

# LONDON, LUCK AND LOVE

(A six week odyssey of life and love in the big city)

Tim Addams

# _

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Tim Addams

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**All correspondence and enquiries relating to this book should be addressed to the author:** timmyaddams@live.co.uk

# _

' _London, Luck and Love_

What else could I be dreaming of'

Darryl Hall and John Oates

# _

To Doreen, Katherine and Roseanne...

who fill my life with beauty and wonder

\- Love to you all

# FOREWORD

To be honest I couldn't decide whether to preface this book with a foreward or foreward the book with a preface.....after all I've never written a book before. It's a scary business. You've no idea whether anyone's going to read it or not.....or what they'll think of it if they do. I think all you can do is write whatever's in your head and then see what happens. Right now I'm assuming you're just browsing in a book shop looking for something to read (or buy for someone else) and could do to know a bit about what's between the pages. Obviously I could vouch for the fact that it's pretty damn good stuff but to paraphrase Mandy Rice Davies 'I would say that, wouldn't I?'

In the July of 1970 I came up to London to work for a firm that had a number of small shops and supermarkets dotted randomly around the less-fashionable parts of the city. They were very well known and highly thought of, but the operation was beginning to look a bit tired as the big supermarket chains were already starting to take over.

This, then, is the setting for the book. The firm had a hostel in Ladbroke Grove for it's male managers/trainee managers and makes for a good base on which to let a story unfold. It unfolds pretty damn quick as it happens....the book covers just 6 weeks from 6th July until 22nd August and is told in diary form. Also you'll find it flits between past and present tense.

Let's get one thing clear. It's not an autobiography, as such, as most of the events are fictitious. I have, however, used one or two scenarios which were fairly close to reality so I decided to use a gnome-deplume.....a very small guy who helped me write the book.

Actually, I didn't have any help at all....that's just an example of my stupid sense of humour....the sort of thing you'll be subjected-to if you read this book.

So why should you read it? Well I'm hoping it will bring a smile to the face of anyone brave or foolhardy enough to give it a whirl. Also I think it's nice to be transported back in time and the early seventies were a good time to be around. For example a car owner could park a car in central London then without a Resident's Permit, paying a King's ransom, or risking being clamped.....and the Congestion Charge wasn't even thought of!

Aah happy days.

This book was a lot of fun to write and the hope is that it will be a lot of fun to read, so thanks in advance for doing just that (always assuming that you do). Oh, and don't worry if no-one else seems to be buying it.....it's rarity could make it a lot more collectable (and therefore valuable) in years to come.

Best regards

Tim

# PROLOGUE

Monday 6th July 1970. 9:45 A.M. In a railway carriage at Clapham Junction.

'Hi, I'm Tim. Looks like we've stopped so I've got a few moments to fill you in on what's going on here. Before I do I've gotta tell you I just heard this Japanese guy near me telling his mate that we're at 'Crapham' Junction....ha ha, you've got to laugh.

It _is_ crap actually.....not the most picturesque place to pause. Lots of sleepers.....and only _some_ of them are railway employees.

Now as junctions, or maybe junctures, go this is an interesting one in my young life. At the tender age of eighteen I've decided to be like Dick Whittington and come up to Londinium to seek my fortune.....I don't suppose I'll end up as Mayor like _he_ did but, knowing me, it _could_ certainly end up being a bit of a pantomime.

Old Dickie must've come through Farnborough, the place I left about forty five minutes ago, on his way here cos there's a hotel in the middle of town called the Tumbledown Dick. It was apparently named after him and some sort of fall he may have had. It's not a great name for a hotel, though, is it?.....Tumbledown Dick.....you probably wouldn't want to spend your honeymoon there would you?

Anyhow, if you know anything at all about Farnborough you'd know why me and Dick reckon that a move smoke-wards is a step in the right direction. After all there's only one reason why anyone's ever heard of Farnborough and that's cos there's an Air Show held there every year....very nice if you happen to like aeroplanes but tedious if you don't.....and _I don't_. I've never read Biggles, watched 633 Squadron or made a Spitfire out of an airfix kit. Every year since time began we've had the Red Arrows buzzing our house every day in the weeks leading up the show. I mean it's all very clever but the novelty's well and truly worn off by now.

I won't say Farnborough's small but it's one of those places you could miss even if you _don't_ blink. The only way they can get anyone to stay there is to have all the traffic lights permanently on red. There's nothing there worth talking about at all. It's drab, boring and nondescript. It was okay when I was little....there were fields and woods where you could play, but not any more. Now it's just one big sprawling housing estate and there's nothing there at all for people of my age.

I'll tell you what I'm looking for by coming up here to London. You remember the film _Summer Holiday?_....of course you do.....it starts off in black and white and then magically bursts forth into colour....well that's what I want. Figuratively at least I want to go from mundane monochrome Farnborough to trendy Technicolor London in one train journey.

Hey you don't think I've bought into the idea of 'Swinging London' a bit too literally do you? Oh well we'll see.

As I see it I reckon I've got two advantages over the aforementioned Dick.....I've got a job, which I don't think _he_ had.....and I haven't got a cat. This is good cos I don't think pets are welcome where I'm going to be staying. I've got a job as a Trainee Supermarket Manager with a firm called David Black and I'll be living in the firm's hostel at Ladbroke Grove. I must admit I don't know where Ladbroke Grove is but it sounds pretty impressive. A 'grove' has a nice ring to it....I don't think we have any of those in Farnborough. I'm picturing a clearing in a forest. There are Monkeys, exotic birds and an abundance of fruit.....

Actually, this is getting a bit surreal....let's get back to what I'm doing here. The train's probably going to start moving soon.

So why a Trainee Supermarket Manager? Well I was working on the Post Office Counter in Aldershot and patently hating every minute of it when a colleague showed me the job advert in the paper......maybe he was just trying to get rid of me, I don't know.....anyhow I'd just seen the film _If_ and in it a schoolmaster tells a schoolboy that a trainee supermarket manager earns about £15 a week.....don't ask me why I remembered this, I remember all kinds of weird stuff. Anyhow £15 was about £4 more than I was getting at the PO and the job was in London....I don't think I needed to know any more than that really. It was a case of 'Where do I apply?'

Talking about 'Swinging' London.....do you reckon it's still swinging or do you think I've managed to miss the boat by a year or two? That would be just my luck.

I mean the sixties were great weren't they. London was like the centre of the universe.....you had mini skirts, Carnaby Street, the Beatles, flower power and, best of all, our glorious World Cup win at Wembley against the Germans.

London really was _the_ place to be then wasn't it.

Course that's all history now that it's1970....there's been one or two changes. Maxi skirts for example.....how lousy are they? I don't know any bloke who likes them.

Also the Beatles have split up, flower power and that whole hippy scene seems to be looked upon as a bit of a joke and, as you know, the Gerries managed to get their own back by beating us 3-2 in last month's World Cup....and this after we were 2-0 up. Two bloody nil!

That was so bad.....like when Leeds lost in the Cup Final replay in May. How we didn't win the first game at Wembley I'll never know. God, I don't even want to think about it.

Why did I have to start talking about football?.....it's so depressing.

I only need positive thoughts right now.

Aha wait a minute.....what's this.....we seem to be moving.....the landscape's changing and the Japanese bloke has just told his friend that we'll soon be at 'Rawteroo'.

Right, I'm gonna have to stop this chuntering and go and grab my suitcase.....just don't go away and I'll speak to you some more later. This could be interesting'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER ONE

The train pulled into Waterloo and thoughts turned to seeing Mr Hughes again. Old of age, fat of stomach, ruddy of complexion and bald of head, he was the personnel manager of David Black, the company I'd come to work for. When he'd interviewed me the previous month he gave me two bits of advice. They were....

'Get your hair cut and wear a more _sober_ shirt '

Well I could understand the hair but it was hard to associate sobriety with shirts. Correct me if I'm wrong but I don't think they don't tend to drink much. This one was just plain tangerine with a button-down collar and cuffs. No flashy pattern or pictures of naked women. I'd bought _it_ , and sundry other items, in a boutique in Portsmouth not long before the interview in the hope of impressing someone......anyone.

The guy who served me must've thought I was the ideal customer...a perfect mixture of gullibility and lack of fashion sense. He could've sold me anything.....and pretty much did!

I was putty in his hands and left the shop with a garish outfit that even golfers would think twice about wearing. In the cold light of day I decided that the shirt was the only item of the ensemble which was suitable for an interview....and then it got given the 'thumbs down'! Just as well old Hughes hadn't clapped eyes on all the other stuff I'd bought.....if the shirt wasn't sober the rest of the outfit would've been deemed positively pissed!

Anyway, rather than incur his displeasure a second time, I'd put on a plain white shirt to 'complement' the boring brown Burton suit I'd had for ages. I was determined to appear a model of restraint this time round. Also, I'd had a haircut, as per my 'orders'. There _was_ , however, one slight problem.....it was the worst haircut I'd ever had! I should have known better, I know, but I'd chosen to go to a barber's in squaddietown (Aldershot), just around the corner from the Post Office.

Bad mistake.

I'd have been better off visiting a sheep-shearer. At least they take off the same amount of wool from all over the sheep's body. This particular demon barber couldn't even do that. His idea was to cut everything really short everywhere but leave a really long, straggly bit of hair at the back of my head. Maybe I was in shock when I saw the result but when he put the mirror behind my head and asked me if it was okay I did what we-British always tend to do when there's some complaining to be done....I chickened out!

The inner me shouted 'What the fuck have you done with my hair you bloody stupid twat!' whilst the outer (much more audible) me, just nodded and went....

'That's fine'

Mr Hughes didn't think it was 'fine' though. He seemed genuinely appalled by my lack of taste. He'd told me to have my hair cut and wear a sober shirt before reporting back and I'd only managed to complete half the brief. It definitely wouldn't do and he was quick to point it out.

'Before you start work for us you'll have to have that long bit at the back cut off' he said,.....'there's a hairdresser's shop just down the road....go and get it done and get back here as soon as you can'

This was a great start to my working life up there in 'the smoke'. Five minutes in and I was already in trouble.

I wandered out of Mr Hughes office and back along Waterloo Road feeling simultaneously stupid and pissed off. It was like being back at school (I was once sent home from _there,_ as well, for the 'crime' of being overly hirsute). The worst of it _was_ that I knew he was right.....I looked really stupid.

'Oh well' I thought....'better keep the old fart happy'

I soon found the hairdresser in question and gave him what had to be his easiest assignment of the day. He just whipped the offending bit of hair off the back of my head in no time and that was that.....3/6d for about 2 minutes in the chair.

He didn't even have time to ask me if I'd had my holidays yet! Soon I was back in Mr Hughes office. He examined my head thoroughly (people always said _someone_ should).

'Let's have a look at that hair...oh yes that's much better' he said, seemingly satisfied.....'now we've got you looking the part I can show you round'

'PART?.....PRAT more like!' I thought....but followed him, dutifully.

The edifice that was Head Office in Waterloo Road looked huge from the outside. On the ground floor was the David Black supermarket where I would start my 'training' and up higher were offices and a canteen. I was shown around these and then we went out the back and across the road where there were warehouses and stores holding things like fruit, veg and bacon. I was told they even made their own cake there. Whilst I was being shown around all this Mr Hughes kept constantly droning on about the great organisation I would be joining. Apparently the firm had been started around a hundred years before in Scotland by it's founder David Black. He, sadly, was no longer with us but, going by Mr H, the organisation he'd left was, truly, second to none. On and on he went...'family business....blah blah.....pride ourselves on having the highest standards....blah blah.....a lot to live up to....blah blah.... top quality...'

It's a good job I was walking around cos I don't think I'd have been able prevent myself from dropping off otherwise. Talk about boring.

Eventually the guided tour was over and we were back in Mr Hughes oak-panelled office.

'So what do you think about it all?' he asked.

'Great' I lied.

The truth, of course, was that I would have taken pretty much any job going if it meant that I'd be able to work in London....but he didn't have to know that.

Mr H began outlining what I'd be doing when I started....

'You'll be managing the Green Fruit section' he said.....'it's quite a big job.....blah blah.....'

He was off again. Spouting on about this fantastic fruit and veg that only _they_ could supply.

I was busy dreaming.

'A manager straight away!' I thought....'Wow.....how impressive is that?.....wait 'til the guys at home hear about this'

Well it did _sound_ important. Then a few other thoughts occurred to me....

'Why just the _green_ fruit?.....Why not _all_ the fruit?'

Maybe my job was something to do with the ripening process. Mr Hughes popped my thought bubble.

'Do you think you can do it then?' he asked, sternly.

'Er, um....yes' I replied.....'one question, though'

'Alright, fire away' he said, with an air of apprehension (he was right to be apprehensive).

'Does someone else look after all the _other_ fruit?' I asked.

Mr Hughes's naturally red face became even redder.

'And what other fruit would that be?' he enquired, somewhat impatiently.

'The fruit that.... _isn't_ green' I tentatively answered.

At this stage Mr H must have realised that he had a real knownothing on his hands.

'I think I should explain that when we talk about the 'Green fruit' we are, in fact, talking about _all_ the fruit and veg that we sell' he said.....'and your job will be to keep that area well supplied...is that okay?'

'Yes.....er, certainly' I said, feeling more than a little foolish.

After all I could see it would be silly to have people managing different fruit just because it was a certain colour. It did seem like a big task, though, so being a reckless and crazy kind of guy, I thought I'd risk asking another question....

'Will there be anyone else helping me with all this?' I asked.

I mean what did I know about fruit and veg? I could peel stuff that I might want to eat.....bananas, oranges, that kind of thing.....but that was about my only dealings with any produce, thus far.

'Oh yes' he said.....'you'll have two young people helping you..... they know what they're doing.....we'll go and meet them in a minute.... now have you got any other questions?'

I certainly did.

'What time do I have to start tomorrow?' I asked.

Perhaps I was hoping he would say something like 'Oh, just turn up when you like'.....after all I _was_ management.

He didn't and I don't think I was fully prepared for his answer.

'You need to be here at about 7:30' he said....'you'll be responsible for making sure the fruit and veg stand is full when we open at 8:30 in the morning'

I think I must have gone into shock about then.

'Did you say _seven thirty?_ ' I asked.....it was like I'd been punched. 'Oh yes....being a manager you have to be in earlier than the staff you're working-with' he stated.....'you have to lead by example.

'And does it take long to get here from Ladbroke Grove?' I enquired, hopefully.

There was a pause and I could tell that Mr Hughes was searching for a way of breaking what I felt was almost-certainly going to be bad news.

'Well, it _is_ the other side of London.....I'm not sure how long it will take you to get to work' he said, and added.....'are you used to getting up early?'

I wasn't.

'How early do you think I might have to get up?' I asked....not really wanting to hear an answer.

'Oh, I reckon you could be here for seven thirty if you were to get up at around six-ish' he said.

