Babe Ruth – Private Number

Just playing with the idea of the Discworld Musical as introduced by LemonBubble.

First, a duet between Moist von Lipwig and Adora Belle Dearheart. It can be one of two versions: the mellow Motown love ballad by Wiliam Bell and Judy Clay, or it can be a "take no prisoners" heavy rock anthem by Babe Ruth.

For myself, I take no prisoners. My preference is for Janita Haan and Alan Shacklock belting it out to a rock beat.

Adorah Belle watched impassively through a cloud of cigarette smoke, cupping one elbow in the opposite hand, as Moist sat heavily on the sofa.

"Mrs Dearheart, may I say you make a magnificent cup of tea?" he said, with complete apparent sincerity, as Adorah's mother hovered with the tea things. She reddened slightly at the praise.

"I just hope my daughter can do as well" she said, meaningfully, in the special mother's voice that makes any statement sound like You're getting no younger, girl. This is the best potential husband you're ever likely to get at your age, and I'll be annoyed if you lose him.

"Thank you, mother!" Adorah Belle said, in the equally loaded daughter's voice that says You've made the tea. Now can you find something to keep you occupied at the other end of the house, well away from here?

Adorah's mother took the hint, and left, remarking "Call me if you need anything. You know, more tea and biscuits or anything". A marriage to be arranged, that sort of thing.

Moist waited for Mrs Dearheart's footfall to recede, and inquired

"Was there… I mean, is there.. anything wrong?"

"Not from where I'm standing" Adorah Belle reassured him.

"I mean, I was in Pseudopolis for a week with Drumknott and Mr Bent, finding out why their economy's falling to bits for a report to Vetinari. I set up a clacks line for you so we could chat in the evenings. But every time I clacksed back it was "number unobtainable"."

Adorah Belle sighed for the merest instant.

"I'm sorry, Moist. Nothing's wrong and nothing's changed, but I had to change the number."

"May I ask why?"

"Well, do you think Dolly Sisters 666 was a bright number to choose? The moment Professor Flead discovered I was on a clacks number like that, he started haunting it! And reversing the charges!"

"So to get away from Flead…."

"We got a new line. I'm sorry they didn't tell you!"

"So, nothing's wrong…" Moist slumped with relief.

Adorah Belle, who know when to cut him some slack, stubbed her cigarette out, extended her arms, and smiled.

"Welcome home, boy!"

And, after a kiss that reassuringly tasted of ashtray

"Nothing's wrong…." She whispered.

He:- Since I've been gone, you've had your number changed -

But my love for you babe it still remains the same!

Now I've been loving you and you been loving me - for so long - now baby, what's wrong?

She:- I'm sorry you couldn't call me when you got home

But other fellas catch some cold while you were gone!

So I had the number changed,

No, I'm not acting strange,

Welcome home boy!

Nothing's wrong!

Both:- Baby, baby, baby – please let me have your number!

Baby, baby, baby, you can have my private number!

2:- PFM – Celebration

"Rufus, my love" Renata Flitworth whispered on the lonely snow-covered mountainside, reunited with her love for the first time in sixty years,. "You are never going to believe this…"

On the edge of hearing she could hear music.

You've spent a long time waiting for the perfect yesterday/ Now fill your heart with celebration – for that's love's way…

Italy's PFM, who charted many years ago in 1974, a time when Britain was more receptive to rock music coming out of Europe. A jolly little number called "Celebration", like a cross between Jethro Tull and Pink Floyd.

Heart – The Wolf

___________-

Angua could hear the sounds of the countryside coming in over the city. Some things could also be smelt sharply, if periodically, over the human reek. And in this cold winter where snow had suffocated most human smells, she knew wolves, the wild ones, were foraging nearer the city than normal discretion considered wise. And they had a pack leader. And, lying trembling in the dark, she could smell that he was all male… the wolf in her screamed to leap through the open window, run, run, and race with the wolves…

Enter Heart, the Wilson Sisters from Canada. They really had two rock music careers: firstly as long flowing-haired seven ties hippy-chicks with a folk-rock-country beat (Dreamboat Annie, Little Queen) . In the eighties they were reinvented as a big-haired big stadium AM Rock band (Bad Animals, Heart) . Guitarist Nancy Wilson is a blonde who looked, in her prime, the way a guitar-playing Angua might. Her sister, singer Ann Wilson, started in the seventies as the svelte Perdita, but the years have turned Perdita into an Agnes Nitt - with the lovely big hair and the magnificent rock-chick voice. Check 'em out!

(Nancy Wilson) The wolf..

(Ann Wilson) – Prowling in the night time!

(Nancy Wilson) The wolf..

(Ann Wilson) – Howling in the moon-shine!

(Nancy Wilson) The wolf..

(Ann Wilson) – Gives you what you want, but he ain't no friend of mine!

Elsewhere I've done a short story based on stylish Assassin Alice Band and an inadvertent dose of LSD in Mr Mericet's poisons class. Alice has an acid trip to the tune of Grace slick and the Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit. Which is also the title of the story.

I may revisit this and add further songs and "performers"!