Why... , Why do I have that greeting from the Blues Brothers in my mind..... You, Me,......Them....
Stupid Luck and Happenstance, Thread III
- Thread starter Peabody-Martini
- Start date
Want to accomplish something in a city somewhere? Have Schimdts grandson show up with one of the Kittens, imagine how many assets are going to be following them around and not available to do something like guard someplace, you know like a congressional office building, bank, CIA and FBI headquarters, the White House.
Maybe, but there's certain a 22 year old James F Hyneman kicking around at the moment. Given his background, if he does the same as OTL in ITTL then he would be right in Marie's wheelhouse.
Part 149, Chapter 2705
Chapter Two thousand Seven Hundred Five
7th August 1978
Trim, County Meath, Ireland
Waiting in the pews of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral on a weekday was always an odd experience. Despite him being family, there were some places on the Church Grounds where it would be inappropriate for him to go when he visited.
Just that morning Jack had read an opinion piece in a newspaper lamenting the collapse of the Catholic Church as a moral authority in Ireland. That Ireland had lost something in the process, just becoming another European country among others. Of course, Jack was of a different opinion. The deep wounds that the Church had suffered in Ireland and elsewhere were self-inflicted, the result of an abuse of the trust placed in it by the Irish people. It hadn’t just been the scandals in the West Counties that Jack had helped uncover years earlier. The rupture had started years earlier when the Catholic hierarchy had taken sides during the Second Rising in 1918 and the Civil War that followed. If Jack had been advising them at the time he would have told them that denouncing Communism in the midst of a revolution was probably a stupid idea, especially if your side lost. It wasn’t an accident that Michael Collins had placed several lines in the Irish Constitution that were meant to undermine the authority of the Church. Eventually those would lock together into what could only be described as Thomas Jefferson style Wall between Church and State. The moral and fiscal scandals had only served to speed up that process. Apparently, it had been Collins’ intention that everyone would figure this out long after his death, but it had almost played out during his lifetime.
Catholicism remained a part of the culture of the country, but the empty pews on Sundays told the actual story. How did they think that the rampant sex abuse that they were hiding was going to go over? The mistreatment of young mothers with unexpected children had only started the ball rolling. It had been those same children who had been the source of countless other scandals. Then while all that had been in the process of coming out the leadership of the Church in Ireland had the nerve to say they were broke when they finally had several large legal judgements against them that they were unable to squirm their way out of. No one believed that, not even for a second.
Jack had been present for most of those events and there were some people who blamed him for his defense of Sibéal Ó Caoimh causing the first of the large scandals. The fact that her son Aiden had been neglected until his died and then his body was then thrown into a septic tank out back along with dozens of others was too big to ignore. Learning that the Nun who Sibéal had stabbed when she had tried to find her son had pocketed the money that was meant for the burial of any of the unfortunates in her care who had died was just the icing on the cake.
Last year, a sleazy British television tabloid had somehow tracked Sibéal down to her home in Nova Scotia. It seemed that her husband and adult children had taken extreme exception to having her unwillingly dragged back into the limelight. It seemed that the Anchorman had not realized that Fishermen in Nova Scotia were typically not the sort you wanted to mess with and had been considered lucky that Sibéal’s son Seán had rewarded his shouted questions with a broken jaw. As a defense Jack would have argued that the Anchorman not only have it coming but considering that Seán had inherited his Scottish father’s height north of six feet and was two hundred odd pounds of muscle. He must have somewhat checked the swing because the blow had broken only the Anchorman’s jaw and not taken his whole head off. As it was, Jack had found out about it well after the fact and by then Seán had plead guilty to Disorderly Conduct and had been given twenty hours of Community Service. Taking “at risk” youth fishing was hardly a hardship for Seán, according to Sibéal when they had talked.
Besides all that history, Jack didn’t hate the Catholic Church. There were some things that did better than most other organizations that Jack knew of. He remembered that as he saw a figure enter the Cathedral, despite the Nun’s habit she was wearing she still skipped like a schoolgirl when she thought no one was looking. “Jack” Rosemarie said with a smile when she saw Jack sitting there. His younger sister’s learning disabilities and epilepsy had been a source of embarrassment for their father. Her suddenly having a “Religious vocation” as she came of age had been a move by Jack and his younger brother Bobby and had been the only way they could think of to protect her from Joe Senior shortly before Jack had left to join the Irish International Regiment to fight the Soviets. Jack had secretly been working for the British SOE but that was irrelevant. Back in the United States and later in Ireland, it had been the various convent schools who’d had the time and patience to truly help Rosemarie. Oddly, of all his family Rosemarie had the happiest outcome from their unexpected exile to Ireland after that Spanish mess.