'SIXISH!.....SIX 'O' CLOCK....THERE'S NO SUCH TIME!' I thought....'and if there is then surely it's only there for postmen and milkmen.....not normal people!'

Clearly there were some serious downsides to this job. The Post Office Counter was beginning to look like a cushy number in comparison....no getting up in the middle of the night to go _there_.

'Okay then, let's go and introduce you to the people you'll be working with' said Mr H, seemingly oblivious to my dismay.

So that's what we did.

He'd given me a rude awakening but it looked like I was going to have to get used to them. There'd be one per morning....six days a week.....for the foreseeable future.

Having met my new 'staff' (more of them later) I left Head Office deep in thought and walked back up Waterloo Road towards the station to get on the tube to Ladbroke Grove. It was now late morning and the temperature was sweltering. I was sweating buckets with a heavy suitcase in tow and started hearing the Lovin Spoonful's _Summer in the City_ in my head:

*

Hot town, summer in the city/Back of my neck getting' dirty and gritty

Been down isn't it a pity/Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city

All around people looking' half dead/Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head

*

It _was_ indeed. As I walked along I became more and more aware of all the winos and deadbeats that seemed to be hanging around the Waterloo area. Why were there so many, I wondered? How did they get here? Living in Farnborough hadn't prepared me for sights like these. They were in groups, drinking and shouting incoherently at passers-by like me. I remembered the Ralph McTell song _Streets of London_. These were the sort of people he was talking about. They made me feel uneasy walking past and I decided that a policy of non eye-contact was best.

'What if they start following in me?' I thought.....'I'm not gonna be able to run very fast with this bloody suitcase.....where's a policeman when you need one?'

I needn't have worried, though, and managed to make it to Waterloo Station without any problems. When I considered things a bit later I couldn't help feeling somewhat guilty and began wondering what could happen in a person's life to bring them down so low. It's a sobering thought I know but anyone could end up being a drunkard. At one time all the people I'd seen were, presumably, normal, upright citizens with jobs and maybe families. It made me wonder what had gone wrong for them What were their individual tragedies? One thing was for sure.... staying upright wasn't an easy option for most of them now.

'Maybe a lot of these people came up to London like I have today' I thought.....'full of hope and ambition and, by some twist of fate, they've ended up living on the street.....well I'm not gonna let that happen to me....I'll get up at 6 in the bloody morning if that's what I have to do. I'm gonna give this my best shot and see what happens'

It was clear that the scenes I'd just witnessed had served to stiffen my resolve. Ralph was right.....the streets of London had, indeed, given me something to make me change my mind.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWO

On the tube.12:15.

'I've just left Westbourne Park station so Ladbroke Grove will be the next stop and I have to tell you that, thus far, I haven't been over- impressed by what I've seen of the local area through the windows of this carriage....'Ripe for development' would probably cover it.

The colourful world I spoke-of earlier certainly hasn't materialised.

Actually, I say that but it has to be said that the people I've seen certainly seem colourful. Looking around this carriage and outside it has to be said that there's an awful lot of black people in the area... still, I suppose it's better than a lot of _awful_ black people. The journey from Waterloo seems to have taken ages and it's not a happy thought that I'm going to have to do this twice, every working day. A lot of it's underground....like a mole.....how boring is that? That wasn't meant as a pun by the way.....I mean moles _are_ boring animals, but only inasmuch as they bore _holes_....if you see what I'm saying.

You know I'm not sure that this is all such a good idea.....my coming up here to London, I mean. I'm not sure that a mistake of huge proportions hasn't been made today and it's possible that a leap from frying pan to fire could well have just taken place. Maybe I'm just feeling a bit homesick.....it's not as though I've spent much time away from home in the past...one week in Guernsey on a school trip when I was eleven....that's been about it before now. Almost the first thing that happened when I got there was that I was given bed linen and told to make up my bunk bed. I was nearly in tears. I didn't _do_ bedmaking and wanted my mum to do it for me. You don't suppose that'll happen today do you?

Let's have a quick review of the situation, as Fagin would have said: On the plus side I've got a job in London with quite cheap accommodation....and on the minus side I've got to get up _earlier_ than the Lark. Hmmmm...Well I suppose if worst comes to worst I could always admit defeat and go home. Dad would be going 'I told you not to leave the Post Office' every five minutes. My sister wouldn't be pleased cos she has designs on taking over my bedroom. The only one who'd be glad to have me back, and not give me a hard time, would be Mum..... but then Mum's are like that aren't they? I once went off to school clean as a new pin and was back in about ten minutes after having fallen head first into a muddy ditch! All she said was 'Never mind we'll soon have you changed'.

Like it could've happened to anyone.

On balance I think I'll have to keep all this 'go-home' stuff as a sort of plan B, if all else fails and I really hate life here in the great metrolo-piss. It'll be a last resort....like our wartime retreat from Dunkirk.....I won't have shell-shock, though.....it'll be more like alarm clock-shock.

Right then, we seem to be coming into Ladbroke Grove.....looks like I was right to view it as a misnomer. You know the dictionary definition of a 'grove' is a small wood or group of trees.....I suppose there may have been a forest here many years ago but definitely not now.....maybe it was when dinosaurs walked the earth.

Okay we've stopped. I'll have to 'mind the gap' and then go and locate the hostel. I've been told it's right next to the station so _even I_ shouldn't be able to miss it.'

*

The hostel was, indeed, slap bang next to the tube station on the same side of the road, in a terrace over the top of a small-size David Black supermarket. It was a four-storey building which looked liked it was in two symmetrical halves. On each side there were three sets of windows going from large at the bottom to small at the top. I looked up and down Ladbroke Grove - the road was around four-lane width and very busy. Looking left and upwards was the Westway flyover, a busy dual carriageway which could be heard and felt at ground level , and looking right, the straight road would take you to Notting Hill Gate and Holland Park \- areas that are a lot more fashionable now than they were then. First impression of Ladbroke Grove was that it seemed lively and multicultural. It was going to prove to be an experience and even if it wasn't, strictly speaking, the 'heart' of London then, at least, it appeared to be one of it's main arteries.

The front door was to the left of the shop and I rang the bell. Nothing happened for a short while until a window on the first floor suddenly opened above my head and a middle-aged woman was looking down on me (people very often did).

'You must be Tim?' she said (I suppose the suitcase must have given me away).

'Yes' I shouted back.

'Here you are.....you can let yourself in' she said, and threw down an enormous bunch of keys. The window above closed and I was forced to try quite a few of the keys before I found the one which would unlock the door. I couldn't help but think that the lady above was a bit of a lazy cow.....I mean it surely wouldn't have hurt to come downstairs to open the door would it? Once I'd negotiated the winding staircase up to the first floor kitchen I was greeted by the key thrower. She was middle of age, thin of body, tall of stature, bespectacled of face...and Welsh.

'Hello, Tim, I'm Mrs Thomas....I manage the Hostel' she said, smiling.....'the boys call me Mrs T.....'

She proffered me a bony hand.

'.....sorry I couldn't come downstairs just now but I'm in the middle of getting lunch ready for the people in the downstairs shop'

The stairs had taken the wind out of me a bit, what with the heavy case and all, so I just nodded whilst shaking hands.

'Come far have you?' she added.

I nodded again. She must have thought I was a brilliant conversationalist.

'From Farnborough....(puff puff), in Hampshire....(puff puff), not too far really' I answered.

I was looking around trying to take in the surroundings. The kitchen was quite large and I could see another room through a serving hatch. This was sparsely furnished with just a few tables and chairs. I presumed that this was where the shop staff would eat....maybe we did too.

'Would you like some lunch?' she asked....'I was told you won't be starting work until tomorrow....is that right?

'Er...yes please, for lunch....in fact 'yes'to both questions' I answered, whilst nodding vigorously.

After a short while Mrs Thomas decided the lunch could look after itself for a while and offered to show me to my room.

'Your room's on the third floor' she said.....'I'll show you round' She showed me the other rooms on the first floor to begin with. There was a lounge with a T.V for use of us lads.

'You'll notice it's a colour T.V' said Mrs T.....'privileged you boys are'

Next she pointed out her own sitting room which was bang opposite the kitchen. This was strategically good from her point of view cos by keeping her door open she could keep tabs on all movements in and out.....essential if you're a nosy sod like she would prove to be (but I shouldn't get ahead of myself).

As we went upstairs she told me about the other guys who were resident in the hostel.....apparently there was Malcolm, Gordon, Pete and Laurie.

'You'll be sharing a room with Gordon' she said...'he's another trainee manager, like yourself'

'WHAT!' I thought.....'SHARING A ROOM!......WITH ANOTHER BLOKE!...don't like the sound of that'

And decided to ask Mrs T a few questions.

'Er.....this Gordon.....is he.....er, _okay?_ ' I asked as we paused on the second floor landing.

She looked at me as though she couldn't understand what I was getting at.

'Well, why _wouldn't_ he be okay?' she asked, putting great emphasis on the 'wouldn't'.

It was difficult to know what to say. I couldn't really ask whether he had a girlfriend could I?......that would have been a bit _too_ obvious.

'Well, what's he like?' I persisted....'I should know _something_ about him if we're going to be room-mates' I asked, feeling that this wasn't too specific.

'Mmmm yes, I suppose so.....Gordon he's.....um..... a bit of a character.....I think you'll like him' was all she would venture.

' _A bit of a character'_.....that could mean anything' I thought...'Jack the Ripper, Attila the Hun, and Vlad the Impaler could all have been looked upon as 'characters' but no-one would've been too keen to share a room with any of _them_ '

(although I suppose Mrs Ripper, Mrs Hun and Mrs Impaler might have done)

We duly reached my new bedroom on the third floor and I still had no idea who Gordon was or, more specifically, whether it would be safe to bend over in his presence.

'I'll leave you to unpack and make yourself at home' said Mrs T.....'come down at about one and have some lunch....see you later' And, with that, she disappeared in a downwards direction.

I went into my new bedroom to find a large room, furnished with a mixture of old-style wardrobes, a dressing table and a chest of drawers. On top of the latter was something that made me feel rather at home....a red Dansette record player. We had one of these at home so it was like greeting an old friend. If you've never seen one it's a one-box player with a turntable and big central spindle. The idea was to stack up a few singles and they'd drop and play one at a time. They had a very distinctive smell....very plasticy. Of course you could play albums on them as well and I couldn't help noticing there was a small collection of these. Now I've always thought that you can tell a lot about a person by the records (rather than the company) he keeps so Gordon (in his absence) was going to be subjected to trial by record collection. I mean, this was important....for the first time in my life I was being asked to share a bedroom with another person and needed some reassurance as to mutual compatibility. I needed to know that Gordon was a normal guy and that if there was going to be a lot of farting and swearing in the room that he was likely to do it as well!

I decided that I owed it to myself to have a rummage through the records....it's what any normal, nosy bugger would have done.

*

'Let's see what we've got here then.....a few Beatles records.....

_Sergeant Peppers, Help, Revolver_.....mmm, still got the Sgt Pepper cut outs as well I see, bet most people haven't kept those......aha, here's one of those _Top of the Pops_ albums made up of cover versions.....there's always a scantily-clad girl on the cover isn't there?.....actually, that could be a good sign, I think.....I mean, if Gordon's only interested in the photo on the cover....it can't be the music can it?.....you know I hate these soundalike records....my parents were always buying me those copycat singles that Woolworth used to sell on their Embassy label.....some of them were okay but others were rubbish....I've got quite a large collection if anyone wants them.....

No.....I thought not.

Now what else is here?...we've got the _Best of the Byrds_....I like their jingly-jangly sound....there's _Otis Blue_ by Otis Redding, _Pet Sounds_ by the Beach Boys.....what's this, _The Young Ones_ by Cliff Richard, I've got this....looking back the accompanying film was a bit naff but I was only about 10 when it came out so didn't really notice.

There's some iffy stuff by the Tremeloes....and Billy Fury....never took to him really.....aha, he's got _Tommy_ by the Who.....this is a great album but I couldn't get a decent copy.....had to take back two and ended up getting a refund...I wonder if this copy's any better...tempting to play some of it, but better not...don't want a 3 Bears situation...

.'Who's been playing _my_ records?'.....hey, here's the obligatory _Motown Chartbusters_ album, in this case number 2.....it's great dance music..... here's another one, _Number Three_.....what's it got on it?..... _You're all I need to get by, Roadrunner, This old heart of mine_...fantastic! You know it's virtually unheard-of to go to a party and not hear a _Motown Chartbusters_ L.P or _This is Soul_.....not that _I_ get to go to many parties, you understand.....aha, the latest, and probably last, Beatles album.... _Let it be,_ in a box, complete with colour brochure.....I haven't seen the film yet.....the album's had quite poor reviews.....not one of their best by all accounts.....still, any Beatles is okay by me.

Bloody hell, what's this here?....the original soundtrack album of _The Sound of Music_.....that's not very rock 'n' roll is it?.....oh, wait a minute, it does have 'MUM'S' scrawled on the back of it in biro, maybe to indicate ownership, so it may have got in there by mistake.....we'll give him the benefit of the doubt. It's not that I don't like musicals, per se.....our school did _Oliver!_ and there's some great songs in that.....it's just that everything about _The Sound of Music_ is so wet.....singing Nuns, favourite things, lonely goatherds.....you know why goatherds are lonely don't you? - they stink!...I would advise Gordon to get rid of this record as soon as possible.....very bad for a person's image being in possession of a record like this.....even if you're not the original owner.

Right, well, I've looked through it all and, although there's a few things I wouldn't want, it's not too bad....at least there's nothing too disgusting.....no Jazz....Modern or Trad...Opera...Classical...Big Band....disgusting Middle-of the Road, like Frank Sinatra....and, particularly, no Country and Western. Don't you just hate all that stuff? I can't stand it....if it isn't 'Yee-ha, y'all' cowboy music, it's sad buggers singing maudlin songs about dead animals or people.....it's like they either want to dance or wallow in misery.....there doesn't seem to be any middle ground at all.

On the minus side I have to note that there's no Cream, Hendrix or Led Zeppelin....but that would be a tad _too_ perfect. On the plus side there is some Bob Dylan and Rolling Stones. On balance it's all not too bad really.

Okay, I've finished flicking through the collection and I reckon that, judging by the music he likes, Gordon may turn out to be alright..... we shall see. For now I'm going to do what Mrs Thomas suggested.... unpack my stuff and then go and get some lunch.....I'm absolutely bloody starving!'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THREE

I was downstairs at one 'o' clock on the dot and soon got ushered into a seat at the kitchen table by Mrs T.

'This is where you boys always eat' she said.....'food's ready.....I'll sit with you and we can have a little chat'

Lunch was duly served. It was some sort of pie....with veg and gravy.

'Now where was it you said you were from?' she asked, while making us some tea.

'Farnborough.....it's in Hampshire' I said.

There wasn't much in the way of a flicker of recognition so I thought I'd better enlarge a bit.....

