Telegram Sam and Metal Guru sat at a kerb side coffee shop in Marrakesh watching the hustlers and the homeless and the glue sniffers. Two middle aged men, one English and one Irish, they discussed Marc Bolan and T Rex, how it was the thirtieth anniversary of his death, and what an influence he had on the emergent punk rock culture which had shaped the two of them.
'He only had eight or nine songs really.' said Telegram Sam.
'And time has not been kind to him.' said Metal Guru. 'Though it's been a lot kinder than it would've been if he'd lived on.'
They both agreed that if he were alive today Bolan would not be going around the planet in the regal rock star splendor of contemporaries like Rod Stewart or David Bowie. No, he'd be on the memoir-writing and rock cabaret circuit like Suzi Quatro or Alvin Stardust. Or he'd be a TV personality like Noddy Holder from Slade. He'd probably not have ended up in a Gary Glitter-style sticky situation.
Metal Guru took a final swig out of his glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Telegram Sam polished off his vegetable cous cous. Separately they thought back to a time - thirty long hot summers long ago - when Bolan held the 70s boys of Ireland and England in thrall.
Metal Guru retired to his hotel room where he read I Was Dora Suarez by Derek Raymond for a while before taking the siesta that he always took, mid afternoon, when it was too hot in Morocco.
Hotter than a crotch.