“I dreamed you were coming today” Rosemarie said happily as she sat down next to Jack.
“I come the first and third Mondays every month” Jack replied.
“I know” Rosemarie said, “How are Jackie and Sean?”
“Jackie is starting University and Sean is doing well” Jack replied. Rosemarie loved to hear about her niece and nephew.
“Marie, the girl I told you about is coming to live in Dublin this month” Jack said.
“The Princess of Berlin” Rosemarie said with a smile. “She sounds interesting.”
“She hates it when people to call her that” Jack replied. He was having trouble trying to figure how people in Dublin were going to react to Marie Blackwood. They always imagined her as this bigger-than-life figure, but the reality was that you could walk through an otherwise empty room and not see her.
“Now what is Teddy up to?” Rosemarie asked as she looked towards the front of the Cathedral, before pulling a well-thumbed deck of cards from a pocket. For whatever reason the other Sisters in the Convent frowned on her love of Gin-Rummy. Every time Jack visited she wanted to play a few hands while they talked.
7th August 1978
Trim, County Meath, Ireland
Waiting in the pews of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral on a weekday was always an odd experience. Despite him being family, there were some places on the Church Grounds where it would be inappropriate for him to go when he visited.
Just that morning Jack had read an opinion piece in a newspaper lamenting the collapse of the Catholic Church as a moral authority in Ireland. That Ireland had lost something in the process, just becoming another European country among others. Of course, Jack was of a different opinion. The deep wounds that the Church had suffered in Ireland and elsewhere were self-inflicted, the result of an abuse of the trust placed in it by the Irish people. It hadn’t just been the scandals in the West Counties that Jack had helped uncover years earlier. The rupture had started years earlier when the Catholic hierarchy had taken sides during the Second Rising in 1918 and the Civil War that followed. If Jack had been advising them at the time he would have told them that denouncing Communism in the midst of a revolution was probably a stupid idea, especially if your side lost. It wasn’t an accident that Michael Collins had placed several lines in the Irish Constitution that were meant to undermine the authority of the Church. Eventually those would lock together into what could only be described as Thomas Jefferson style Wall between Church and State. The moral and fiscal scandals had only served to speed up that process. Apparently, it had been Collins’ intention that everyone would figure this out long after his death, but it had almost played out during his lifetime.
Catholicism remained a part of the culture of the country, but the empty pews on Sundays told the actual story. How did they think that the rampant sex abuse that they were hiding was going to go over? The mistreatment of young mothers with unexpected children had only started the ball rolling. It had been those same children who had been the source of countless other scandals. Then while all that had been in the process of coming out the leadership of the Church in Ireland had the nerve to say they were broke when they finally had several large legal judgements against them that they were unable to squirm their way out of. No one believed that, not even for a second.
Jack had been present for most of those events and there were some people who blamed him for his defense of Sibéal Ó Caoimh causing the first of the large scandals. The fact that her son Aiden had been neglected until his died and then his body was then thrown into a septic tank out back along with dozens of others was too big to ignore. Learning that the Nun who Sibéal had stabbed when she had tried to find her son had pocketed the money that was meant for the burial of any of the unfortunates in her care who had died was just the icing on the cake.
Last year, a sleazy British television tabloid had somehow tracked Sibéal down to her home in Nova Scotia. It seemed that her husband and adult children had taken extreme exception to having her unwillingly dragged back into the limelight. It seemed that the Anchorman had not realized that Fishermen in Nova Scotia were typically not the sort you wanted to mess with and had been considered lucky that Sibéal’s son Seán had rewarded his shouted questions with a broken jaw. As a defense Jack would have argued that the Anchorman not only have it coming but considering that Seán had inherited his Scottish father’s height north of six feet and was two hundred odd pounds of muscle. He must have somewhat checked the swing because the blow had broken only the Anchorman’s jaw and not taken his whole head off. As it was, Jack had found out about it well after the fact and by then Seán had plead guilty to Disorderly Conduct and had been given twenty hours of Community Service. Taking “at risk” youth fishing was hardly a hardship for Seán, according to Sibéal when they had talked.