'You've probably heard of the Farnborough Air Show?...the Red Arrows?.....they're quite famous'

'Oh yes' she said, assuredly...'but where, actually, _is_ Farnborough?'

I'd been asking myself the same thing for years.

'Well' I said....'if you catch a train from Waterloo and journey south it's after Woking and before Basingstoke.....not far from Aldershot..... home of the British Army'

She still looked puzzled.

'Sorry' she said.....'I'm not much good at geography...I've been living in England for quite a few years now but still don't know where lots of places are...I expect Farnborough's very nice, though'

I felt like saying 'No, it isn't' but couldn't be bothered. She sat down opposite me and I decided to ask a few questions of my own.

'Where are _you_ from Mrs T?' I asked.

She seemed a little surprised to have the question turned around to her.

'Oh, me.....well, I originally come from Cardiff but haven't lived there for a long time. I've been living here in London most of the time since I was married'

'Does your husband live here as well?' I asked.

'No' she said, with feeling.....'we were divorced a few years ago' With that she went a bit quiet. Not a particularly inspired line of questioning on my part, really.

'Er....do you have any children?' I asked, hoping that if she _did_ it may make for lighter conversation.

'Yes' she said.....'I've got two.....my son's twenty seven and he's married with a small baby.....lives in Wilmslow in Cheshire so I don't see a lot of him.....I've also got a daughter.....Jane.....she's fourteen and goes to boarding school. She's on school holidays at the moment and she's staying with her father.....I think they're in Italy right now but I haven't had a postcard yet'

'Oh, right' I said.

It set me thinking. Here we had quite a well-spoken, divorced, lady with a daughter in boarding school, working as a housekeeper. The Victorians would have called this 'Reduced Circumstances' no doubt and I wondered how this had come about. Clearly, she wasn't much of a housekeeper.....I mean she'd been divorced and obviously _hadn't_ kept the house.

At that moment a couple of people from the downstairs shop appeared at the hatch and Mrs T went and served them their lunch.

I took this opportunity to bolt down the rest of food and curtail our in-depth conversation.

'I've finished, thank you Mrs T' I said, whilst moving in a doorwards direction.....'I think I'll go for a walk around the local area...see you later, maybe?'

'Oh....okay' she said.....'perhaps we could have a chat when you come back.....just a few things I need to say'

'Right-o' I shouted, from somewhere near the bottom of the stairs. I walked up and down nearby Portobello Road taking in the sights and wondering what sort of 'things' Mrs T needed to say.

'It's probably the sort of stuff that seaside landladies say' I thought....' _No chips in the room'_ , that kind of thing'

I wondered if I'd need to be in at some ridiculously early time every night.....like before the pubs closed.....or maybe have to be in bed, with the lights out, at ten thirty or something.....it was a worry. I've always hated petty rules.....they're there to be broken as far as I'm concerned.

I liked Portobello Road. The market stalls had immense character.....

several immense characters, actually. I particularly liked it up at the top end with all the stalls and shops selling antiques and bric-a-brac. If, for example, I'd needed to buy a wind-up gramophone, military uniform, bird cage complete with stuffed bird or ancient-looking, wooden, tennis racquet with several missing strings then I would have been in luck..... cos one stall had all of those things.

I began to get a feel for the area and decided that I'd never seen so many dodgy-looking people gathered together in one place before. Clearly, living amongst them wasn't going to be dull.

After killing about an hour I decided to return to the Hostel and have that little chat with _mine host_.

'Oh Tim, I'm glad you're back' she said, on seeing me.....'let's go and sit in my room.....I need to have a little word'

So we did.

Sitting in a high-backed armchair, whilst waiting for the inevitable tea, my eyes scanned the room. There were a number of photo's....some were obviously Mrs T's children at various ages. Then my eyes alighted on one of a young woman wearing an Air Hostess's uniform.

When Mrs T appeared, with some of the same, I pointed at it. 'Is that you Mrs T?' I asked.

'Yes....well it _was_ ' she answered, wistfully.....'quite a while ago, that was'

Actually she wasn't at all bad looking then but the intervening years hadn't been overly kind. In order to change the subject she asked me who I had as family.

'Well, there's Dad.....he used to be in the Navy but works in the Post Office now'

'What does he do.....in the Post Office, I mean?'

'A lot of people have been asking that' I said, with a smile.

Mrs T's face didn't register that a joke had been attempted so I thought I'd better continue....

'He's a Counter Clerk....works on the counter, giving grannies their pension, that kind of thing....he got me to join after I left school but I didn't like it all that much'

'What didn't you like about it?'

'I don't know....it was just boring'

'Fair enough.....you said your Dad was in the Navy, was he in long?'

'Quite a while, actually....he joined when he was quite young and , eventually, became a Chief Petty Officer'

'Did he fight in the war?'

'So he tells me.....I've seen some medals so it _may_ be true, ha ha' Mrs T looked impressed rather than amused. She obviously didn't _do_ jocularity.

'What about your Mum?' she asked.

Now this was a tad more serious.

'Mmmm...she hasn't been too well in the last couple of years, as it happens' I said.

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that' said a concerned-sounding Mrs T.....'is she better now?'

'Well.....we're hoping so' I replied, without enlargement.

'G o o d' said Mrs T, whilst nodding...she made the word last at least four nods. Maybe she was considering asking the exact nature of the problem but thought better of it. It could have been something embarrassing couldn't it? Sex addiction, or something.....actually my Dad couldn't have been that lucky.

'So, is there anyone else in your family, Tim....it _is_ 'Tim', rather than 'Timothy', is it?' she asked, moving things on.

(Now let's be very clear about this cos it's important. The name 'Timothy' is really only suitable for a very young child and the 'othy' part of the name should be jettisoned as soon as possible because it becomes an embarrassment. Tim is good, Timothy isn't. You know how a moon rocket separates itself from the large unwanted bit that was only there to get it into orbit?.....well it's the same principle)

'Yes, Tim is fine' I said.....and, yes, I've got a sister called Christina' ' _Christina_.....that's quite an unusual name, isn't it?' said Mrs T. 'Yes' I agreed.....'and she gets really annoyed if people get it wrong and say 'Christine'.....I'm not sure whether my parents actually _chose_ it for her or not.....I don't think they did , actually'

Mrs T's eyebrows went up.....clearly some explanation was necessary.....

'We were both adopted you see' I said...'and they always told me they chose my name cos I was only a tiny baby when they got me....but I remember going up to London with them on a train to get my sister....I'd have been about five at the time....she was just a tot.....somewhere around a year old.....she was wearing a pink coat and could only say a couple of words.....I think she had already been christened and given her name by then so they didn't change it'

Mrs T was wide eyed.

'You went up to London and came back with a sister?' she said, a little disbelievingly.

'That's right' I said.....'for quite a while I thought that's what everyone did when they wanted children.....it's no wonder I was confused when it came to the birds and the bees'

'Mmmm' said Mrs T, and sipped her tea thoughtfully.

After a while the subject of schools came up.

'I went to a Catholic grammar school' I said....'we were taught by priests'

'Oh, so you're religious are you?.....we were made to go to Chapel when we were young' said an interested Mrs T.

I couldn't resist setting this straight....

'Well I wouldn't say I really _am_ particularly religious....it's just that I didn't have much of a choice. I think my parents promised the R.C adoption society that I'd be brought up a Catholic....and so I was. I don't think that children should be force-fed religion....I mean if they want to take it up later in life then fair enough, but personally I kind of resent all the hours I've spent either at church or doing Catholic things in general'

Mrs T nodded....maybe we had something in common here.

'So you don't think it was a good idea going to a Catholic school then?' she asked.

'No and I don't think that all-boys schools are a good idea either' I replied.

'Why's that then?' she asked, with furrowed brow.

'Well I think I've lost touch with girls of my own age' I said.....'I never know what to say to them any more'

'And you put that down to the school do you?....only my daughter goes to an all-girls school....should I worry about this?' she said, in a serious tone.

'Well' I replied....'she may come out of it okay....I can only say what I think'

Mrs T nodded again.

'Very true' she said...'very true'

All this was, indeed, very true. I hadn't ever had a proper girlfriend and was beginning to think I would have to live a life of enforced celibacy....a bit like Catholic priests (Only I've never been sure how celibate _they_ really are....especially when you hear of all the money the R.C church has paid in compensation for the sexual misdemeanors perpetrated by it's black-clad, but supposedly whiter-than-white, men of the cloth).

We chatted for quite a while in amiable fashion but there was something about Mrs Thomas that worried me. I couldn't put my finger on it but instinctively something told me to be wary. She sounded friendly enough on the surface but I felt there was a lot more to her than met the eye.

She'd already explained the house rules and had given me a key. I'd been told when I was expected in, what times she had off and when my, four quid a week, housekeeping money was to be paid when, suddenly, it became clear that my instincts may have been correct....

'Oh, I should tell you, because, no doubt, someone else will' she said.....'that two lads were expelled from the hostel a couple of weeks ago.....I can't go into details but the fact _is_ they were asked to leave'

This was just dropped into the 'friendly' conversation.

'What sort of heinous _crime_ were they guilty of?' I wondered...'surely it must have been something really bad to warrant being given the boot'

Mrs T didn't enlarge any further, though. They had obviously broken the rules and paid for it. She had taken a tough stance by the sound of it and shown no mercy. It was a warning shot across the bows.

'My God' I thought.....'if I'm not careful the same thing could end up happening to me'

And since when had _I_ ever been careful?

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER FOUR

6 P.M. Later the same day. Waiting for Gordo.

I was laying, in deep reverie, on one of the beds in my (shared) bedroom. At this stage I didn't even know which bed was mine.....it wasn't as if there was a teddy bear poking it's head out of either of them to denote ownership. Suddenly, the door burst open and Gordon made an entrance. He had very close-cropped hair and (worryingly) was brandishing a very large knife! I must have looked somewhat alarmed. After all, when Mrs T had said that Gordon was 'a character' I hadn't pictured a machete-wielding skinhead!

'At least there isn't any blood, visible, on the blade' I thought....'maybe this is just his way of making sure of getting a seat on the tube.....maybe even a whole carriage!'

He looked down at the inanely grinning young man (me) who was reclining on the nearest bed and smiled.....I felt this was a good sign. He then put the knife down and offered me his hand.

'Hi, you must be Tim' he said.....'Mrs T said you'd be up here.....I'm Gordon, pleased to meet you'

I jumped up and shook his hand. Minus knife and haircut notwithstanding he looked like a really friendly guy.

'Pleased to meet _you_ Gordon' I said.....'sorry, but it looks like you've got _me_ as a roommate'

'Don't worry about it mate' he said....'I'll have some company won't I'

This struck me as a good attitude so I thought it was safe enough to admit that I'd been nosing through his record collection....

'I've been looking at your records' I said, nodding in their direction....'I hope you don't mind.....you've got some good stuff '

He looked over at the records and pulled a 'suppose so' kind of expression.

'Oh those.....yeah well....I must admit that I nabbed most of them when I left home.....they're probably all wondering where they went...'

That explained _The Sound of Music_.

'...some of them are mine, though...you see that Beatles one..... the one with the black box?'

' _Let it be_....yes, I was looking at that'

'Yeah, I was given that last month for my birthday by the others here....twenty two I was.....it's a crap record, though, if you ask me... not as good as their others'

'So I've heard' I said, in agreement.

This was all very interesting but what I really _had_ to find out about was the knife.....

'That knife you came in with.....do you usually carry it about with you?'

'Oh that....no.....I've been working, on relief, at twenty nine and I nicked it....it's a bloody good knife, much better than the one I've been using at twenty five....Mr French won't miss it'

So he'd nicked the knife and the majority of the records! - obviously a bit of a Magpie. I had to ask about the numbers he'd mentioned cos I hadn't a clue what he was talking about....

'This 29 and 25, are they road numbers?'

'No.....sorry I forgot you were new.....they're the branch numbers of shops.....29 is Acton, where I've been today.....and 25 is Shepherds Bush....that's where I normally work'

'Okay....so you pinched the knife from Acton.....who's Mr French?'

'Mr French is the manager of the Acton shop...I had to do all his bleedin' bacon cos his provisions manager didn't turn up this morning.... there was tons of it so I reckoned the least he could do was let me have a free knife'

'Fair enough.....did you come back, on the tube or bus, holding it?' 'No.....and I wasn't holding the _knife_ either' he said, smirking. I laughed.

'So you, literally, saved Mr French's bacon then'

'Yeah....haha....I like it'

(You can't beat good repartee can you?)

Gordon decided to put me right about his transport situation. 'Actually, mate, I've got a car so I don't need tubes or buses.....it's only an old Ford Prefect but it's okay for what I need.....I'll show it to you later if you like.....do you fancy going to a pub later on?.....' He was talking my language.

'.....I know a really good one in Notting Hill Gate, just down the road'

'Brilliant' I said.

Gordon began taking off his work clothes so I averted my eyes and asked some more questions.

'How long have _you_ been working for David Black then Gordon?'

'Too bloody long mate.....no, about a year now.....I was a chef before doing this.....at least this is daytime hours.....what about you, you look like an intelligent bloke, what made _you_ want to come and work for David Crap?'

'Well, one day I was working in the Post Office when someone showed me this advert for trainee supermarket managers based in London.....it wasn't long after I'd seen this film called _If_....have you seen it?'

'No mate...haven't seen _If_ or _It_.

'It's called _If_ and it's about a Public School.....there's a famous scene in it where some of the pupils get up on the roof and start shooting people, including the teachers....'

'I'd' have liked to have done that to my fucking teachers, mate'

'.....fair enough.....but the point here is that there's also a scene where a teacher tells a boy that the average trainee supermarket manager gets about fifteen quid a week and I thought of that when I saw the advert...better than the poxy eleven quid I was getting from the Post Office anyway'

Gordon was fascinated.

'And you got your fifteen quid did you?'

'Oh yeah.....when I had my first interview Mr Hughes asked me what sort of money I thought I'd get so I just said 'About fifteen pounds a week', kind of hoping for the best.....he said 'Yes, that's about right' and the deal was done'

'So why did they choose a trainee supermarket manager do you think.....in the film.....I mean there must be loads of other people on fifteen quid a week?'

He had a point....I don't think I'd ever really considered it before. 'Yeah, you'd think so wouldn't you....I mean why not pick on Bus Drivers...or Soldiers?'

'They might not get fifteen quid'

'No, I suppose not.....actually I don't know any other job where you'd definitely get fifteen quid, do you?'

Gordon was shaking his head and pulling a 'search me' expression. '.....still it's as well that he did say it or I wouldn't have had a clue what money to ask for would I?'

Gordon was smiling, as though something had just occurred to him....

'Tim, mate.....you know that bloke who showed you the advert.....

do you reckon he was trying to get rid of you?

I knew what he was saying.

