After my foetid and worrying dream about the Laura Marling “Raw Ramp” segue (although I still think it would be a blast and she should try it out), my friend Chris must have been wondering about the title of T.Rex’s magnificent b-side from their annus mirabilis of 1971, “Raw Ramp.” He looked it up on the Internet (as Bolan probably didn’t) and came up with this link;
So that’s what raw ramps are…
Which made me think of the preceding rhyme in the song and something I’ve seen on the menu in a couple of gastro-pubs (as in, pubs that used to be good boozers but have been stripped back to brick and board, then filled with tables that don’t sit right and chairs that could have been chucked out of a church hall in the seventies…anyway, “gastro” only sounds right in front of “enteritis.”)
Champ is mashed spuds with spring onion through it.
So, after me being happy for 40-ish years that this was one of Bolan’s apotheoses of hippy bollocks, rock and roll mumbo-jumbo, it appears that he was singing about his tea.
The Urban Dictionary definition of raw ramp should raise a smile as well.
I read Danny Baker’s excellent autobiography “Going to Sea in a Sieve” over a couple of sittings at Christmas; his story about Marc Bolan’s shirt (pages 104-108, browsers) is worth the price of the book in itself. But in truth, the whole thing is a hoot, Baker seems to have lived life as if he were in The Beano of The Dandy. I’ve loved his work since first I came across his writing in the NME (covered also in this volume) and this was no disappointment.