We're Gonna Groove

Part 1

The Teachers Training College, Birmingham Spring of 1968 

Robert figured somebody was pulling his leg; it could be the handy work of Terry or even Alexis, though he hadn't heard from the latter in what seemed like months now. 

The telegram which came not an hour ago announced quite pompously the arrival of one J. Page this Saturday to Birmingham in order to see a certain R. Plant in the matter of joining the New Yardbirds. 

This was obviously ridiculous, the notion that HE might join a POP group. Of course he knew exactly who J. Page was, he read the papers. 

But the Yardies were washed up; 'Little Games' was the worst piece of crap they've produced so far, and this bloke Page was an accomplice. 

Robert felt a certain disdain towards the whole proceeding, such arrogance and formality while he was used to band mates who were friends. 

The kind of chaps you could make music with and then down a couple of pints in the local pub. 

This sort of "tell your people to call my people" attitude was alienating him from the whole prospect, which Robert could admit (but only to himself) was at first appealing. 

After all, the Yardbirds were well known. 

They were making records, and though they may not have been quite his cup of tea, they were nevertheless heard. 

Oh, but this couldn't be for real. Robert needed some advice on the matter from an old friend.

"Hey Billy" he asked the bar keep, "could I use the phone for a minute?". 

"Sure, use the one in the back" said Billy and motioned him, "but don't fucking take too long, now!" he yelled as Robert disappeared out back. 

"Terry! Glad I caught you Reid, listen…I get it, funny as hell, old boy, really…now come clean so I won't have to smack it out of you" said Robert to the receiver. 

"For fuck's sake what are you talking about?" asked Terry, he was putting on a show, Robert figured as much. 

"I'm talking about your little Yardbirds prank". 

"Are you giving me a bollocking?" asked Terry. 

"Are you?" 

"What?" 

"Ah, fuck you mate!" and with that final warm sentiment Robert hung up. 

Saturday

This was fucking nerve wracking; Page was coming down tonight and things were a complete mess. 

The arrogant part in Robert wanted to blow Page's mind, but it seemed more than likely he'd make the guitarist wet his pants laughing. 

But why was he so bothered? He couldn't care less after learning from Terry the other night that nobody was pulling a fast one on him and that in fact Terry (that rotter) was actually the one who recommended him to Page in the first place.

"You know, he offered me the gig and I thought it was pretty good" Robert remembered Terry saying. 

"Well, if it's that good, how come you're not doing it?". 

"Stop being such a royal arse, you know I'm committed to the Stones' tour, I can't bail now…besides I'm self sufficient" Said Terry with a smirk. 

"Listen Plant, if for nothing else you need the money and connections. You never gonna get anywhere doing what you're doing, for Pete's sake you've been sleeping on my sofa for weeks now and you're fucking broke! And I'm guessing that road paving isn't your choice of career, inn'it?".