'Probably' I said, laughing.....'I expect the Head Postmaster put him up to it...anyway here I am'

Gordon nodded.

'That's true.....do you think you'll like it?'

'Hmmm, I don't know.....present company excepted I haven't been too thrilled with the people I've met so far'

Gordon's eyebrows raised.

'Oh yeah.....so who were they, then?'

'Well, really just Mr Hughes and Mrs T..... _he_ made me get my hair cut and _she_ told me about two blokes who'd been evicted recently.....

presumably by her....for breaking the rules'

'Yeah, you want to be careful of her.....those blokes didn't really do much wrong, I reckon she just didn't like them....simple as that'

'So who _does_ she like?..... _you,_ maybe?'

'No.....we get on okay but it's Laurie she _really_ likes....she says she doesn't have favourites but that's bollocks, she's all over him.....you just watch'

'Which one's Laurie?'

'Oh you'll soon know him....tall chap with a beaky nose, a bit older than the rest of us....he's a good bloke but he always knows better than everyone else, if you know what I mean. He's the manager of one of the Portobello Road shops and Malcolm, who you'll meet later, works there with him.....he's a quiet bloke.....especially quiet if he's with Laurie'

'Why's that do you think?'

'Well, Laurie's a bit of a piss-taker.....you'll see what I mean'

'Fair enough.....Pete's the other one isn't he...what's he like?'

'Pete.....well, he's a butcher.....comes from Portsmouth.....he's a friendly sort of bloke but I haven't got to know him all that well yet....

he's only been here a few weeks.....I know he likes music.....even does a bit of part-time deejaying'

'Comes from Portsmouth, eh'

'Yeah, you know it do you?'

'Mmm.....bought some clothes there not long ago.....Mr Hughes took an instant dislike to the shirt'

'Don't worry about it mate, take no notice of him....he's just a miserable old git...'

So it wasn't just _my opinion_ then.

'...it was him who asked Joe and Clive to leave here'

'And you say you don't know what they did wrong?'

'No, Clive works in the same shop as me but he won't talk about it.....all I know is that one day the two of them were asked to go and see Mr Hughes and the same day they were looking for somewhere else to live.....just like that'

' _Please_....no Tommy Cooper impressions'

'Ha.....I think you're a bit of a joker, aren't you Tim?'

'I try.....but where did they go, these guys?'

'Clive says they've got a flat in Hammersmith....he reckons its all worked out for the best....now he can play his electric guitar and records as loud as he wants'

I wondered if noise was possibly the issue that had lead to Clive's untimely exit and made a mental note to delay bringing _my_ electric guitar up to London.

Gordon was looking in the mirror by now.

'Did you say earlier that old Hughes had made you get your haircut?' he asked.

'Yeah' I said.....'earlier _today_ in fact....bloody awful isn't it?'

'Well it couldn't be worse than this mine, mate' he said....'I told the bloke I wanted about half an inch off but the stupid sod thought I'd said to leave half an inch all over!...look at it'

'So you didn't ask for it to be _that_ short then?'

'No, I fucking didn't.....I ought to sue.....the bird I was seeing told me she wasn't going to be seen out with any skinhead, and then chucked me!'

'Aha....he likes girls' I thought.....'that's good'

He'd got down to his underpants by now and I could hardly look. Happily (for me) he grabbed a towel and wrapped around his waist.

'I'm going for a quick bath before tea' he said....'feel free to play any of the records if you like'

And was gone.

I put on the _Let it Be_ album, seeing as though I hadn't heard it before. It _was_ a bit so-so considering it was The Beatles. Their previous one, _Abbey Road,_ was great but this seemed a bit of a hotch-potch with odd bits of dialogue just randomly thrown in. John Lennon was heard to shout 'I dig a pygmy by Charles Hawtrey and the deaf aids' as an intro to _Dig a Pony_. I supposed that these were snippets from the film but they didn't do a lot for the record. As The Beatles had already officially split up I felt that, overall, this wasn't the ideal epitaph. Still it was The Beatles and listening to them is never a bad idea.

I lay on the bed and closed my eyes whilst the music played.

'This is better' I thought.....'I'm here in London, it's summertime, I'm listening to the best group in the world...and I think I've just made my first new friend'

Things were looking up.

*

11.35. The same day. In bed.

'I've got to keep my voice down seeing as though Gordon's asleep. I met the other guys earlier on and they all seem like good blokes. When he introduced me to the others Gordon says 'All right you blokes this here is Tim.....he's come up to London to work cos he's heard that David Black is the best firm in the world to work-for.....mind you he also thinks that there really _is_ a Santa Claus'

This got a good laugh and seemed to get things off on the right foot. The other guys must have heard that my surname has two D's and there was a bit of the old 'Da da da dum, click click' and 'Where's Lurch?' to contend with. I felt quite at-home with all this good-natured banter around the dinner table. It was like being in a pub with a few mates - minus all the swearing. This wasn't allowed.....one of Mrs T's own rules. Everyone was interested in what I was going to do at head office but no-one seemed exactly over-impressed when I said I was going to be a Green-Fruit Manager. They were totally under-whelmed.

Anyhow, let's tell you a little bit about the other guys cos I think it's good that you know something about each of them. You've already met Gordon so we'll take that as read.

Laurie....tall of stature and beaky of nose as Gordon said....seems like he comes from an upper middle class background.....can't really believe he works in a shop....or, for that matter, works at all. He's okay but you can tell that he likes to be in charge....likes the last word, that sort of thing. He comes from Southsea which, as far as I know, is the posh bit of Portsmouth. I was watching for signs, at tea, of what Gordon was saying.....the bit about Mrs T being 'all over him'. She seemed slightly more interested when he said something but that was about it.

I'll keep watching, though.

Malcolm....rotund of build and bespectacled of face.....is quiet, just like Gordon said. You get the feeling that there is a definite master and servant aspect to his relationship with Laurie. He comes from Margate....it's interesting that all of the lads come from seaside towns isn't it? Gordon's from Southend so I'm a bit of an odd one out in that respect. Malcom, being quiet, may take longer to get to know than the others....we'll see. At least he's about my age whereas the other lads are all a little bit older.

Pete.....blonde of hair and ready of smile.....mentioned the deejaying and we got talking about it. Apparently none of the others are particularly interested so he rattled on ten-to-the-dozen when I sounded as though _I_ was. Actually I _am._ He said I could come with him to one of his gigs....so I said I would. He seems to be as mad about music as I am so we'll probably have a lot in common.

As well as learning a bit about the other guys at tea I've also learned a bit about what _not_ to eat or drink in here. Since most of the food we eat comes from the shop downstairs and features a lot of own-label produce it's important to know which David Black stuff to avoid like the plague. Their coffee, for example, is totally undrinkable. God knows what they put in it but it looks like dust and, when mixed with hot water, tastes like mud...and no, it's not because it was only ground this morning.

DB orange drink is incredible as well. I don't know how it's made but I don't think there are too many oranges involved. It's a work of art.....so weak that a whole bottle, when diluted, will only make up about three glasses!

I reckon Mrs T will have to be a brilliant cook to make consistently decent meals using only David Black products....some of them are diabolical!

After tea we went off to the pub, as Gordon had suggested, in two cars. I went in Gordon's.....you know his Prefect certainly isn't perfect. Before we got in he says 'You'll have to be careful of the floor cos it gets a bit warm...I think the exhaust's got a hole in it somewhere'

I suggested he could feature it in 'Hot Car' magazine.....or tell people he'd just come 'hot foot' round to see them. Gordon just pulled a face.....maybe his car isn't the ideal vehicle for my humour.

When we got to the car I noticed that there was a bowler hat on the back seat. I said 'Is that your's?', to which Gordon replied 'Of course'....like he was the sort of guy who normally wears that kind of headgear.....like one of Alex's Droogs in _A Clockwork_ Orange. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised.....this is the sort of thing that helps to make a person a 'character' you see.....wacky stuff that looks a bit outof-place. I couldn't resist trying it on, though, and ended up wearing it all the way to the pub. Do you reckon that makes me a bit of a character as well?.....no I thought not.

We went right down to the end of Ladbroke Grove, turned left at Holland Park and went into Notting Hill Gate. Not far, but it felt really great.....speeding along through the warm streets in a car with the windows down and radio blaring.....exactly the sort of thing I hoped to do when I came up here to London.

Ah well, it's been an interesting first day and I'm now going to try to get some sleep.....the real work starts tomorrow and, as you know, I've got an early start.

I wish Gordon would stop snoring.....

Goodnight'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER FIVE

Wednesday 8th July. Letter home.

Dear Mum, Dad and Chris (if interested)

First of all sorry for not phoning but it really is a bit of a drawback, you not being on the phone at home. Looking back, I see that this could well be the single biggest reason for my lack of success with girls....they were all dying to call me but couldn't. Seriously though, if you want to call me here at the hostel the number is Notting Hill 5765. I can report that I am alive and well (hence being able to write this letter) and that all is going extremely well here in the smoke.....to be honest it's not that smoky these days, unless you happen to get a bit too near Harold Wilson's pipe.

I've been working hard all this week in the supermarket at head office managing the fruit and veg department. Yes managing! It's a very important job as the shops sells loads of fresh produce every day and, of course, it has to be presented in tip top condition. I have two members of staff working with me so it's not too bad. I'm in charge, though.

The worst thing about it is that I have to get up really early. It's insane....I've actually seen dawn cracking. It's funny isn't it, I used to think that getting up at around half past seven to go to work in Aldershot was tough? Well, I can tell you that that would be like luxury now. They say the early bird gets the worm, don't they.....but then who wants to get worms?

The best thing about being here is that I feel like I've already made some new friends. Take my roommate Gordon, for example, he seems like a really good bloke. His jokes are even worse than mine. The other day I mentioned Aldershot was an army town and he says 'Do you know where you usually find the British Armies?.....in the British sleevies'.

He comes from Southend so, not to be outdone, I said 'Do you know where the population of Southend is thickest?..... between the ears'. As I say, really bad jokes.

The other guys in the hostel are all good blokes and one of them (Pete) says I can go with him when he takes his mobile disco out to a gig (that's a job, Mum). It sounds like fun. Imagine me as a deejay - not much chance of that happening in Farnborough was there? All in all there seems to be a lot of possibilities so don't worry about me as I'm doing just fine. I'm going to close now as writer's cramp seems to be setting in (ho ho).

P.S - I'll be seeing you all soon as the hostel is closing for the weekend in two weeks time.

Love and kisses

Tim xxx

The first part of this letter sounded really good but the trouble was that it wasn't really true.....in fact I'd go so far as to say it was complete bollocks! It sounded good but the truth was that the supermarket - far from being the busy, vibrant, place I'd portrayed - was a complete and utter 'Turkey'. Sales-wise it was a dead duck and merely served as a showpiece for whoever decided to visit David Black's head office. It most definitely did not sell the 'loads of fresh produce' quoted by me in my letter home. Far from it. Together with and my two little helpers (Satan's rather than Santa's) I would spend the entire day wrapping and pricing a few choice items for the handful of shoppers who saw fit to lend us their custom. These were just a few office workers and some very dodgy types who came from the somewhat dilapidated-looking estate which could be seen across the large, undeveloped bit of waste ground opposite the shop.

I'd felt it was necessary to 'big' the job up to my folks at home but the reality of it was that it was very small beer indeed (less than a half of bitter, in those terms). I may have had the title of 'manager' but I was basically just a shelf-filler and my 'two members of staff ' were about as useful as a pair of baboons. On a scale of usefulness from one to ten they'd both have been on a minus!

Let me describe them for you: Firstly, there was a Lynn.....pasty of face, ample of girth and lank of hair. She somehow managed to blag a fiver off me almost as soon as I walked in through the door. God only knows what possessed me to give it to her (if you'll pardon the expression)....I don't think it was because I was bowled over by her beauty. Needless to say I never saw this money ever again.....she recognised a naïve sucker when she saw one. She kept saying she would cook for me one night as a method of repayment. I'll tell you, the thought of _that_ coupled with imaginings of what might happen _after_ the meal was enough to stop me mentioning the money ever again. The other 'worker' was a young, Scottish lad called Billy. He wasn't any better than Lynn.....short of height and even shorter of brain power! To be fair, I was quite glad if he went missing during the day....and he frequently did. When he _was_ favouring us with his presence he spent a lot of the time taking the piss out of our pasty Miss Piggy lookalike and they very nearly came to blows several times. He also managed to price everything wrongly (downwards, usually), if given half a chance, and should have been shown on the company balance sheet under the 'liabilities' column. These were my two daily companions and it seemed like I was pretty much stuck with them.

The only thing that broke the monotonous cycle of wrapping, pricing and stacking were the times when I needed to requisition some more fruit/veg supplies. This entailed going up to one of the upstairs offices and getting a vaguely-interested, desk-bound someone, to list all my required items on an invoice and then sign it. Everyone called this invoice a 'chit'. The first time someone said 'You'll need a chit' I said it was okay and that I really didn't need to go. Oh well, anyone can mishear can't they?

Having got the precious, autographed, piece of paper I would go back downstairs to the greengrocery store and show it to some vaguelyinterested, warehouse someone who would let me load up a trolley with stuff to take back to the preparation room. That was about as interesting as things got. It wasn't really a lot to write home about.....but, as you can see, I'd managed to do so all the same.

*

Friday 10th July. Evening meal.

The guys back at the hostel were starting to gather from what I was saying that my management training hadn't exactly started brilliantly. Talk at the dinner table was starting to come back to my situation with monotonous regularity. I'd only just sat down, in fact, when Laurie started.

'So what did _you_ get up to today Tim?....feeling fruity as usual I suppose?

Much laughter.

I felt that attack was the best form of defence.

'Well, it's not my fault that that's all I've been given to do.....when I joined this firm I thought they were going to give me training on all aspects of the job - not just leave me in the corner of a dungeon all day working with a couple of useless twats!'

This last word brought a swift look of disapproval from Mrs T who didn't like to hear any swearing or naughty references to bodily parts/ functions.

Everyone looked a bit surprised at my outspokenness.....taken aback even.

Malcolm seemed genuinely concerned that I was getting a raw deal and asked 'Have they said anything about sending you for training at the head office school? We've all been trained there on stuff like bacon, cheese and cooked meat.....well, all except Pete (the butcher)'

'No they haven't mentioned doing any training there at all 'I said...'do you think they will then?'

'They ought to' said Malcolm.....'I mean it's all part of management training cos if you get to manage a shop you'll probably have to do all the provisions yourself'

This was interesting. No-one had mentioned any of this to me before.

'Perhaps you should have a word with your manager' said Laurie....'it's Mr Wells isn't it?'

'Yes but I haven't really had much to do with him' I replied.....'the only bloke that I've had any real dealings with is a chap called Andy, the prep-room manager and he's a bit of a wan...'

I feel Mrs T's eyes zeroing in on me.

'.....er...that's to say I'm...um.....not too keen on him'

The others smiled.

