She's not a picture above somebody's fire  
      She sits in a towel with a purple hair dryer,  
      She waits to get even with me.  
      She hooks up her cupcakes and puts on her jumper  
      Explains that she'll be late to a worrying mother,  
      She meets me in Piccadilly.  

      A begging folk singer stands tall by the entrance  
      His song relays worlds of most good intentions,  
      A fiver a ten p in his hat for collection.  

      She talks about office she talks about dresses  
      She's seen one she fancies her smile is impressing,  
      So maybe I'll treat her someday.  
      We queue among strangers and strange conversation  
      Love's on the lips of all forms of engagements,  
      All queuing to see tonight's play.  

      A man behind me talks to his young lady  
      He's happy that she is expecting his baby,  
      His wife won't be pleased but she's not been round lately.  

      The girl was so dreadful we left in a hurry  
      We escaped in the rain for an Indian curry,  
      At the candle lit Taj Mahal.  
      My lips to a napkin I called for a taxi  
      The invite of eyes made it tense but relaxed me,  
      My mind took a devious role.  

      The cab took us home through a night I'd not noticed  
      The neon club lights of adult films and Trini Lopez,  
      My arm around love but my acting was her best.  

      We crept like two thieves from the kettle to the fire  
      We kissed to the sound of the silence that we'd hired,  
      Now captured, your love in my arms.  
      A door opened slightly a voice spoke in worry  
      Mum went to bed without wind of the curry,  
      Our secret love made its advance.  

      Like Adam and Eve we took bite on the apple  
      Loose change in my pocket it started to rattle,  
      Heart like a gun was just half of the battle.

  • Chords
  • FROM THE ALBUM: East Side Story.
  • COMPILATIONS: Excess Moderation.
  • From the Excess Moderation sleevenotes. Glenn: East Side Story heralded our brief period of being cool, which wasn't something that sat well on my shoulders no matter how much of a relief it was to get a good review or two. Favourite line? Difficult - but "the cab took us home through a night I'd not noticed/the neon club lights of Adult Films and Trini Lopez" has to take the biscuit. Paul Carrack's piano gives the song a wonderful lilt. Chris: Working with Elvis (Costello) was a huge inspiration for me, he lit my fire every day with his passion and dedication to our songs. "Piccadilly" was written on a napkin in a pub, where I spent most of writing days around this time. I used to love writing in pubs, funny that.
  • Chris: "It was basically about a couple that used to drink in a pub where I used to work in London and I just happened to be observing them one night. They seemed to have reached a pinnacle in their relationship at the bar. And they'd been out somewhere, to the theater or something. They looked as if they didn't have anywhere to go, as if their evening had ended. And I took their situation a step further and put them back at her house, where her mother was, and she wasn't supposed to spend the night, the age old situation. I've been through it myself when I was younger. You go back to their house and they say, "You can't really stay, but if you're quiet, we can sneak up to my room." You've spent all evening trying to impress upon this girl what a great guy you are by taking her to the theater and taking her for an Indian meal. And then you get found out." (from a 1992 Song Talk interview with Paul Zollo)