As the afternoon wears on, the scowls intensify. Noel has chosen now to inform Liam that he's been asked to join Crazy Horse, backing band to the legendary rock n roll warhorse Neil Young, for an on-stage jam when the group play London. Liam is not amused. "So me twat brother thinks he's Eric fucking Clapton now, does he? He'll be wearing fucking winkle-pickers and a ponytail next. He's in Oasis now and that should be enough. Our kid's better than all those blokes anyway. He's up there next to John Lennon in my book."
Q: You had a swipe at our Socceroos a while ago, suggesting they stop trying to win the World Cup because it was pointless? England didn't go to well and neither did Manchester City on the weekend.
A: Noel: Don't get me wrong. Don't forget England are fooken dreadful, too. The Socceroos as a name is fooken ridiculous. It's like a cartoon for kids. It's just ridiculous. And as for Manchester City, that was lame. All my sporting allegiances are shite. It's a good job I'm brilliant at music otherwise I'd be a miserable old bastard.
Q: But we (Australia) see the soccer World Cup as the last frontier in world sport to conquer?
A: Noel: (Leans back into couch, belly laughing) Win the World Cup? Fooking hell. You've got more fooking chance of having a champion skier. Fooking hell.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment