We were led, in the dark, into an underground encampment. Once inside it had all the set design nouse of a rubbish mid eighties James Bond film. You know , the ones that had themes by no mark pop bands like Duran Duran or A-Ha. The only eighties Bond film I could ever tolerate was Licence To Kill, as I imagined what I would do to Gladys Knight and her Pips if I had said licence.

“Here we are, Ms Headon, Mr De Savary. The never centre of the hush hush very secret Department Of Extraterrestrial Affairs. In the heart of Tennessee, just outside Memphis, in Graceland.”

This news was enough to make me pass out.

I awoke to the sounds of Bossanova Baby, a feeling of utter despair and the gurning face of Agent Turner. He had in his hands a piece of the rubbery substance that the giant space hopper was made of.

“I’ll ask you one final time. Where did you get this stuff.”
“A big eared alien on the moon,” I told him for the fifteenth time. Like I owed The Listener anything.
“See, I knew you would say that. Looks like we will have to wheel out the big guns. Ms Headon. May I introduce to you, the Director of the Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs. Mr Elvis Aron Presley.”

A man who looked good for a seventy year old, and exceptionally good for someone who was supposed to be dead hip swivled into the room. Greasy hair, less fat on him than to be expected, I could tell it was really Elvis just by my bodies natural defences. I am ashamed to say I threw up.

“Ms Headon. Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Elvis. You were supposed to have died on your toilet in 1977.”
“Well, as you can see ma’am, I am alive and well.”
“No. I mean you were supposed to. I paid people good money for that just. All of my pocket money for a year. I knew I couldn’t trust those boys in year five. So what is this then. Some secret base in the heart of Graceland that you run to save the American people from extraterrestrial danger?”
“Why yes?” He looked shocked at my ability to summaries all of the information. But then he did star in Blue Hawaii so he isn’t the smartest man in the world.
“My question to you then Elvis, is who is going to save the American public from you?”

Not those boys in year five, that’s for sure. You can never trust a punk.


Paul Simon I can understand. You can see why a relative Johnny Come Lately like that sprout faced turd might write a song about Graceland. But why would Willie Nelson cover it? Readers, I offer you some potential reasons:

a) Willie Nelson hates Paul Simon and therefore thought he would spoil the song (not possible)
b) Willie Nelson hates humanity and therefore thought that juxtaposing his gravelly voice with a weak-ass Paul Simon song would bring about Ragnarok
c) He hated Elvis and therefore decided to sing a song about his house rather than him
d) He was killing time until the acting role of a lifetime came up, thus recording whatever tat his record company threw at him. Luckily the acting role of a lifetime has come up now, as Willie Nelson is playing Uncle Jessie in the Dukes Of Hazard movie, so we need not worry about him making any more rubbish covers like this anymore.

(By the way, I was tempted to do a piece of You Will Never See Graceland by Boo Hewardine, but I Will Never Hear You Will Never See Graceland. Unless I am really unlucky.)