I Never Took Your Number Off My Phone

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Heartbreak is no stranger to the members of The Mysterious Beings. Keen followers of the band will be familiar with the romantic travails of saxophonist Aldo Sachs, bassist Juan Tusrifor and fiddler Beau Strokes, all of which have found their way into our songs. Now it’s the turn of guitarist Dee Sharpe to pin his heart to his musical sleeve.

Dee gives his heart all too easily, and the latest recipient of the organ was Moira, a barmaid in the Ship Inn in Broughty Ferry. The romance ended all too soon due to a simple but tragic misunderstanding. The above-mentioned keen followers of the band will recall that Dee lost his left hand to an infected llama bite during our ill-fated tour of the Andes several years ago. His positive attitude in the face of this adversity earns the admiration of all who know him, and this, together with all his other lovable traits, endeared him to Moira during his many visits to the Ship Inn, so much so that he mentioned in strict confidence to our keyboardist, Gene Poole-Skimmings, over a few beers there one Friday night that he had made up his mind to ask for her hand in marriage.

Gene is not the kind of person with whom to share confidences. Ten minutes later, while Dee was in the toilet, Gene took it upon himself to sidle up to the bar and spill the beans to Moira. She might have taken the news rather more positively if Gene had chosen his words more carefully than he did.
“Moira, do you like Dee?”
“Aye, seems like a nice bloke.
“Good, because he’s going to ask for your hand.”
“No way! Look, I like him, but he’s no’ getting my f***ing hand.”

These last words were uttered just as Dee returned from the toilet. Hearing them, he rushed straight out the door and never set foot in the Ship Inn again.

Eventually, I was able to sort out the misunderstanding, but by then it was too late. Moira had moved on to a life insurance salesman called Gary. Dee never got over it and couldn’t bear to remove her number from his phone. One night up the road in the Fisherman’s, our new local since the Ship Inn is off limits, Gene spilled an almost full pint of Belhaven Eighty Shillings over Dee’s trousers, causing him to accidentally dial Moira’s number on his phone, which was in his back pocket. The conversation that followed was painful, but it did lead me to write this song as a kind of therapy for Dee. We gave him a long guitar solo to vent the intense feelings he had been bottling up, letting rip in his unique one-handed style.

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