'I know who you mean' said Gordon.....'and you're right.....thinks he knows it all he does.....you're right about him, mate.....he _is_....well.... what you nearly said'

'Rhymes with Banker' said Laurie.

Everyone laughed...except Mrs T.

A lot of this kind of chat went on...literally talking shop. Gordon seemed to mention someone called Paul quite a bit and I gathered that he was the manager of the shop he worked in, at Shepherds Bush. I felt he must get on particularly well with his manager if he got to call him by his first name....and made the mistake of saying so.

Much laughter ensued.

'Okay, who's going to tell him?' asked Laurie, looking for a volunteer.

'What?' I said, looking from one to the other.

'His name's _Mr Paul_.....Paul's his surname' said Mrs T.

So how was I supposed to have known that?

'Yeah, better not call him Paul if you meet him' underlined Gordon. 'I'll _try_ to remember' I said, exaggerating the mock sarcasm a bit. This kind of conversation was to become par for the course. The guys would see if they could score a few points here and there off of one another, but it was all pretty good-natured.

The next subject up for discussion was 'What are we all doing this weekend?'

'Well, I'm going back home for the weekend' Laurie volunteered....' I expect I'll be seeing some friends....maybe going out to a restaurant on Saturday night. I'll have a nice lie-in on Sunday and then probably go down to our local pub with my Dad for a couple of beers, followed by a leisurely lunch.....what about you blokes?'

Malcolm told me later that Laurie would often make a quick getaway on a Saturday afternoon (usually about halfway through it) and that he'd be the one left to do all the clearing-up on his own. Unless he'd decided to stay in London, Laurie would rush to his waiting Riley Kestrel like one of the starters of the Le Mans 24 hour race. Having reached said vehicle he would don his favourite poncho (sadly, though, no matching sombrero), light up a fag, and then seek to be in Southsea by teatime. A particularly tight schedule.

Gordon, too, had plans for Saturday night. He told us he'd met this girl in the local laundrette.....she'd run out of change for the drier, apparently, and he'd offered to pay. Someone said he should have 'come-clean' about all this sooner.....and Pete added that his story 'wouldn't wash' but Gordon was having none of it.....

'You lot won't laugh when you've seen her.....she's gorgeous and I'm going out with her tomorrow night' he said, a touch triumphantly.

He then went on to describe her ample assets using his cupped hands. It sounded like a clear case of lust-at-first-sight.

'So what are you three lads going to do?' asked Mrs T.....'you don't want to sit around all night watching the telly do you?'

Malcolm, Pete and I looked at each other with shrugs and questioning expressions. Telly didn't sound like a bad idea to me after a hard week's work.

'Well, I haven't got a gig booked I suppose' offered Pete.

'I wouldn't know where to go, anyway' I said.

So we both looked at Malcolm.

'I think we ought to go to the Hammersmith Palais' said Malcolm....'the two girls who work in our shop said they would probably be going...Suzie is really nice'

'But what about her friend Deirdre?' said Laurie, rolling his eyes. 'Yeah, well....I have to admit, she's not _quite_ as nice' Malcolm replied.

I got the feeling that this was probably a massive understatement. ' _Not quite as nice_ ' went Laurie...'I wouldn't touch her with yours' At this Mrs T did a polite cough as if to draw attention to the fact that bodily parts were being alluded-to again.

I wondered if there'd ever been a really good-looking girl called Deidre. I reckoned just getting a name like that meant being doomed to a lifetime of ugliness. Ditto Mavis, ditto Maud.....to name but a couple.

(What is it about names? We don't get to choose them ourselves do we, yet we have to live with them all our lives. It doesn't seem fair does it? If I'd gotten to choose _my_ name I'd have chosen something a lot more manly than 'Timothy' I can tell you. I know what you're probably saying...'Well just use _Tim_ then'....this is all very well..... _I_ know it's Tim but I'm in the doctor's surgery and over the intercom comes 'Timothy Addams to see Doctor Sorbones (or whatever)'. I don't want to get up and thereby admit I'm a 'Timothy'. You can't quite get rid of the unshortened version can you?)

'What's this 'Palais' place like then?' asked Pete.....sounds oldfashioned and I need to watch my image as a trendy deejay.....no good being seen in naff places'

It was said with more than a touch of irony but I saw what he meant. It did sound old and I had visions of wartime dance halls.....American G.I's literally sweeping our women off their feet dancing to the likes of the Glen Miller Band.

'What sort of music do they play there?.....have you been there before?' I asked, looking at Malcolm.

'Yes I _have_ been there before' he said, a trifle wearily...'it's just a big dance hall where they play live music.....a big band plays all the latest hits.....and a few oldies'

A big-band.....this was much as I'd thought....although, obviously, old Glen couldn't have been involved.....unless his plane had finally landed.

'Just how old _are_ these oldies? I asked.....'from the forties, fifties maybe?'

Malcolm looked at me a bit strangely. I suppose I hadn't really allowed for him not being party to my 'Glen Miller' thought process.

'Recent oldies.....you know.....stuff like Tamla Motown.....Otis Redding....The Beatles..... _those kind of oldies_ ' he said, voice rising higher and higher.

'Okay, keep your hair on' said Pete.....'it sounds alright....I'm willing to give it a go....how about you Tim?'

'Fine' I said, nodding.

And you know how sincere I'd been the last time I said 'fine' don't you?

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER SIX

**Saturday 11th July. My (or, more correctly,** _our_ **) bedroom. 7:30pm.**

'I'll talk to you while I'm getting ready to go out. It seems like I've managed to successfully complete my first week working for David Black. The best part about it is that I've been paid. Yep, I've had my greasy palm crossed with silver....and the odd note. It means I've been able to pay Mrs T my keep and also have a little bit of dosh to splash about in Hammy Palais. You know with an old name like that I shouldn't need too much money should I? Surely the beer should be on at 1940's prices.....served by barmaids wearing snoods and contraband stockings...

.....I think we're back to the Glen Miller thing aren't we?

I have to say it's been a bit of a strange week, what with starting a new job and leaving home all in one go. You know I've surprised myself and managed to get up at the crack of dawn, as required, all week but I can see this slipping cos it seems that most people who work in the head office supermarche don't take the seven-thirty start time too seriously. Quite a few don't even take an eight-thirty opening time seriously!

I can see their point....there aren't too many customers around at the best of times....let alone eight-thirty in the morning.

After my chat with the other lads the other night I had a word with Andy, the so-called prep-room manager, and he said that no provisions courses are planned at the H/O school in the near future. This could be bad news for me because doing the green fruit is going to drive me crazy if I don't get off it reasonably soon. Also it would be good to work nearer the hostel and cut down on all the boring time I have to sit on the tube. The tube must be one of the world's worst ways of traveling in my book. For one thing, if you succeed in getting a seat you usually end up sitting bang opposite someone and you never know where to look do you? It's not like buses where you stare at the back of someone's head. Obviously seasoned tube travelers know this and make sure they never have to make eye contact with anyone by keeping their heads down in magazines and newspapers. You even see people standing up, strap-hanging, reading books! Well I suppose there's nothing much to see out of the windows is there?....unless you particularly like adverts. I must say I thought that Alfred Marks is an actor but, according to all the posters, it appears he's also an employment bureau.

One thing I do like about the tube, though, is that London Transport don't seem overly bothered whether they take your money of not. You can get on without a ticket and no-one seems to care. They collect the tickets when you get off but don't really check them and fare-dodging is easy. I reckon, at the moment, I'm probably getting my journeys for about half price.....but, with more experience, I'm pretty sure I could get them for even less!

Right then, what I really need to do now is concentrate on what I'm going to wear to go out in tonight. I've heard that it's usual for blokes to wear a suit. Personally, I hate wearing suits and the thought of going out for the evening dressed in one is total anathema.....not to mention shit! I wonder if it's possible to get out of going.....you don't suppose the guys would miss me would they? I could say I've got a headache. Trouble is everyone else is going out somewhere and I'd be on my own which would make me look like some kind of sad loner. Also there's a dirty chance that I'd get collared by Mrs T and have to spend all evening making polite conversation.

I definitely don't want to risk that.

Maybe I'll ask the others if they think I could get away with wearing a fringe jacket. I bought one a few months ago thinking I'd look like John Voight in Midnight Cowboy or maybe Roger Daltry from The Who. Instead I just look like my usual twattish self. I don't think I'd get away with wearing it. It's not very Mecca Ballroom is it?

Apparently you even need to wear a tie....don't ask me why.... maybe they think it gives the bouncers something to grab hold of if they need to throw you out!

From what I've heard, though, the bouncers are more likely to have to throw people in!

Malcolm told us a joke.....he said a topless girl ran across the dance floor at Hammersmith Palais for a bet recently but was soon grabbed by the bouncers!

At least that's what he meant to say but when he told it he said 'doormen' instead of 'bouncers'...and then wondered why no-one laughed.

It's all such a palaver isn't it....this business of meeting girls? Why do we have to go to dance halls to do it? No blokes that I know-of particularly want to dance! In fact most blokes that I know particularly _don't_ want to dance! I mean dancing's for girls isn't it? They all get together in a bunch dancing around their handbags.....do you think they actually want to dance with us blokes? Wouldn't they be much happier just dancing together? Personally I think they would.

Us blokes could then just stay in the bar area and not have to get involved with the whole unseemly business. That way everybody's happy....they get to dance and we get to drink. I'd say that was fair enough.

Course it remains to be seen whether I'll actually _have_ to be doing any dancing tonight. I can't imagine any girl asking _me_ or vice versa. With any luck I'll be able to avoid the embarrassment and resolutely stay a wallflower at all times. I think this is quite reasonable....just cos I'm going to a dance hall doesn't mean I have to dance does it?

I mean I could go to a swimming pool and just stand around in the water couldn't I?

Oh well....we'll see what happens. I'm going to put my bloody suit on and make the best of a bad job. If I manage to get off with any girls I assure you it'll be a miracle.

I'm not going to enjoy it.....just see if I do.'

The Hammersmith Palais was, unfortunately, everything I'd imagined it would be....minus Glen Miller. Large of size and over-loud of sound, it was just the sort of place I'd normally avoid like the plague if at all possible. To my mind there's always a palpable air of desperation that pervades places where unattached male and female persons go specifically to meet each other. It's totally unhealthy. In an ideal world we would meet the partner of our dreams by some happy chance, not by having to visit noisy hell-holes and shout to make ourselves heard.

The music at the H.P was definitely loud and, looking around, there didn't appear to be anywhere to go to avoid it. Ray McVay and his Band played a selection of hits of the day like _Spirit in the sky, Band of Gold, Sugar Sugar_....you know the kind of thing. It's not that they were bad - they were good singers/musicians - it's really the whole package of the place which was just....well, uninspiring.

I just didn't get it at all. What were you supposed to do? Maybe look girls up and down until you made a choice and then bellow in their ear that you'd like them to dance with you? In my case, having no confidence, I would have expected them to bellow 'No' back at me, thereby leaving my ego completely and utterly in shreds. In all fairness, though, my two partners in crime didn't seem to be any better than me at asking ladies to dance. Every now and again I would feel a nudge and Malcolm or Pete would say 'What about her' pointing at some likely girl but none of us felt inclined to actually go up to any of them and ask the question. This went on for a while until we gave up and went to the bar area. Whilst there Malcolm started getting excited.

'Don't look, but they're over there' he said.

'Who are?' said me and Pete.....both looking.

'It's Suzie and Deirdre.....the girls I was telling you about.....you know, the ones from the shop where I work' he said.

And it was.

'Let's go and talk to them' Malcolm suggested.

So we did (bear in mind that this was no place for long drawn out discussions.....the decibel levels saw to that).

'This is Tim and Pete' Malcolm yelled inches from the girls faces. They nodded in our direction and seemed fairly happy to be able to recognise someone they knew. We sat down and became a small party of five. We all had drinks and the a atmosphere would have been nicely convivial if it wasn't for the fact that it was virtually impossible to hold even the simplest of conversations due to the incessant, blaring, in-yourface, non-stop, full-volume, pop music which invaded every inch of the building.

Time seemed to be standing still as we all sort of looked at each other without saying a lot. It has to be said that it was a lot nicer to look at Suzie than the others and the fact that she wore glasses - usually seen as a bit of a turn off - didn't seem to matter as she had a great smile which lit up her whole face. She was small of height, long of hair and happy of demeanor. All in all quite nice!

Laurie was right, though, about Deirdre not passing the minimum standard of man-appeal. Without being unduly unkind, she was plain of face, overweight of body and in much need of make-up lessons (she had more eye shadow on than Dusty Springfield). All in all....not quite as nice!

The contrast in beauty could have created a degree of awkwardness - all three of us blokes just trying to talk to Suzie - if it hadn't have been so difficult to say anything to anybody! I kept trying to think of things to say (or shout) but nothing popped into my brain. The others were no better than me and we all seemed to be spending a lot of our time just looking downwards at the goings-on on the dance floor whilst sipping drinks and smiling inanely at each other.

The situation was just beginning to seem like a stalemate when the band started playing _Yellow River_ which had recently been a hit for a group called Christie. You know it....'Yellow river, yellow river is in my mind and in my blood'.....yes it's crap isn't it? By 'Yellow river' I always presumed they were talking about piss.....maybe even taking the piss. Anyhow on this occasion it proved to be my salvation. When it started Suzie said 'I like this song' and without thinking I said 'So do I....would you like to dance?' This was, as you can tell, way out of character for me, but seemed to work. I think Suzie was as bored as I was and jumped up at once.

'OK' she said.....and I was in.

Malcolm and Pete didn't look too happy as it meant that one of them, by rights, should really ask Deirdre to dance.

By the time we got onto the floor quite a bit of the song had been played but we jigged around to the rest of it whilst I (again) tried in vain to think of something nice that I could yell in her ear.

Finally I had it...

'Have you been here before?'

'Yes'

'Do you like it here?'

'Yeah....it's good'

Deep, meaningful questions designed to establish an unbreakable bond between us. After about thirty seconds of deliberation she countered with an equally incisive line of questioning.

'Do _you_ like it here?' she asked.

This was a difficult one....after all I didn't want to say 'No' considering that she'd already said 'Yes'. I decided on a hedge-yourbets type reply.

'It's okay' I answered...'but there are other places I'd prefer to go'.

Her bespectacled brow knitted a little.

'What sort of places?' she asked.

'Well, places where you can talk without shouting' I shouted.

Suzie nodded....perhaps she was in agreement.

_Yellow River_ duly ended and in the momentary relative quiet between songs I asked Suzie if she wanted to dance some more. She seemed happy enough with this and I was rather hoping for a nice slow number so I'd have an excuse to put my arms around her petite waist.....but no, the band kicked into the old Four Tops number _Reach Out (I'll be there)_. Now don't get me wrong, this is a great song and under normal circumstances I would be pleased to hear it, but on this occasion it wasn't a great choice. All I, and we, could do was jig about some more.

