Seeking Manilow IN a long and eventful career as a reporter I've had plenty of bizarre meetings and interviews. But perhaps none as downright weird as my (close) encounter with Barry Manilow, the chanter with the prominent proboscis, although driving more than 1,000 miles across Australia with a comedian called Steady Eddy who suffers from cerebral palsy comes close.
It was in 1994 in Plymouth, at the Theatre Royal, where Manilow, for reasons known only to himself, had decided to premiere his musical Copacabana. There was clearly a lot of money spent on pre-publicity – and around $3 million on the show apparently – so I was flown down by the PR people to write a piece. It was only when I got there that the ground rules were spelled out. I could ask anything I wanted, on any subject, just not to Baz. Talking to Barry was totally barred. Eh? Why? Was he not well? Tonsilitis? "You just can't," was the reply, "definitively."
Now, at this point, Barry wasn't an off-stage presence, he was wandering about the place, so I really don't know to this day why the omerta. I tried shouting to him, but he scuttled away flanked by minders, so I had to make do with talking to the lead actor Gary Wilmot. I asked him why Baz wouldn't speak, but he just shook his head, trembling. He may even have cried.
I mention this because I've just spotted a newspaper ad announcing that Manilow is coming to Glasgow next year. And, no, I won't be there and if you ring Barry, I'm hanging up.
Doggone it
National and social media – until the General Election result came through – was full of pictures of dogs outside polling stations for some reason. On Thursday. at my local one. there was a small, reddish-brown dog of indeterminate breed chained to a railing outside. It was probably
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