I’ve Been Rodded

A few years ago it came to my attention that geriatric member of the rock gentry Rod Stewart was around in my life more often than one would expect.
I mean, Rod doesn’t get that much radio play, spends a lot of time abroad, isn’t on TV much, and yet almost every day some Rod-reference would present itself.
Back in 2005 I was explaining the Rodomena to a friend of mine on the way to watch Liverpool play Chelsea at Stamford Bridge. He dismissed my crazy idea, that we all encounter Rod everyday, as nonsense as he had not seen anything of Rod ‘for ages’. Well after a rather dull game of football we were duly shepherded away from Stamford Bridge up towards Earl’s Court. An Earl’s court that was, and I do not use this word lightly, festooned with posters, banners, announcements and all manner of visual promotion devices for a forthcoming concert by…ROD STEWART.
Often the Rodcounters will be as simple as seeing one of his CDs, American Songbook Vol. XIV for example, languishing in a bargain bin in Lidl or the alarmingly regular announcement of his having fathered another child. Other times it will be sneakier. Yesterday I looked up the actress Britt Eckland on Wikipedia to settle a debate about her age I was having with my wife, only to discover that Britt Eckand had a much publicised romance with Rod in the 1970s. A documentary I watched about music in the the early 70s, featuring some idealistic young folk and also T-Rex, was suddenly hijacked by Ronnie Wood and it was with a crushing inevitability that the next half-drunk mod to step out of an inappropriate sports car would be Rod.
So I started to catalogue these meetings on Twitter using #ivebeenrodded (a hashtag created by @BarrySkellern) and it seems that, although not daily, Rod does present himself regularly.
So, if Rod enters your life, please do join the party.

Note: One last strange point to note is that Rod’s Essex mansion is probably less than four miles from where we live, but I’ve never physically seen him. Or even a car with ROD1 on its number plate. Not like Alan Sugar, see him all the bloody time…

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