Bryan Glancy – 1966-2006

20140121-191145.jpgOn the 11th anniversary of his passing, I thought I’d share this with you. Please feel free to share and let the world know what it is missing.

I Bet You’re Out Tonight

Every time I Walk down Oldham St

I think I see him or is it just day turning into night

He’s got twenty fags tucked up the sleeve of a t-shirt

Which is way too tight

So, I shout

“Alright Bry?

You out tonight?”

And you just turn and smile and say

“Too right

Too fuckin right”

And it’ll be drinks and sneaky winks

Your words were so succinct

You were like Rizzo Ratso

“Everybody’s Talkin’ at Ya”

In your daft hat and skin tight kecks that match your shirt

All those beautiful blags and your cheap Victoria Wine fags

Your coughs your colds and your sore throats

A voice like a hemp rope

Words unfurling with mischief in your eye

And a smile

You’re The Kid Who Saved My Life

You twirl to more girls than George Best

I bet your both up there now at the bar getting pissed

Talking Man U

Women

Five-a-Side

Broken arms and your life landslides

And dreams and schemes and your daft cars

A mind scarred by all those kit kat bars

And tales of Salford

Tales of Crumpsall

Tales of Prestwich

Two souls

So tight

So tethered

And you played me a new tune every time we drank tea together

On those Bicycle Corncob Tuesdays

You were a butcher and a baker

You were a painter and decorator

You were a building site boy

You were gagging to be Irish with my Dad and drink Wild Turkey

Tell you what

Let’s go down Tops of Tibbs on Tibb Street

See Rob and Eamon and get three tight tee shirts for a fiver

And your Dad Bry – your Dad

And your kid and Robert and David and London mini bus trips

Off our fuckin tits

Your schemes and your dreams skating around the Manchester music scene

To Troubadours

Four Wheels Good and Manchester Poly

Where we learned more things than we ever learned at college

With Hulston and Kenny

Burgess in Leeds

Nicking things from clubs

Me acting the goat

You with something stupid hidden under your coat

Your haircuts were too much

And your holiday haircuts were much too much

As were your tales of the kibbutz

I’m in floods of tears I can’t tell ya

Bouncers who wouldn’t let us in cos they didn’t like the smirk we were wearing

Johnny Roadhouse for guitars in another one of your shit cars

Shooters and booters and remember that stupid fuckin scooter

A girl in every port

Girls with weird names from abroad

Tell us the one about you naked on Santa Monika Boulevard

Tell us the one about Mohammed Ali in the joke shop

Tell us the one about nicking the till at a Johnny Clarke Gig

Tell me another story Bry

Cos since you’ve gone my days have been chopped in half

I can see you

Walking down Oldham Street

Twenty fags tucked up the sleeve of a tee shirt, which is way too tight

Alright Bry?

You out tonight?

Too right

Too fuckin’ right

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