Besides all that history, Jack didn’t hate the Catholic Church. There were some things that did better than most other organizations that Jack knew of. He remembered that as he saw a figure enter the Cathedral, despite the Nun’s habit she was wearing she still skipped like a schoolgirl when she thought no one was looking. “Jack” Rosemarie said with a smile when she saw Jack sitting there. His younger sister’s learning disabilities and epilepsy had been a source of embarrassment for their father. Her suddenly having a “Religious vocation” as she came of age had been a move by Jack and his younger brother Bobby and had been the only way they could think of to protect her from Joe Senior shortly before Jack had left to join the Irish International Regiment to fight the Soviets. Jack had secretly been working for the British SOE but that was irrelevant. Back in the United States and later in Ireland, it had been the various convent schools who’d had the time and patience to truly help Rosemarie. Oddly, of all his family Rosemarie had the happiest outcome from their unexpected exile to Ireland after that Spanish mess.
“I dreamed you were coming today” Rosemarie said happily as she sat down next to Jack.
“I come the first and third Mondays every month” Jack replied.
“I know” Rosemarie said, “How are Jackie and Sean?”
“Jackie is starting University and Sean is doing well” Jack replied. Rosemarie loved to hear about her niece and nephew.
“Marie, the girl I told you about is coming to live in Dublin this month” Jack said.
“The Princess of Berlin” Rosemarie said with a smile. “She sounds interesting.”
“She hates it when people to call her that” Jack replied. He was having trouble trying to figure how people in Dublin were going to react to Marie Blackwood. They always imagined her as this bigger-than-life figure, but the reality was that you could walk through an otherwise empty room and not see her.
“Now what is Teddy up to?” Rosemarie asked as she looked towards the front of the Cathedral, before pulling a well-thumbed deck of cards from a pocket. For whatever reason the other Sisters in the Convent frowned on her love of Gin-Rummy. Every time Jack visited she wanted to play a few hands while they talked.
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Rosemary Kennedy IOTL received a Prefrontal Lobotomy in 1941 because of the recommendation of Joe Sr's mistress at the time, Gloria Swanson.
She was suffering from violent mood swings and seizures, and at that time lobotomies were seen as the "humane" treatment option, unfortunately, the operation was botched.
ITTL with Joe Sr "voluntary" removing himself from the American justice system because of his involvement in the Spanish Civil War, it seems Joe Sr has listened to more enlightened professionals and other therapies were used to greater success.
Jack is going to take personal charge in overseeing Marie's accommodations in Dublin with Kat's blessings, and it is not going to be a dump that the female characters of this timeline seems to choose to live in when they have the money to live in reasonable luxury.
The persistent problem that Marie has faced in having the various intelligence services following her around should not be a problem this time as Jack will use his contacts with the IRA "politely" warn off their agents and let Marie do her thing without any interference from them.
She was suffering from violent mood swings and seizures, and at that time lobotomies were seen as the "humane" treatment option, unfortunately, the operation was botched.
ITTL with Joe Sr "voluntary" removing himself from the American justice system because of his involvement in the Spanish Civil War, it seems Joe Sr has listened to more enlightened professionals and other therapies were used to greater success.
Jack is going to take personal charge in overseeing Marie's accommodations in Dublin with Kat's blessings, and it is not going to be a dump that the female characters of this timeline seems to choose to live in when they have the money to live in reasonable luxury.
The persistent problem that Marie has faced in having the various intelligence services following her around should not be a problem this time as Jack will use his contacts with the IRA "politely" warn off their agents and let Marie do her thing without any interference from them.
And Ed O'Neal in TTL would be laughing his head off about the "Christians In Action" walking into that particular chipper/shredder.
Do Joy Division form ITTL? Zella should be hearing about them around now, given that they formed (initially as Warsaw) a year ago.
Numan got his break with punk, his early tracks were definitely punk. Very early Joy Division was also quite punk too.
I think Punk will be an offshoot of Gutter Blues ITTL, I see no reason why it shouldn't happen.
I think The Ramones have already had their first gig in the US and should have played the V8 by now. I think
Zella was listening to Kraftwerk's Autobahn at one point. Punk as it existed in OTL sort of got blown out of the water by John Lennon playing Working Class Hero running directly into Worker's Song live on international television. At this point everyone is trying to figure out how up their game. You might also want to look at who Gabi Scharnhorst had been working with until she decided to go to University. Susan Ballion, better known IOTL as Siouxsie Sioux.
