“What’s yer Phobia?”
“I don’t have a Phobia.”
“THAT’S yer Phobia!”
(My first conversation with Alex Harvey, 1978)
Eddie showed up right on time, a little after 11pm, at my family home to take me on the overnight drive to London. But first, he spent a few minutes with my parents.
“I’m sure you’ve heard all the horror stories,” he began.
“No, we haven’t,” replied my mum, slightly bemused.
“Well, when you do, it’ll no be yer boy, right?”
“What horror stories Mr Tobin?” my dad enquired, just slightly more bemusedly.
“You know, smokin’, drinkin’, doin’ drugs, turning gay, marrying his smack dealer, dying alone in a manky bedsit after a botched sex change, that sort of thing.”
“Our son’s too sensible for any of that to happen, Eddie,” my mum nervously assured herself. “But we trust you’ll look after him for us, thank you.”
“Now don’t you worry, Mr & Mrs Rankin, I’ll take good care of him. Right, Billy, let’s go.”
As we drove away with my now totally and utterly bemused parents waving, Eddie turned to me and said:
“Think they bought it?”