The Mikes, on the other Mike…

Porky on MG…

2Mike 50
I love Old MG .. Mike graham in  reality .. for many reasons – but in particular because he never spends a spare second worrying about the next.

For Old Four eyes life is about NOW. No regrets on days gone by and no worries about what comes tomorrow. Sat at a table heaving with Chinese food and bottles of champagne is his universe.

The bill is something that will appear in days to come. Some of the things he should be doing whilst he’s wining and dining just evaporate into the mist.

Things will get done .. and in fairness they always do and that’s a tribute to the boy’s endless self-belief and his life mantra: “Don’t worry, it will all work out.”

His slow-paced rolling gait as he takes to the stage at the start of a TWO MIKES live concert is a pretty good indication of the life plan.

As John Lennon once wrote: “People running everywhere at speed, until they find there’s no need”. MG’s adopted that perfectly.

Life’s just a stroll through a wine-bar. Ha ha.

MG on Porky…

2Mike 45
He may have been born into an ordinary semi detached house in Chester, but Mike Parry always knew he was destined for greatness.

From an early age he worked out that money was not the root of all evil, and from that point on he embarked on the relentless pursuit of the filthy lucre. It was to define him and become the love of his life.

Working two paper rounds to double his money, engaging in diesel smuggling during his weekend job at a local garage and trading contraband Corona lemonade from the back of a lorry all became tricks of the trade for the young, upwardly mobile Parry. And they were tricks that would serve him well in his chosen profession - once he'd worked out that higher education was full of dead beats and half bakes.

Parry quickly discovered that journalism was a great way to impress women and get to the front of the queue at the local disco.

After stints in Birmingham and Newcastle Parry soon made it to the heights of Fleet Street where he spent nearly 20 years romancing secretaries, drinking round the clock and making up exclusive interviews with celebrities on their death beds.

But by the late 90s it was the end of the road for journalists like Parry. And he ad to find something else to do. Luckily for us, it was radio.

Reinvented as Porky the broadcaster he now stalks me every day of the week. There's no escape from the man.