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Is Sophie still competing in cycling road races?
On of the narratives after the Olympics should be the rivalry between Connie Carpenter and Sophie Sommers, and the question of whether or not Connie would have won the Gold Medal if her front wheel didn’t collapse just before the finish line.
The major road races would love to see them both race against each other and so would their sponsors as that would drive public attention and sales for them.
On of the narratives after the Olympics should be the rivalry between Connie Carpenter and Sophie Sommers, and the question of whether or not Connie would have won the Gold Medal if her front wheel didn’t collapse just before the finish line.
The major road races would love to see them both race against each other and so would their sponsors as that would drive public attention and sales for them.
.....best Jack Kennedy. And best Richard Nixon in ant TL I hCe ever read in this site...
Part 149, Chapter 2706
Chapter Two Thousand Seven Hundred Six
11th August 1978
Mitte, Berlin
The birth of Irina had radically changed things for Zella. While she still pursued her stories, having an infant daughter at home meant that she had good reason to at least try to keep regular hours and stay close to Berlin. She had been able to maintain that for a long time, but with Yuri kept incredibly busy by ARD and was frequently out of town covering the very sort of stories that she would have once covered that had grown untenable. As mid-summer had rolled around Zella had felt increasingly trapped and there had been growing anxiety. Finally, Yulia had said that she would mind Irina so that she could go spend a night to herself. Zella had taken her up on that with the intention to see a few live acts and perhaps having a little fun.
Friday night at the V8 Club had always been wild. Lately though there had been a revival of the Gutter Blues scene that had defined the City of Berlin in the 50’s. Directly influenced by Chicago Blues and the Gypsy Jazz movement, Gutter Blues was a stripped-down interpretation that had appealed with the Hotrod and Student Culture of Berlin at the time. By the time Zella had come of age that scene had long since passed as Gutter Blues had evolved into the Rock & Roll scene that she remembered as a teenager.
There was a joke about how the difference between a Rock Guitarist and a Jazz Guitarist was that a Rock Guitarist plays three cords for a thousand people while a Jazz Guitarist plays a thousand cords for three people. By the back half of the 70’s that was no longer true. Bloated productions that seemed to owe more to Broadway Musicals than to anything Rock & Roll had grown fashionable, probably because of a whole lot of the wrong sort of drugs if Zella had to guess. The revival of the Gutter Blues seemed like the logical sort of reaction. Sarah Schmitt had told her all about how there had been an attempt to put on one of those big shows a few months earlier in the V8 Club and it had not ended well with the members of the band fleeing the stage after the Singer was hit in the face with a flying beer glass when they finally had a chance to talk between bands. Ian Kilmister, who had probably been among those throwing the beer glasses had been quietly listening to them talk had laughed. He had been doing his level best to drink the Club’s entire stock of Jack Daniel’s, so he was already half in the bag.
As it had turned out, talking to Sarah had been exactly what Zella had needed.
The current owner of the V8 had understood exactly what Zella had been talking about when she had recently discovered that her motorcycle had been covered in cobwebs. That she had needed to pay a mechanic to change all the fluids, oil, coolant, and hydraulic, at considerable cost because it had sat in the garage unused for so long. “That was sort of what happened when I had Johann” Sarah said, “Though you aren’t having your little girl growing up on the back of a motorcycle.” That was a reminder that Sarah had raised her son in the top floor apartment of the building that the V8 Club was located in. Johann had grown up surrounded by the Berlin Music Scene. Of course, when he started University he had not been interested in music. Not playing it anyway. He had taken Business Management and Accounting courses. So, not only had been able to put the finances of the V8 Club in order but had taken over the management of a few other clubs and bars elsewhere in Berlin. This was helped by Sarah suddenly coming into a great deal of money, there were certainly enough rumors about how that had happened.
Then Sarah had given Zella a book as a gift.
It was a copy of John Elis’ autobiography. Full of glossy photographs from John’s early days as a bank robber, his daring escape from a supposedly inescapable prison, and the V8 Club from its opening in the 30’s. Zella was shocked that it frankly mentioned John’s involvement with Abwehr during the Soviet War, Juan Pujol-Garcia, Sarah’s father, and so much more.
