In 2015, I was asked to write something for Lem’s 70th but in the end, for one reason or another, I decided not to send it. I found said-written-something the other day and thought you might like to read it.

                             “December’s child, the only one

                                 What I do, is what I’ve done

                                       I realise, I get so cold

                         When I was young I was already old

                 My life – my heart – black night – dark star




It all began with the unconditional surrender of Nazi Germany.

After six long years of death, destruction and George Formby, it’s hardly surprising that the British people took to the streets for a day of national celebration – engaging in an orgy of flag waving, hip-hip-hurray-ing, and belting out spirited renditions of the popular classics of the day, such as an early version of today’s national anthem, entitled “God Save The King” and the equally sexist “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow”.

As darkness fell, people took the party back to their place and kicked it up a notch, cracking open the bottle of Mild they’d been saving since 1939.

In no time, they realised they were powerless to fight their libidinous urges – and, even those couples that had already discharged their annual bedroom obligation on January 1st, to get it out of the way, started pushing beds together.

In the face of such reckless irresponsibility, it’s hardly surprising there would be consequences. And, for one such couple – living in the small Staffordshire town of Burslem – delivery of that consequence, was made at about 8.30am, on the morning of Wednesday December 24th, 1945.

A beautiful, golden haired, baby boy, they named Ian – Ian Fraser Kilmister.

Like many people of that era, with regard to their wartime experiences – Ian, still finds it hard to talk about the birth.

Then again, it was rather, what one might call, a somewhat swings and roundabouts affair.

*                       *                     *

On paper, baby making seems a relatively simple process. You go on Tinder – swipe right – and 9 months later, it’s off to Jeremy Kyle for a DNA test.

Back then this kind of accuracy tended to be frowned upon – allowing for a rather more ballpark approach to everything – but, in Burslem, they seem to have relied upon the well, it should be done by now method.

In hindsight, that proved to be a mistake – closely followed by another boo-boo… the decision to go with an early morning delivery.

Lemmy’s relationship with the morning was based on the strict understanding that, while it may be the ideal time to end a period of awaked-ness, under no circumstances is it the right time to begin one.

And this hatred can be traced back to the moment Not-Yet-Lemmy-Just-Ian was induced into the world… in what can only be described as a filthy mood… the reason for which would soon become clear.


With there having been so many grown-ups present at the birth, it’s hard to believe that not one of them had the ability to count up to nine.

Yet, nobody – not even the medical team – and they’re usually sticklers for that kind of thing – had spotted that not even 8 months had passed since coitus had been achieved.

In fact, it wasn’t until somebody knocked out a quick finger calculation, that they realised the little darling wasn’t, actually, due for another 5 weeks.

Suddenly, everyone started to take a closer look at the child and, immediately it was obvious that this was not a baby you’d describe as a  finished – more like, just the beginning of something.

Therefore, a quick decision was needed regarding what should be done next.

Initial thoughts were to destroy all the records, push the baby back up where it came from and then everyone would go home and spend a month practicing their “IT’S A BOY!” surprised face. Like you do when you see there’s a penis on it.

On paper, this plan was foolproof – but then someone piped up that, if he was born again at the correct time, that would make him an Aquarius.

A stunned silence was followed by the entire room’s agreement that imposing this disability on this – or indeed any – child, would be too cruel.

So, even though the head was already back in, they all immediately stopped pushing – and started pulling again.

Sure, medically speaking, baby Ian would be in for a fight but from an astrological standpoint, as a Capricorn, he stood a better chance of winning that fight – so he was staying put.

In fairness, the almost-baby himself, didn’t seem too fussed. He was beautiful, surrounded by chicks dressed as nurses and, although, right now, he looked a bit young for his age, later in life that was bound to work in his favour – so, really, what was the worst that could happen?

He didn’t have long to wait for that answer.

*                       *                       *

It was only a few days later that baby Ian, who had just been woken for his mid-afternoon breakfast, was surprised to find his pillow covered in hair. Even more surprising was that the golden tresses, the perfectly shaped eyebrows, even the manicured nails – all of it had belonged to him when he went to bed the previous night.

Now, he was just a weird, tiny, bald object who, for some reason, had also turned red.

Suddenly, all talk of Hollywood and his movie star looks, was gone – replaced by,”and it’s definitely human, you say?”

It was also abundantly clear that, whatever this now was – an Ian, it wasn’t. So, he became ‘that’ or ‘it’, until, a decade-and-a-bit later, some Welsh kids started calling him Lemmy – for reasons that had nothing to do with money lending, so let’s put that myth to bed right now, shall we – and the final piece of the puzzle was in.

*                     *                     *

As birth stories go, it’s a pretty good one – unless it’s yours. So, do you imagine that the nearly-Aquarian wanted to be reminded of this almighty cluster-fuck every year? Not so much.

Perhaps, now, you can understand why well-known brunette, Lemmy Kilmister, has always adopted a somewhat laissez-faire attitude towards his birthday.

And, believe me, he has plenty of other reasons, too…