' _Now if you feel that you can't go on'_

Definitely.

' _Because all of your hope is gone'_

Probably.

' _And your life is filled with much confusion'_

Absolutely.

' _Until happiness is just an illusion'_

Mmmm.

The song finished all too soon and Suzie felt that we ought to rejoin the others.

'Thanks Ray' I thought....going with sarcasm for lack of anything more erudite.

On balance I think I'd have probably have been better off with Glen's music....it being more conducive to close-up dancing.

When we got back to where we'd left the gang they'd all gone. 'Great' I thought....'maybe we can sit down and have a drink without them around'.

No such luck. Suzie said she wanted to find them, and in particular Dreary.....I mean Deirdre....so we had to trek round the whole place until, eventually, we did. Malcolm, in particular, was not looking very happy when we caught up with them. Pete told me later that Deidre had given him an ear bashing.....something along the lines of 'You only came here tonight because we told you _we_ were'. There was, of course, plenty of truth in this. Also Pete later admitted that neither he nor Malcolm could bring themselves to ask Deidre to dance.....a fact which probably went a long way towards accounting for her none-toobenevolent mood. Suffice to say that the convivial atmosphere had longsince well and truly evaporated.

I decided to depart in a homewards direction. I felt that the highlight of the evening for me had probably come and gone so when the girls went to 'powder their noses' (in other words have a slash) I told the guys that I'd had enough dancing for one night and was going to head back to Ladbroke Grove. It was only about half ten so they said they would stay on for a while. I said my goodbyes and headed off in a tubewards direction.

'Perhaps I _am_ destined to be a sad loner after all' I thought.

Hammersmith was the end-of-the-line station for the Metropolitan line so I was soon sitting in a stationary carriage mulling over the happenings of the evening while waiting for the train to pull away. Should I have pushed my luck more when I had Suzie to myself? Could my conversation have been more sparkling and witty? Could I, indeed, have _made_ some conversation?

Did she like me or was she just being polite by dancing with me? I'd probably never know.

I'd done some mulling and decided there wasn't much point in whining.

After a while the train moved off to go the four stops to Ladbroke Grove and I looked out of the carriage window. A little way off there was a large sign which read 'Caswell Cranes and Erection'.

'Good old Caswell' I thought.

I was soon at the Hostel and had just put the key in the door when I paused and looked back in the direction of the tube station. I don't know exactly why I hesitated when I could have just gone straight indoors, but because I did I was able to see Suzie come out of the tube station entrance all on her own. There was no Deidre, or indeed anyone else, in sight. She must have chosen to catch the same tube home as me. I decided that some sort of hand of fate was at work so I pulled the key out of the lock and waited for her to arrive. She was approaching fast.... what should I say? She seemed to be smiling...was this good sign? Suddenly she was in front of me....

'You left early' she said.

'So did you by the look of things' I replied....'where's your friend?' 'Oh Deidre....she got off just now.....she lives in Shepherds Bush'

(I don't know about you but I wouldn't fancy living in a Shepherd's Bush)

'So you live, as well as work round here then?' I said, fishing a little.

'Yes, Westbourne Park Road.....it's just around the corner' she said, flicking her eyes in the general direction.

Now I used to go fishing when I was younger and if I had been fishing at that moment then I would have seen it as the time to strike. 'Can I walk you home?' I said.

'Why not' she said, with more than a hint of a smile.

We walked along chatting like we'd known each other for a while and conversation seemed to flow fairly easily. It transpired that she _didn't_ like Hammy Palais all that much and only agreed to go for Deidre's sake in order to try and find her a boyfriend.

A big sigh of relief there then.

Suzie wasn't wrong, her house was only round the corner and we seemed to get there all too soon.

'Well I'd better be going in' she said...'sorry I can't invite you in but my mum has to be up early for work and I don't want to disturb her'

'Don't worry' I said....'perhaps another time?'

I kept thinking 'Go on Tim, go for it.....you won't get a better chance'

We shuffled about a bit feeling awkward for a few seconds and then I suddenly heard a wavering, disembodied voice say....

'Er....would you like to go somewhere....er, with me.....er, sometime.....soon?'

It was me.....I was actually asking a girl for a date!

I made Hugh Grant sound positively articulate.

Suzie obviously hadn't been expecting this but treated the request with seriousness and due regard to my nervousness.

'Um, yes....when?' was all she said.

This was a great result...'When' rather than 'No'.

'Er...how about Tuesday night?' I said, capitalising quickly.

'Okay Tuesday then.....come round at about seven-thirty.....see you then....bye' she said, and rushed up the steps to her house.

I couldn't believe what I'd just done. Was that really me asking a girl out? Not only had I asked but she'd said 'yes'.

What a result!

I considered what had happened as I walked back to the hostel. That old adage of never knowing what's around the corner had come true....

Suzie had _literally_ come around the corner.

It was fate, that's what it was.

We were destined to be together.

It was written in the stars......Kismet.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER SEVEN

Sunday 12th July. 2:00 P.M

'You know it's a great feeling to have asked a girl out but ever since then I keep having all these worrying thoughts. I keep thinking things like 'Where are we going to go?' 'What are we going to do?' and 'What am I going to say?'. I tell myself 'Calm down....you were fine the other night.....don't make too much of a big deal of it'

The trouble is that I don't always listen to what _I_ have to say.

You know you're in trouble when you start to have imaginary conversations with yourself....and then start arguing. This dating lark is hard on the nervous system but the thing is that I know it's got to be done....there's a first time for everything and after that first time, whatever it may be, you look back and wonder what all the fuss was about. I know that when Tuesday night comes around things will work themselves out but, until then, I reserve the right to bite my nails if I want to. I suppose that this is the sort of thing I wanted to happen when I got so excited about coming up to London but did it have to happen so fast? I've been here less than a week after all.

The other guys were well impressed when I told them what happened last night although I could feel waves of jealousy coming from the direction of Malcolm. I realise that he works with Suzie every day and is probably besotted by her but what can I do? After all I didn't plan what happened. The guys were fascinated when I mentioned how I had paused at the door and happened to look back in the direction of the tube station. I've got to admit that now I've told the story a few times I'm getting better at putting a bit more drama and general embellishment into it....it's a wonder I haven't added a clap of thunder or flash of lightning to the moment that Suzie came around the corner, just to heighten the dramatic effect.

Naturally I haven't made my insecurities concerning the date generally known to the other blokes....they probably think I'm a real ladies man.....you know, I get one chance and I'm _in_ like a ferret up a trouser leg....but then, why disillusion them? If that's what they think then why stop them? I was hoping that they wouldn't guess that I'm a virgin and stuff like this certainly helps with that. I did ask Gordon how his date went.....thinking that I might get some ideas but, of course, he's got a car and that makes quite a lot of difference. Apparently they went for a drive and ended up somewhere by the Thames out Richmond way. He said that they parked up near a golf course but didn't enlarge on what happened there....seems like we're not quite _that_ close yet. It all sounded interesting but _my_ date is going to have to be a little bit more pedestrian or public transport orientated. I think as long as the weather is good we may just take a walk up Portobello Road and sit outside, or maybe inside, a pub. Conversely, if the weather is bad we may have to settle for just sitting in her front room and watching the telly. That sounds as good a plan as any. After all you have to appreciate that I have two basic problems. Firstly, I haven't got very much money so can't be wasting money on taxis, tubes, buses or any other forms of transport. And secondly it's a fact that, because I'm new in London, I've no idea where to take a girl even if I _did_ have any spare cash.

Let's think now....what makes for an ideal place to take a girl? Maybe a romantic, candlelit restaurant? No.....sounds far too expensive. There is always the pictures I suppose.....the trouble is you can't talk in there can you? You'd be 'shushed' all the time if you tried to and then both come out of the cinema still feeling like total strangers.....sort-of defeats the object of trying to get to know someone..

I suppose you could try holding the girl's hand...or maybe more. My schoolmate Vince used to tell us that when he took girls to the cinema he'd take them to the back seats and then use the cover of darkness to try and remove their bras.....obviously we're only talking one bra per girl....I thought I'd just clarify that.

Talking wasn't a big priority as far as he was concerned and I suppose the same can be said for whatever the film was. No, the Rex cinema in Farnborough was prime bosom-feeling territory and his only worry was the possibility of interruption by the pencil beam of the usherette's torch.

He told me it got shone on him once and he felt a right tit.

But I digress....the subject for discussion here is: Where is the ideal location for a first date?

Mmmm, let's think now...I must say, you lot aren't being much help.....

Hey, you don't suppose Suzie likes football do you?...No, probably not....and it's not even the football season yet anyway.

So let's see....for various reasons we've discounted dance halls, restaurants, cinemas and football grounds. It all points to one thing, then.....that's right, the pub. I think I was right earlier.....having taken everything into account.....a walk to a local pub _is_ favourite.

So that's it.....that's my plan sorted...you know I'm starting to feel better already.....

Roll on Tuesday night.'

*

Sunday afternoon was spent playing football in Hyde Park and generally having a relaxing time. As footballers us four lads varied quite considerably both in talent and general fitness. Pete, while obviously a lover of the game, showed very little aptitude. Not that surprising when you consider he'd spent much of his life watching Portsmouth.....well he hadn't really seen any proper football had he?

Gordon made no great pretence of being either interested-in or proficient-at the game.....but was fairly fit and chased around enthusiastically.

Malcolm was not ideally built for any sort of sport that involved physical effort.....maybe snooker or darts might have been okay...but he did his best in the role we chose for him (goalkeeper). Without being unduly bigheaded I have to tell you that this left only _me_ to bring a little of the skill (It has to be said....this is no place for false modesty) that had seen me score quite a lot of goals whilst playing in my old school colours. To be honest I was still only just about coming to terms with the fact that no league clubs (not even Aldershot!) had 'discovered' me and persuaded my parents that, with my natural ability, I could make a big impact in the professional game. It was surely an oversight on their part because with my deadly eye for a goal I would, almost certainly, have been another Jimmy Greaves or Dennis Law. Absolutely no doubt.

Having played football we strolled around the Serpentine and I felt like this sort of Sunday in the park was just about as close as you could get to a heaven on earth. With the sun glinting off the water and an ice cream in hand there was no better place to be. Everywhere you looked there were gorgeous girls wearing very little in the way of clothing.

Paradise or what?

But you know Sundays hadn't always been this good...

Sunday used to be considered a day of rest. It was, essentially, invented to be boring. It had been decreed by God as a day that no- one should do anything and in consequence there was nothing to do. There was nowhere worth going to because pretty much every _where_ and every _thing_ was closed! When I was younger (and still under parental rule) I had my Sundays mapped out for me well in advance. As Catholics we dressed in our 'Sunday Best' went to Holy Mass in the morning. This was said in Latin for maximum incomprehensibility and the general idea seemed to be that you just chanted the words along with everyone else....whether you knew their meaning or not!

Also you would kneel, stand, or sit down at regular intervals without really knowing why. Rest assured that it wasn't my idea of a good time.

After all this 'excitement' we'd go home and have our regulation Sunday roast which was usually accompanied by the Billy Cotton Band Show on the radio. In the afternoon things didn't really improve a great deal as it would soon be time for Sunday School.

Off I'd go back to the same church I'd been to in the morning in order to attend Holy Communion classes and then, in later years, Confirmation classes. My friends, on our council estate, could hardly believe that I'd, effectively, be tied up by religion for a large proportion of the day. It was a source of much frustration seeing as though instead of buying a stairway to heaven I knew I could be using the time much more wisely. Whilst I was shut inside a church on Sunday I knew for a fact that my fellow young rascals would be doing much more interesting things like.....birds nesting, fishing, scrumping, catching all manner of indigenous wildlife...or maybe making fires in the woods.

All good, honest, boyish activities.

What a drag.

You might think that I'd have at least made a few friends at Sunday School but no, not a bit of it. Maybe we didn't have much time to talk amongst ourselves but I can honestly say that I didn't really get to know anybody else who went to S.S. Obviously there wasn't much communication going on in those communion classes.

If I didn't happen to have any Sunday School in the afternoon the chances are that I'd have to go and visit someone with my parents. We'd just get in the car and randomly call in on some poor, unsuspecting relatives without any warning or prior arrangement. Not only that but we had the cheek to want to stay for tea. No-one ever seemed to do this to us. We must have been hugely popular.

Very often we'd pick on a particular Aunt and Uncle who lived in Woking. She was totally insane but in spite of this they invariably had a houseful of people. Of course that didn't seem to worry my parents at all...we'd just pile in and swell the numbers. Once inside it seemed that everyone except me wanted to play cards. They would play for very high stakes....matchsticks. I couldn't see the point of this at all. The T.V stayed resolutely off and there was nothing else to do so I was faced with a choice....either play boring cards and listen to the adults yakking or do nothing. On balance the 'nothing' seemed an infinitely better prospect...so that's what I'd do! Thereafter I was branded 'unsociable'. Just to make things worse when it came to teatime I'd also refuse to eat their sandwiches as they contained butter, which I hated. This earned me a reputation for being 'difficult' as well as 'unsociable'.

Ah happy days!

If we didn't drop in on anyone we, as a family, might have just have settled for a ride in the car. This would entail us roving around the countryside surrounding Farnborough in our Morris 1000 going nowhere in particular. This was 'joyriding' of course but not as we know it now. In those days people would use their _own_ cars to do it in!

It's probably why the term 'Sunday Driver' was coined. There were loads of people like us just driving around aimlessly, doing about 27mph and generally annoying anyone who actually needed to get somewhere! Although he was possibly the slowest driver since Sedan Chairs were in common usage, my Dad used to get really indignant if anyone had the temerity to overtake us. 'Look at that idiot' he'd say, if someone went by. I don't think _he_ ever overtook anything in his life. A guy with a red flag could have safely walked in front of us.

Of course it wasn't a particularly big problem because, as I've already mentioned, there _was_ nowhere to go.....

England was officially CLOSED on Sundays.

*

A footnote on the above:

Can you imagine parents these days getting all the family together and saying 'Let's go for a ride in the car and see where we end up'? The kids would think you'd gone mad wouldn't they? If you did manage to persuade them to go with you they'd be annoyed that you'd dragged them away from their video games or favourite telly programme. There'd be big arguments between them as to whose CDs were going to be played in the car even before you got off your drive. You'd go past so many branches of McDonalds that eventually the 'pester factor' and sheer persistence of the little darlings in the back would force you into visiting one of them. Because you were travelling on unfamiliar roads you'd be likely to get clocked by a speed camera and end up with a ticket. Just to round things off, you'd probably end up in a traffic jam at some stage with the kids hitting each other and wish you were dead...the whole 'outing' having cost you a fortune in fuel, fast-food and fines.

Joyride anyone?

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Tuesday 14th July.

