Ooh, Las Vegas. Ain’t no place for a poor boy like me as the great Gram Parsons once sang. And poor is what you certainly will be if you hang around here long enough.
Talking of great singers, I went to see Barry Manilow here at the Hilton last night. What a show. I was near the front, too, so was barely eight feet from Barry himself (and therefore six feet from the end of his nose). The thing that struck me though was how skinny his legs are. From the waist down, the man is practically a flamingo.
There’s even a Barry Manilow shop here in the hotel where you can buy all sorts of Manilow guff, from boxer shorts to his own label wine.
Am due another great show tonight too – Tom Jones at the MGM Grand. Should be fun, and I shall try to avoid throwing my pants at him. Having been on the road for the best past of three weeks now, you really don’t want to know about my pants. Mind you, I’ve just had some laundry done here at the hotel – looking at how much it cost me, I’d have been better off just going out and buying new clothes.
OK, it’s just after breakfast time here and I have another busy day of traipsing around Vegas and irritating the hell out of everyone with the terrible cough I developed in Memphis.
Oh, and Gram Parsons also sang “won’t you scratch my itch sweet Annie Rich, and welcome me back to town,” so perhaps it’s best not to take what he says too seriously.