“Look at this wild child” Sarah said showing Zella a photograph in the book of her when she had been a teenager sitting at the bar laughing at a joke told by Ringo Star with Elis in the background. It had turned out that Zella had been mentioned quite a bit in the later chapters.
“You were quite the dish back then” Ian said looking at the photograph. “How come you didn’t have the fellas lined up?”
“There were rumors back then that Marci here played for the away team’s side” Sarah said, “And for guys who still didn’t take ‘not interested’ for an answer, ask Brian Jones what happened.”
It wasn’t general knowledge, but Sarah really did ‘play for the other team’s side’ and she had known full well the truth about Zella in those days. Still, she had been doing her best to keep Zella, who had been frightfully naïve, safe with the help of Elis who had apparently been in communication with Zella’s father.
“That fuckwit?” Ian asked, “I’m surprised no one has ever stomped him to death, God knows he’s been askin’ for it for ages.”
“Marci’s father came close” Sarah replied, “Apparently he… awe fuck.”
Zella and Ian turned to look at what Sarah was looking at.
The lead singer from the band Mythology had recently been given the boot after his destructive habits, excesses, and various addictions had grown too much even for that band. The Americans referred to situations like that as getting a speeding ticket at the Indianapolis 500. Word was that he had recently completed drug rehab, but here he was apparently on pub crawl through Berlin where no one really knew him on sight. With the exception of those like Sarah who had been dealing with him for years.
“You need another drink like I need a hole in my head” Sarah said as Ozzy staggered up to the bar and sat on the stool.
“That mean you ain’t serving me?” Ozzy asked to Sarah who just went to serve a different customer.
“I’d say that means a rather firm no” Ian said.
“Who the Hell are you?” Ozzy demanded before his attention was turned to Zella. “Heard you were here Z, hoping to start a new band. Have you work your magic, get it known.”
“Do even you have band Oz?” Zella asked.
“One step at a time, you know” Ozzy replied.
So he had gotten something out of rehab, Zella thought to herself.
“All I need is a Drummer and a Bass player” Ozzy said, “Arsehole Guitarists are a dime a dozen.”
That confirmed to Zella the rumors about who had led the charge in sacking Ozzy. Ian heard that and laughed. He had his own dealings with the music industry. With that the next band started playing and further conversation was next to impossible without yelling. As Zella watched the band play, thinking about the column she was going to write about it if she could interest the BT or the Mirror in publishing it, she saw that Ian and Ozzy were already acting as if they were old friends rather than having only met minutes earlier. Men, she thought with a bit of exasperation. There was no way that two women would do that.
11th August 1978
Mitte, Berlin
The birth of Irina had radically changed things for Zella. While she still pursued her stories, having an infant daughter at home meant that she had good reason to at least try to keep regular hours and stay close to Berlin. She had been able to maintain that for a long time, but with Yuri kept incredibly busy by ARD and was frequently out of town covering the very sort of stories that she would have once covered that had grown untenable. As mid-summer had rolled around Zella had felt increasingly trapped and there had been growing anxiety. Finally, Yulia had said that she would mind Irina so that she could go spend a night to herself. Zella had taken her up on that with the intention to see a few live acts and perhaps having a little fun.
Friday night at the V8 Club had always been wild. Lately though there had been a revival of the Gutter Blues scene that had defined the City of Berlin in the 50’s. Directly influenced by Chicago Blues and the Gypsy Jazz movement, Gutter Blues was a stripped-down interpretation that had appealed with the Hotrod and Student Culture of Berlin at the time. By the time Zella had come of age that scene had long since passed as Gutter Blues had evolved into the Rock & Roll scene that she remembered as a teenager.
There was a joke about how the difference between a Rock Guitarist and a Jazz Guitarist was that a Rock Guitarist plays three cords for a thousand people while a Jazz Guitarist plays a thousand cords for three people. By the back half of the 70’s that was no longer true. Bloated productions that seemed to owe more to Broadway Musicals than to anything Rock & Roll had grown fashionable, probably because of a whole lot of the wrong sort of drugs if Zella had to guess. The revival of the Gutter Blues seemed like the logical sort of reaction. Sarah Schmitt had told her all about how there had been an attempt to put on one of those big shows a few months earlier in the V8 Club and it had not ended well with the members of the band fleeing the stage after the Singer was hit in the face with a flying beer glass when they finally had a chance to talk between bands. Ian Kilmister, who had probably been among those throwing the beer glasses had been quietly listening to them talk had laughed. He had been doing his level best to drink the Club’s entire stock of Jack Daniel’s, so he was already half in the bag.