Tuesday evening came around all too soon for my liking and my big date was suddenly upon me. Ever since arriving home from a hard days 'Green-fruiting' my thoughts had been a whirl. I was in a flat spin and seemed to be running around like a headless chicken. I was a frantic, uncertain, being...seemingly, shorn of all sense or reason.

Of course the other guys hadn't really helped...their constant references and vociferous 'encouragement' had the effect of multiplying my nervousness considerably. On the one hand I was having to give them the impression that a date was nothing out of the ordinary for me.....on the other hand the reality of the situation was making me start to shake! This made for a difficult mealtime. I was really glad when it was over so's I could get away from everybody and collect a few thoughts. I had a bath and then grappled with the tricky decision of what to wear. It wasn't as if the possibilities were endless...more like beginningless!. Having thought about it for a while I concluded that it was pointless trying to dress to impress as my wardrobe just wasn't up to the task. 'Keep it simple' was going to be my byword and with this in mind I settled for an ensemble consisting of a pair of blue cord jeans with matching 'Jimi Hendrix' tee shirt. Actually none of it matched at all but then I'd never been a great one for sartorial elegance. At home when I went out it was usually to the accompaniment of phrases like 'You're not going out looking like that are you?'.....I was a sort-of 'Denigrated follower of fashion'.

The time was fast approaching seven thirty, the time I said I'd be round Suzie's place so this would have to do. Rather than dressing to the nines I'd dressed to more like the two-and-a-halfs. Still it wasn't as if we'd agreed on anywhere to go so I felt casual would just have to suffice. Looking in the mirror hadn't done much for my overall confidence. The week-old haircut hadn't improved a lot and my sticky-out ears - traditionally a focal point for easy laughs - seemed to be taking on Dumbo-like proportions. All I needed was a few mocking crows singing _When I see an elephant fly_ and the scene would have been complete.

'Sod it' I thought...'not much I can do about it now.....I'll have a quick splash of Old Spice.....it's supposed to make guys irresistible to 99% of all known girls'

Well it was worth a try.

Before I managed to get away I had to run a gauntlet of final 'witticisms' - albeit good-hearted ones - from my new-found friends. The clothes came in for some stick.....

'Hey Tim you look really...average'

'I thought you had a date tonight Tim......not going out after all then'

And the smell...

'Bloody hell Tim what's that pong?'

'I reckon he's put some after-shave on.....what is it? - old mice?'

'Does this mean you shave then Tim?'

The last one was particularly wounding.

'Okay well cheers for that chaps...' I shouted as I moved in the general direction of the door.

'...have fun watching the telly and don't wait up for me'.

Outside on the street it was hot and sultry but I had the feeling it might rain at some stage during the evening which wouldn't have been good news for car-less (and virtually money-less) people such as me. Soon I was at Suzie's front door pressing the bell. It (the door rather than the bell) was opened by what I presumed to be her mum. She was wearing a very short, kimono-style dressing gown and looked a little embarrassed to have had to come to the door in it. The other thing that I couldn't help noticing was that she was totally gorgeous.

'Yes' she said.

'I've called for Suzie.....Tim's the name' I said as confidently as possible.

She looked me up and down as is a mothers duty when faced with their daughter's latest prospective suitor. I don't suppose she was exactly over-impressed but decided to let me in anyway.

'Oh yes Suzie mentioned you were coming.....she's not ready yet but do come in and sit down.....sorry about not being dressed, I don't usually answer the door in my dressing gown'

Under other circumstances I'd have probably said 'A dressing gown's a strange place for a door' but I was too wound-up for that.

'I was just going to have a bath before going out' she said.....'would you like some tea while you wait for Suzie?...she takes an age to get ready'

Did I mention that Suzie's mum was seriously good-looking? Yes I thought I might have done and the thought that she may have been naked under that dressing gown was an interesting one. I decided not to dwell on it, though, in case the inevitable happened and I couldn't get up from my chair without embarrassment! I declined the kind offer of tea, sat down on a sofa and looked around the room. The house was in the middle of a terrace but the interior was surprisingly large. There was a TV on and some sort of game show was in progress. Suzie's mum hadn't sat down (more's the pity) so it seemed to be just me and a tabby cat watching it (and no, I didn't stroke the pussy).

I looked around at the multitude of photos dotted around the room. There were pictures of Suzie taken at virtually every stage of her life.....school photos showing her with and without teeth.....as a bridesmaid...others featuring what looked like an older sister... and the older sister's wedding...her mum a few years younger...

her mum and dad's wedding...the cat...the cat's wedding...

no I'm kidding, but it _was_ quite a gallery. As well as anything I felt it could come in useful to help make conversation flow and avoid any long drawn out silences. I was presuming that Suzie's sister now lived elsewhere and, of course, I already knew that her mum was going out so it rather naughtily crossed my mind that the house would be empty if we happened to come back early. Just as I was considering the possibilities of this Suzie appeared. She looked nice and had obviously spent some time making up but I felt slightly disappointed that she was less attractive than I remembered. It's strange how that can happen isn't it? You have a mental image of someone and they don't, somehow, live up to it...mind you she was probably thinking the same about me. Maybe it was something to do with the rather unflattering, black hornrim spectacles she wore. I thought of those films where the handsome leading man would remove the plain-jane's glasses and say 'My God miss Jones, you're beautiful'...and she bloody-well would be!

I think if I'd removed Suzie's specs it would have been good because:

1. She would have looked better to me.

2. I would, almost certainly, have looked better to her.

Realistically, though, it wasn't going to happen.

'Where are you taking me then?' she asked jauntily.

I expect she'd taken note of my apparel and immediately ruled out Claridges or the Opera.

'Well I thought we could, maybe, take a stroll up Portobello Road and go for a drink somewhere' I said, tentatively.

Suzie nodded but I think she was probably hoping for a little bit more enterprise. I was, in effect, suggesting we walked up the selfsame street she walked up every day to go to work.....possibly not the most exciting of ideas.

'Let's go then' she said grabbing her handbag and getting up all in one movement.

We left the cat behind to watch the television by itself.....it was probably the kind of audience the game show deserved.

Portobello Road by day and by night are two very different animals. During the day you have the street market with all it's hustle and bustle but in the evening that's all gone and it becomes just another road.... albeit one with immense character. I was still getting used to life in London where the evening, especially in summer, is the best part of the day. People are out and about everywhere just wanting to tap into the latent natural energy that seems to be part and parcel of everyday life there. I found it exciting and totally different from what I was used-to back home. We walked past the Electric Cinema and talked about things we had in common.....the most obvious being that we both worked for David Black. After a short while we reached the shop where Suzie worked with Laurie, Malcolm and Deirdre.

'Do you like working there?' I asked, pointing over the road. 'Well it's okay....bit boring at times' she replied.

'Have you ever worked anywhere else?'

'Well before this I was training to be a hairdresser....'

'That sounds interesting'

'Not really'

'So is working for David Black better? I mean having your own hairdressing salon might have been good...although of course you'd have had a lot of overheads'

I accompanied this attempted witticism with a smirk and looked for 'I get it' signs but there were none. It passed Suzie by completely..... maybe we weren't compatible.

'Nah it was boring.....all I seemed to do all day was wash hair and sweep the floor....spent nearly a year doing that I did'

'Laurie doesn't make you sweep the floor then?'

'No....Laurie's all right....makes me laugh quite a lot actually'

I could see how Laurie's sort of dry sardonic wit might appeal to an impressionable young girl and, after all, he _was_ the manager. Could it be that Suzie had a crush on him? I decided to probe a little more.

'What's Laurie like as a manager? - I mean he seems a nice enough bloke' I said.

'He _is_ a nice bloke and he's been _very_ nice to me' she said, with plenty of conviction.

'Yes, I'm sure he is.....and has' I said.

We'd walked most of the length of Portobello Road by now without finding the ideal hostelry when Suzie suddenly started to point and tug on my sleeve.

'Let's go to that pub over there...'

'...what the Lord Nelson?'

'Yeah.....the sign says there's live music'

'Okay' I said and in we went.

There was, indeed, a live singer inside.....much better than a dead one I always feel. I got us each a drink and we sat down. The pub's clientele were a fairly rough-looking lot and Suzie, having made an effort dress-wise, stood out like a sore thumb. There was also a distinct smell of 'puff' in the air so there was no doubt that we'd be indulging in some passive drug-taking if we stayed there any length of time. The singer, a solo guitar player, was doing a version of Leonard Cohen's _Hey, that's no way to say goodbye_. He was pretty good and I wondered if he'd do _Suzanne_ a bit later on.

'I wonder if _I'll_ get to do Suzanne a bit later on as well' I thought. She could see I was enjoying the music.

'I brought you to the right place here didn't I?' she said, a smile playing about her lips.

'I reckon you did' I said, nodding agreement.....'do _you_ like this sort of thing then?'

'It's okay...I'm not really too fussy about music...I like the sort of stuff they play on radio one.....Tony Blackburn's good isn't he?' 'Don't disagree with her for God's sake' I thought.

'Mmmm' I said...'do you like his jokes?'

'Yeah.....he's really funny'

'What, stuff like....'I went down to the liquorice factory today - you meet all sorts there.....that sort of thing?'

Suzie looked at me quizzically.

'Is that one of his?' she asked.

'I'm pretty sure it is' I said.

(Note - It's okay to tell that sort of joke because the corn laws were repealed years ago)

Suzie just pulled a sort-of 'Well fancy that' expression, but didn't fall about laughing.

Must have been the way I told it.

After listening to some more folky-type music the conversation got going again.

'Why did you come up to London?' asked Suzie.....'don't you miss your mum and dad? I don't think I could just up sticks and leave home just like that........not just to work in a shop anyway'

I could see her point. It was probably difficult for her to see how this might be an improvement on my former life.

'You just never know what's likely to happen...and there is such a thing as making your own luck' I said, after having given Suzie a fairly lengthy run-down on my reasoning.

'I see' she said, a little unconvincingly, after I finished.

I couldn't help feeling that I was losing her attention and, in spite of it being her suggestion to come into this particular pub, I felt that it wasn't really her sort of scene. For one thing she seemed to be totally unfamiliar with the sort of stuff the singer was singing.....although it was all very well-known material. It was the kind of thing I liked to sing and play on guitar.....Donovan, Dylan, Joni Mitchell and James Taylor. Singer/songwriter-style fare was obviously not Suzie's cup of tea and listening to one particular Joni song seemed to have given _her_ the urge for going.

Conversation was beginning to wane somewhat. This had been one of my big worries prior to the date....imagining that I'd run out of things to say and the whole thing would be a disaster. Then inspiration struck. I thought about the photos I'd seen around the room.....there had to be some mileage in those.

'I liked the photos I saw in your house...of you and your family' I offered.

'Oh God.....mine are awful' she said, with pained expression.....'I hate having my photo taken...I wish mum would take them down'

The thought of her mum 'taking them down' was, indeed, a good one.

'No they're fine' I said, as reassuringly as I could.

'You're only saying that' she said.

It was true I was. Maybe talking about photos wasn't such a great idea......I decided to change tack.

'Your mum still looks good' I ventured...'I suppose she must have been quite young when she had you and your sister?'

Suzie was smiling.

'I think you fancy my mum don't you?'

'No....of course not' I lied.

Well dishonesty is sometimes the best policy.

'I think you do' she persisted.....'you know all my boyfriends seem very keen on my mum...I'm starting to get quite jealous.'

I tried to laugh it off.

'Am I your boyfriend then?' I said as jokily as possible.

'I'll have to think about that' she said in serious fashion.

This wasn't good.....the date was starting to go sadly pear-shaped.

'Well I'd rather be here with you than your mum any day' I said with the bluest, widest eyes I could manage.

'Hmmm' she said, obviously unconvinced.

It's a good job that The Eagles weren't around then or our live singer might have broken into _Lyin'Eyes._

'Fancy another drink?' I said in an attempt to draw a line underneath this part of the conversation.

'Okay' said Suzie...'but this'll have to be the last one.....I've got to get up for work tomorrow and, by the sound of it, you've got to get up even earlier'

'Don't remind me' I said and headed bar-wards.

It was around 10:30 that Laurie and Pete looked around from the telly and saw this sad-looking, pathetic figure - wet from head to toe - enter the room.

That figure was me.

'What the bloody hell's happened to you?' said Laurie, with widening grin.

They both looked at each other then back at me as if to say 'Are we really seeing this?'

When they did look back they both started laughing. I suppose you couldn't blame them really.

'Is it raining outside Tim?' said Pete.

'No, I've just poured a bucket of water over myself' I said, sarcastically.

That had the effect of really creasing them up and I headed up the stairs with their helpless laughter ringing in my ears.

'Shit.....look at the state of me. What a frigging disaster. Let me tell you what happened just earlier. Me and Suzie had managed to converse reasonably well after I decided _not_ to mention her mum again for fear that she might think, or guess, that I fancied her. When we left the pub the weather was fine.....I mean who would have thought a cloudburst would happen when we were halfway back to her place?

Well, yes I know that _I did_ earlier on in the evening.....but it was still a bit of a shock. We started running as fast as we could but it wouldn't really have mattered if we'd been Olympic sprinters cos the rain was torrential and we were both soaked in no time. When we got to Suzie's house she rushed up the steps in double quick time, shouted 'Bye then Tim' and the door slammed shut.

No pause at the door this time round. No 'We must do this again some time'.....and definitely no goodnight kiss.

I was left to squelch my way back here getting even wetter. The other lads nearly pissed themselves laughing.

So how did I do...do you think I'll get another date?'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER NINE

Wednesday 15th July. 6:30 P.M.

I was standing in the kitchen regaling Mrs T with the happenings of the previous evening. She was all ears as I played the sympathy card for all it was worth.

'Soaked I was!' I said.....but it did me no good at all.....she just laughed.....

'I wish I'd seen you when you came in.....I bet it was funny.....'

And, of course, if you hadn't happened to have been me......it _was._

'.....Laurie said you looked like a drowned rat' she said.

And, of course, I had.

'Have you heard from Suzie at all today so far?' she asked.

Well I hadn't but that was all about to change. Malcolm came in at that precise moment carrying an envelope marked 'Tim'.

'This is for you' he said, handing it over.....'Suzie asked me to give it to you'

They both looked at me like they wanted me to open it straight away and read the contents out loud....but there was no chance of that. I had an awful feeling that this particular communication wasn't going to be conveying much in the way of good news and immediately departed in an upstairs direction with it.

I suppose I could have been wrong about the contents of the letter. Suzie may have written a heartfelt letter thanking me for a wonderful date

Dear Tim

I'd love to thank you for the fantastic time we had last night. I can't tell you when I last enjoyed myself so much. Your idea of going to that pub down the road instead of somewhere expensive was truly inspired. Don't worry that we got a trifle damp. After all when one has been in the company of a man of true wit and sophistication, such as you, nothing else seems to matter.

Til the next time then, my love, and please make it soon.

Yours forever Suzie xxxx

Sadly that's not what it said.

