drop me round the back and walk me in and then straight into the disabled lift for wheelchairs and alike to raise me only a few feet to the level of the exhibition, I could have if the truth was known managed the five steps next to the lift. So there I am hunched over on my crutches being raised slowly - I