Like a thatched crash helmet....Wogan the original 70's Welsh gigalo rocking the syrup back in the days....heard he used to write aswell, but only down the mines.
Welsh?!! How dare you! I'm a proud son of the Emerald Isle. I was born beneath a shamrock tree in a potato field on the outter reaches of bonny ol' Limerick. My mother was a stern woman who's glare could curdle Guinness. My Father was a fairminded tinker who's passion for Morgan Khans Streetsounds was matched only by his affections for my mothers shortbread. I was conceived during a bitter Irish night in December 1937. My fathers amorous advances were recieved with much abandon, shortly after The Mighty Ethnics had taken to the stage at The County Tea Rooms. And there, amongst backstage boxes of unsold copies of Harmony Hall the Wogan seed was planted. My early years were not an easy time. Ireland at this time was being ripped apart by sectarianism. The schoolyard was the battleground, where these differences played out, like a violent nativity. Although raised a Juice Crew disciple, I was often to be found playing Soggy Flannel down Gregory Street, a fiercely proud community of BDPdians. I remember on one occasion Father Markie thrashing my peach like buttocks after finding a copy of 'Diva' by Ms Melodie in my tatty leather satchel. By 1956 I was living in a cramped bungalow, nestled within the bosom of Londinium with two other rapscallions (Timothy Westwood and Mike Allen)............. To read more please buy my Autobiography: Wogan - Ketamine for Breakfast. rrp £12.99 "A must read. Makes you glad to be Irish" - Roy Keane "Loved it. Emotional, exciting, erotic." - Wretch 32 "A parable for all times" - Richard Dawkins "Like a more sensual 50 Shades of Grey" - Sadie Frost "I cried. I cried. Then I cried again! Beautiful" - Dean Gaffney
Read about my divorces, my time heading-up the Kings-Lynn chapter of the Black Spades. The yard missions with DDS and how I impressed TEACH with improper use of a police helmet. All this and I will finally reveal the true story of what really happened at Bridlington 89!
Welsh?!! How dare you! I'm a proud son of the Emerald Isle. I was born beneath a shamrock tree in a potato field on the outter reaches of bonny ol' Limerick. My mother was a stern woman who's glare could curdle Guinness. My Father was a fairminded tinker who's passion for Morgan Khans Streetsounds was matched only by his affections for my mothers shortbread. I was conceived during a bitter Irish night in December 1937. My fathers amorous advances were recieved with much abandon, shortly after The Mighty Ethnics had taken to the stage at The County Tea Rooms. And there, amongst backstage boxes of unsold copies of Harmony Hall the Wogan seed was planted. My early years were not an easy time. Ireland at this time was being ripped apart by sectarianism. The schoolyard was the battleground, where these differences played out, like a violent nativity. Although raised a Juice Crew disciple, I was often to be found playing Soggy Flannel down Gregory Street, a fiercely proud community of BDPdians. I remember on one occasion Father Markie thrashing my peach like buttocks after finding a copy of 'Diva' by Ms Melodie in my tatty leather satchel. By 1956 I was living in a cramped bungalow, nestled within the bosom of Londinium with two other rapscallions (Timothy Westwood and Mike Allen).............
ReplyDeleteTo read more please buy my Autobiography: Wogan - Ketamine for Breakfast. rrp £12.99
"A must read. Makes you glad to be Irish" - Roy Keane
"Loved it. Emotional, exciting, erotic." - Wretch 32
"A parable for all times" - Richard Dawkins
"Like a more sensual 50 Shades of Grey" - Sadie Frost
"I cried. I cried. Then I cried again! Beautiful" - Dean Gaffney
Read about my divorces, my time heading-up the Kings-Lynn chapter of the Black Spades. The yard missions with DDS and how I impressed TEACH with improper use of a police helmet. All this and I will finally reveal the true story of what really happened at Bridlington 89!
Sir Terry Wogan KBE, DDS, FBS, BC,YRP