It was the year I left school. The year of the war in the Falklands.
One hundred and sixty-nine days past the termination of the conflict, the work of the man from Cleethorpes was shown to lay folk and the cognoscenti. Experts and neophytes, all were impressed.
Master of His Art
Rod Temperton, that son of Cleethorpes, was a master of his vocation. A soul singer of top rank, he was a band leader of a fine beat combo. He was a star in the song-writing firmament. By his pen was birthed the song, Thriller. You might remember Thriller. That song performed by Michael Jackson. (The late Mr Jackson’s pederasty is not for now.) Thriller, from an album of the same name – the best-selling album ever. This manner of music is not of my favoured genre. I’m a jazz man myself. No matter.
Lights & Bushels
Such talent should be exposed. It should follow the injunction from the Sermon on the Mount.
Enter John Landis.
Carrie Fisher acted in the 1980 cinematic exposition, The Blues Brothers. The movie was well regarded. Multitudes, of whom I’m a number, laid out ready cash to see it. So many tens of millions viewed it as to reward its financiers mightily. Those souls paid to appraise works of culture with a critical eye, thought well of the film. The film was directed by John Landis. John further directed An American Werewolf in London.
It is foolishness bordering on sinfulness to conceal one’s light under a bushel. Therefore, to promote this work of the man from Cleethorpes, Mr Landis was engaged. In sum, he directed the promotional video of the song Thriller. A 15-minute film to promote a 312-second song.
No Mere Hit
The video was a success. But, such a statement is to speak without emphasis. Such a phlegmatic phrasing is tantamount to cultural vandalism. It would be akin to alluding that Dame Helen Mirren barely made the grade as a jobbing actor. You might as well damn Dickens as being just an essayist. Go on, I dare you, introduce J K Rowling as if she were hardly able to read poetry aloud.
The Landis film of Thriller was a hit.
Despite all that is good about that video, old and young were introduced to the curious wardrobe of the singer’s. The hem of his trousers was so high as to show off his socks. White socks.
When normal men stand, their trousers are sufficiently long as to conceal their socks. What grown man wears white socks?
It’s but a hop, skip and a step from white socks to white gloves. Then one white glove. Thank heavens such nonsense failed to catch on. The world showed no love for a lone glove.
What well-adjusted adult, with the blessing of two hands has use for a single glove? An unpaired mitten?
They Work Hand in Glove
Several comments arose from a piece in the February edition of this publication. The piece about the lasting power of attorney (LPA) and the last will and testament working hand in hand. Thank you. Many of you have a way with words. Almost all of you likened the will and the LPA to gloves. You likened the two documents to two gloves.
You all are right.
Sam’s entry to my mailbag was typical. She contends, in all correctness, that if her power of attorney had to be used, she couldn’t look after her children. In such ghastly circumstances, the guardianship clause in her will would be invoked. One of the rare instances where a provision of the will would be used while the testator drew breath. The power of attorney and will working like gloves.
This is real life. This is no Michael Jackson video. This is no John Landis film.
Normal folk like you and I have no use for unpaired gloves. Often the will is scant use without an LPA. Like Sam, the wise have both gloves.
Ade Oduyemi helps ensure his clients’ wealth is transferred down the generations. His mission is to ensure a generation or two hence, your new money becomes old money. He’s an inheritance planner who, hosts a podcast interview series, The Whole Lot with Ade Oduyemi in which he talks to entrepreneurs. You can get a free copy of his latest book, Maximum Inheritance here.