by Fabrice Bourgelle


It is a tall ceiling above me, in the house of God.

In St Philip’s, Salford, tonight, we will praise love and the spirits. We will also sell and consume alcohol. And swear a bit.

Just now I’m wondering if it would be appropriate for me to perform, tonight, from the pulpit.

Is it a night for white make-up, zombie-pilot costumes and spooky ghost-noises?

Let’s ask the good book, shall we?

Beyond an enormous wooden eagle and before the last supper, (supper… that reminds me… when did we last have supper…) the Miserable Rich are having a soundcheck, and Reese’s double bass has the very walls humming to us.

What drives me, in this life, is love.

To attempt any further comment on religion or spirituality, in my little blog on my website, would be patently pathetic. I will instead, however, include here a prayer, that Rebecca Lyne (a friend of TMR singer James’ family, whom we met at the show in Windsor) wrote, as a young, young child. She would recite her prayer, sincerely and passionately, in times of need, or indeed peace.

In the name of the orange
the segment
the juice
and the pips

Nutmeg of the goodness
Jew of the peach
Smell of the dew

People with no arms and legs
that roll around the livingroom

Beefy goodness in the broth, in the broth
Beefy goodness in the calories

Orange of the fruitbowl
Pear drop of the fruit

And the Good Lord mopped his brow
and said…


-Rebecca Lyne

The Miserable Rich
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