Hey Clare Maguire, you’re a clever sort. Your music career launched last year and you’ve been doing really well for yourself by a) writing and singing some pretty solid songs as it turns out and b) sounding a bit like Kosheen, which is good, because we miss Kosheen.
But up until now, we hadn’t even heard of you. You needed a way to get noticed. Sure, you’ve been in all the fancy music magazines and the papers, but the hallowed digital pages of FHM.com had eluded you – so you hatched a plan to get our attention. A cunning plan.
“Clare, what are you doing?” Shouted the stage manager in (not unaroused) disbelief, as you strode proudly out of your backstage dressing room at V Festival last weekend. “You’re not wearing any bloody trousers, girl!”*
“Ah begorrah, never yow worry chuck,” said Clare in her trademark Irish/Brummie lilt (we assume that’s how she speaks, being born in Solihull to a big Irish family. We’ve never actually heard her say anything. Does it show?) “this trouserless gambit iss jus what wor need to gerron FHM.com. To be sure. Blarney.”
“Goddamnit Clare, you’re a wild one,” said the stage manager. “But you might just be on to a winner there. Go out there and knock ‘em dead.”
And she did! And the plan worked, because we published pictures of her precisely because she forgot those trousers. Good work, Clare. Well played.
*For some reason in this pretend scenario the stage manager talks like an old-fashioned school headmaster. We’re not sure why either.