As it had turned out, talking to Sarah had been exactly what Zella had needed.
The current owner of the V8 had understood exactly what Zella had been talking about when she had recently discovered that her motorcycle had been covered in cobwebs. That she had needed to pay a mechanic to change all the fluids, oil, coolant, and hydraulic, at considerable cost because it had sat in the garage unused for so long. “That was sort of what happened when I had Johann” Sarah said, “Though you aren’t having your little girl growing up on the back of a motorcycle.” That was a reminder that Sarah had raised her son in the top floor apartment of the building that the V8 Club was located in. Johann had grown up surrounded by the Berlin Music Scene. Of course, when he started University he had not been interested in music. Not playing it anyway. He had taken Business Management and Accounting courses. So, not only had been able to put the finances of the V8 Club in order but had taken over the management of a few other clubs and bars elsewhere in Berlin. This was helped by Sarah suddenly coming into a great deal of money, there were certainly enough rumors about how that had happened.
Then Sarah had given Zella a book as a gift.
It was a copy of John Elis’ autobiography. Full of glossy photographs from John’s early days as a bank robber, his daring escape from a supposedly inescapable prison, and the V8 Club from its opening in the 30’s. Zella was shocked that it frankly mentioned John’s involvement with Abwehr during the Soviet War, Juan Pujol-Garcia, Sarah’s father, and so much more.
“Look at this wild child” Sarah said showing Zella a photograph in the book of her when she had been a teenager sitting at the bar laughing at a joke told by Ringo Star with Elis in the background. It had turned out that Zella had been mentioned quite a bit in the later chapters.
“You were quite the dish back then” Ian said looking at the photograph. “How come you didn’t have the fellas lined up?”
“There were rumors back then that Marci here played for the away team’s side” Sarah said, “And for guys who still didn’t take ‘not interested’ for an answer, ask Brian Jones what happened.”
It wasn’t general knowledge, but Sarah really did ‘play for the other team’s side’ and she had known full well the truth about Zella in those days. Still, she had been doing her best to keep Zella, who had been frightfully naïve, safe with the help of Elis who had apparently been in communication with Zella’s father.
“That fuckwit?” Ian asked, “I’m surprised no one has ever stomped him to death, God knows he’s been askin’ for it for ages.”
“Marci’s father came close” Sarah replied, “Apparently he… awe fuck.”
Zella and Ian turned to look at what Sarah was looking at.
The lead singer from the band Mythology had recently been given the boot after his destructive habits, excesses, and various addictions had grown too much even for that band. The Americans referred to situations like that as getting a speeding ticket at the Indianapolis 500. Word was that he had recently completed drug rehab, but here he was apparently on pub crawl through Berlin where no one really knew him on sight. With the exception of those like Sarah who had been dealing with him for years.
“You need another drink like I need a hole in my head” Sarah said as Ozzy staggered up to the bar and sat on the stool.
“That mean you ain’t serving me?” Ozzy asked to Sarah who just went to serve a different customer.
“I’d say that means a rather firm no” Ian said.
“Who the Hell are you?” Ozzy demanded before his attention was turned to Zella. “Heard you were here Z, hoping to start a new band. Have you work your magic, get it known.”
“Do even you have band Oz?” Zella asked.
“One step at a time, you know” Ozzy replied.
So he had gotten something out of rehab, Zella thought to herself.
“All I need is a Drummer and a Bass player” Ozzy said, “Arsehole Guitarists are a dime a dozen.”
That confirmed to Zella the rumors about who had led the charge in sacking Ozzy. Ian heard that and laughed. He had his own dealings with the music industry. With that the next band started playing and further conversation was next to impossible without yelling. As Zella watched the band play, thinking about the column she was going to write about it if she could interest the BT or the Mirror in publishing it, she saw that Ian and Ozzy were already acting as if they were old friends rather than having only met minutes earlier. Men, she thought with a bit of exasperation. There was no way that two women would do that.
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Having Ozzy not meet Sharon would deny the world the most scathing series of jokes on This is Spinal Tap.
Remember to always remember to get top billing.