I wasn't wrong about the bad news. If I had harboured any hopes at all of a second date with Suzie then this letter effortlessly dashed them. In the safety of my bedroom I read through it.....and then read it through again. She'd obviously gone to some trouble with the composition and put quite a bit of thought into it.

As a 'let-him-down-as-gently-as-possible' exercise it couldn't be faulted.

She said that she'd enjoyed talking to me and that I was good company. Apparently I was 'quite funny' and unusual inasmuch as I hadn't kept trying to talk about 'dirty stuff' all the time. She also said that she felt that this was not the right time to start up again with anyone as she had recently split up with a previous boyfriend. She had one or two other nice things to say and, on the whole, it was all pretty good feedback. Of course it still amounted to one thing.....I WAS BEING DUMPED.

If there was such a thing as a 'Dating C.V' (Imagine you are having to apply for the job of BOYFRIEND.....you have to cite previous experience, performance, reason for leaving (her) and state why you think you would be suited to the role) I could have put all these nice remarks on it and given the whole thing a more positive perspective. Sadly it doesn't work like that does it? In anyone's book it was just a big, fat 'No' to a question I hadn't even had the chance to ask!

My first thought was 'Why did she have to do this so soon?' It was like she couldn't wait to kick me into touch. The words 'indecent haste' leapt to mind.

Why not wait a bit longer? Was I _that bad?_ According to the letter I wasn't but what was she _really_ thinking?

My second (and more worrying) thought was.....'How is this going to look to the other blokes?'

It was going to be an embarrassment that was for sure. It was bad enough that I'd come back soaked-through the previous night without being sent a 'Dear-Tim' letter the very next day.

'They'll think I'm some sort of clown, sent here just to keep everyone in laughs' I thought.

I was seriously beginning to think of skipping my evening meal. The thought of having to go downstairs and face everybody was almost too much to bear.

'I could go out and get some chips.....maybe sneak out a bit later on...avoid having to talk to anyone.....' were the kind of thoughts running through my head.

Just then Gordon came in...after all I couldn't stop him, could I?.....it was his bedroom too.

'You okay mate?' he said, as if suspecting that I might not be.

'It's fair to say that I _have_ felt better' I replied, looking up, dolefully, from my recumbent position on the bed.

'Malcolm told me about the letter.....not good news then?' he asked.

I just shook my head. It was a real low.

'Can I have a look?' he asked, pointing at the dismissive missive. 'Why not?' I said and handed it over.

Gordon read it and then looked at me.

'This is actually a really sweet letter' he said...'I wouldn't mind being dumped too much if someone said some of these things about me.'

This was a bit more heartening.

'You know' he said....'I was talking to Laurie last night and he reckons that Suzie fancies _him_...I don't think he was just saying it to brag or anything. He said she's always saying sexy stuff and flirting with him.....and she laughs at everything he says....even _he_ doesn't kid himself that he's all that funny. You see what I'm saying don't you?..... you may not have stood a chance.....it's him she's after'

I _did_ see and it made a lot of sense.

'I must say I _did_ have my suspicions about this' I said...'it was just the way she reacted when his name came up...is he interested in _her_ do you think?'

Gordon laughed.....

'Well he says he isn't........but who knows?...he might be'

'The funny thing is that I don't know if I was _really_ keen' I said...'I know it's easy to say that _now_ but even while we were out last night I kept asking myself did I really, actually, fancy Suzie. At one stage she accused me of fancying her mum more than her.....and, I have to say, it was difficult to deny.....although, of course, I _did_ deny it'

Gordon started laughing again.....

'That's brilliant mate....ha ha...fancied her mum.....ho ho...' I couldn't help but laugh as well - it was kind of infectious.

'I suppose' he said...'the worst thing about it is that you won't have an excuse to go round and see her mum any more, will you?'

'Oh yeah, that's a bummer' I said....'she was gorgeous'

We laughed some more. It was an amazing turnaround...from being really down one minute to being able to treat the situation like it was a joke the next. It showed that things are seldom as bad as they seem.

'Looks like I'm over it already then doesn't it?' I said.

Gordon patted me on the back...

'That's what I like to hear mate. Sod it, if she's that smitten with Laurie then let her go out with him.....if _he_ wants to of course' 'Definitely' I said....and really meant it.

We chatted about things for a few minutes and then Gordon said.... 'Fancy going for a drink after tea?'.....'I've got a bit of good news that I want to celebrate with everyone'

'Certainly' I said...'and what _is_ this news anyway?'

'Well' he said, grinning from ear to ear....'I've been given a shop to manage'

'That's excellent' I said...'so I suppose you'll be taking back all the things you were saying about DB only last week...all is forgiven now is it?'

'Yeah, well....it took them bloody long enough didn't it?' was his grudging response.

I couldn't resist a bit of gentle ribbing.....

'Hey, you don't think it's a clever move to stop you pinching stuff from other people's shops?...you know, give you your own one' 'Piss off' was his considered retort.

'Which shop is it, anyway?'

'139' he said.

I was still none the wiser.

'And that's _where_ exactly?' I asked, still not knowing all shops just by their numbers.

'Yeah, sorry mate, I keep forgetting you're new.....it's down Shepherds Bush Road....halfway between Shepherds Bush and Hammersmith'

'What sort of shop is it then.....is it big?' I asked.

Gordon described it. It didn't sound terribly impressive. Going by what he said it was something closely resembling Dicken's Old Curiosity Shop! It must have been one of the first shops that Mr Black opened, having, as it did, a fully-tiled exterior and interior featuring the 'famous' thistle logo. Apparently there was even a mosaic on the floor with the initials DB writ large. Inside there were two counters which ran down each side of the shop and most of the goods were stacked up on or behind them. Even considering it was 1970 this sounded very oldfashioned and I couldn't wait to see it. It sounded like a real museumpiece and certainly not what I imagined when I answered the 'Trainee Supermarket Manager' ad in the paper. Still, it wouldn't have been very impressive if the advert had said:

YOUNG MEN REQUIRED TO MANAGE RUN-DOWN, ARCHAIC, SHOPS IN LONDON AREA - Must be able to add up in farthings and be good with gas lamps.

'Are there any staff?' I said.

'Well there's two women but I don't know if they're full or part time yet'

'So you'll have to do pretty much all the fetching and carrying yourself then?'

Gordon thought about that one.

'Yeah, maybe.....but don't forget it's only a small shop.....shouldn't be too bad' he replied, as if trying to convince himself.

'Where's the stockroom?' I asked.

'Er, I've heard its down in the cellar'

'So you'll have to cart all the boxes down there when you get a delivery...and then bring them back up when you need them...is that right?'

'Well, yes.....I suppose so' he admitted, a touch testily.

I had the distinct feeling that I may have been taking a little of the gloss off of Gordon's breakthrough into management and therefore decided to try and be a bit more positive.

'I suppose they'll be giving you more money, though...won't they?' I said.

Gordon looked as though he hadn't considered this before now.

'I don't know' he said...'they didn't mention anything about me getting a pay-rise...they bloody well better ,though...I'm glad you thought of that Tim.....I'll have to talk to someone at head office about that first thing tomorrow.....Bastards!'

He was beginning to get annoyed and I started to feel guilty.

'So much for being positive' I thought.....'Gordon comes in here and cheers me up so I repay him by suggesting that by getting promotion he'll have to work much harder for no extra money...excellent!' So I had another go...

'Anyway the best thing about it is that you can say that you're a MANAGER.....you've made it.....that's the important thing'

'Yeah you're right' he said, and we both smiled.

On balance he seemed pretty happy and I have to say that I was pleased to have had first-hand evidence that promotion to manager, for us Hostel boys, was a real possibility. The shop itself worried me though.....I mean it sounded so old that it probably still accepted rationing coupons!

Apparently D.B had loads more like it as well. If you thought of any run-down, Godforsaken part of London then chances were good there was an old, thistle-tiled shop there bearing the moniker 'David Black' on it's frontage. The founder obviously had a real eye for branch placement.

Teatime was interesting. Having been cheered up by Gordon I was quite happy to go downstairs and face the gang. Gordon announced his good news and was duly congratulated but the guys and Mrs T were much more interested in my note from Suzie. I, for my part, didn't feel particularly inclined to dwell on it too much and felt the best policy was to dismiss it quickly as if it were no big deal.....her loss rather than mine.....that kind of approach. Thus a swift summing-up was in order...

'The gist of the note _is_ that I'm a great bloke.....in fact in many ways perfect.....but that she, for reasons best known to herself, never wants to go out with me _ever_ again' I said.

A confident (if somewhat immodest) statement of the facts as I saw them.

'Seems a bit harsh' said Pete.....'what do you think went wrong then, Tim? Did she _really_ say you are a great bloke?'

'Well' I replied.....'she might have said 'good', rather than 'great'....I can't remember the exact wording...but, anyway, Gordon's seen the note and he said _he_ wouldn't mind being dumped if a girl said such nice things about _him_ '

'We can well believe that' said Laurie, with a smirk.

Gordon mouthed 'Piss off 'at Laurie so as not to offend Mrs T's delicate ears.

'So you won't be seeing Suzie again then?' said Malcolm, maybe thinking that this kept _him_ in with a chance.

'Seems unlikely' I said...'and anyway, from what I hear, she may have designs on someone else around here'

I looked at Laurie as I said this. Mrs T looked a touch surprised, then she looked at Laurie as well.

'Does he mean you?' she asked.

Laurie seemed a bit flustered, his normal laid-back, unruffled, demeanor for once momentarily shaken. He may have even been blushing a little!

'Well yes...I might have told Gordon that I think Suzie fancies me...'

'You _did_ say it' said Gordon.....'don't deny it'

Laurie wasn't happy.

'I'm not denying it but I didn't bloody well tell you so you could go around telling everybody did I?'

'No...but you didn't say it was a secret either did you?' retorted Gordon.

Mrs T decided she had better mediate.

'Don't argue you two' she said with an air of authority...'poor Tim here doesn't want to hear that Suzie fancies Laurie....'

And, looking at me...

'...isn't that so Tim?'

I didn't get chance to answer. Gordon jumped in first. He looked at me and, with an air of triumph, asserted...

'You don't care anyway do you Tim?'

And, addressing everyone...

'He told me he fancied her mum more than her anyway'

Cue surprised looks on everyone's face.

'Is that right Tim?' said a slightly incredulous Mrs T.

I just sort-of nodded. There followed a short silence while the assembled personages took this in. God knows what they were thinking.

Finally Mrs T broke the silence.

'I think that Tim, here, is a bit of a dark horse' she said.....'I think we'll have to watch him in future'

I just smiled. This wasn't the worst possible outcome. I felt that, far from coming out as a total clown, I may have actually boosted my reputation. I obviously wasn't content with girls of my own age...I needed older women. Suzie must have recognised this and realised she wasn't experienced enough for me.

That reading of the situation would do nicely.

It was certainly preferable to the truth.

After a short while normal conversation resumed and the subject of Suzie (and with it the possibility of who may or may not fancy her) was dropped. I started talking to Pete and discovered that his taste in music seemed uncannily similar to my own. This being the case we got round to discussing the possibility of going to some gigs in the near future. He wondered if I was interested in going to Hyde Park the next Saturday as Pink Floyd were playing a free concert. This sounded excellent. I visualised myself sitting in an enormous crowd, lapping up the sun and enjoying free music. This would be in keeping with true hippy ideals. I'd be part of the Woodstock generation.....sitting on, and breathing in grass simultaneously.

The latter being the druggy type of course.

It sounded like heaven on Earth.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TEN

Thursday 16th July. 8:01 P.M

'You know, I'd hate to give you the impression that life is just one long party or that I'm out on the town every night. Far from it. Take tonight...

all I'm doing is staying in and watching TV with the other guys. Top of the Pops has just been on and was the usual motley collection. Quite a large barrel will have been scraped to put tonight's show together, I reckon. You know I hate to say this but I watch the bloody show every week....how sad is that? I suppose I must be the eternal optimist but I watch it on the off chance that I'll see one or two things I like. Actually, when I think about it, there's always Pans People.....and they've all got one or two things I like...but I _was_ really talking about music.

Let's talk about tonight's show.....we might as well hadn't we? As usual there were one or two choice items but....and it's a bigger butt than Bessie Braddock's...like always, you feel it's a case of the good, the bad and the downright ugly. Tonight's biggest surprise turnup was Country Joe MacDonald who did his 'Woodstock' anthem _I feel like I'm fixing to die rag_.....that's 'fixing to die rag' rather than 'fixing to **dye a** rag', you understand...an anti-war-message song rather than one about colouring a teeshirt.

It's not a bad song but I think he should have done his famous _Fish Cheer_ as well. That would have shaken them up down at the Beeb. Just imagine...'Gimme an F, gimme a U, gimme a C, gimme a'.....

'CUT' yells a floor manager.

Anyhow, as I expect you know, 'fixing' contains lines like 'Be the first ones on your block to have your boy come home in a box' which seem a bit jarring on what is, essentially, a light entertainment programme. I didn't notice anyone dancing and, to be fair, it didn't sound like a 'hit'. I read that Country Joe only got to play at Woodstock on his own, that is minus his Fish, cos it rained and no groups could play as it was too wet....worries about electric shocks an' all. You'd have thought the Fish would've been quite at home in the wet wouldn't you? I suppose C.J's now making the best of his new-found solo fame and trying to make a few bob by touring this septic isle. Good luck to him I say.....hope he does all right.

I keep meaning to go and see the 'Woodstock' film, I've heard it's excellent. I first read about the festival itself last year in a magazine when traveling up to my Post Office training course at Bletchley Park. Six weeks I was there. I know it's nothing to do with TOTPs or Woodstock but someone told me that the place was used to do important work in the last war. It's not widely known but it's where Alan Turing and his gang cracked the Enigma code.....apparently it was called Station X at the time. To look at the place you'd never guess there was anything remotely interesting about it at all really. Apart from the old manor house it's just a load of uninspiring buildings and a collection of Nissan huts. I remember there was a cinema in one of these old huts and one night it was showing some crap old horror film.....I can't even remember what it was called but before anything 'horrifying' happened you were given a warning.....a 'horror horn' or some such shit.....anyway, it was a real hoot but the best part was when this car crashed head on into a tree. All the occupants seemed to be okay but looked a bit dazed and in the silence that followed I couldn't resist going 'Ooh that smarts'....like in the Huckleberry Hound cartoons.

It got a huge laugh but it was a bit embarrassing, really.....good job it was dark.

Anyhow, to come back to the point, I bought a copy of _Life_ magazine to read on the train up to Bletchley and there was a big article in it about the Woodstock Music and Arts Fair. There were several pages of photos and, at first glance, it just looked like a sea of mud with around half a million people wallowing in it! Apparently the organisers had no idea that so many people were going to turn up so there were real food shortages pretty much from the word go. This, together with the monsoon-like rain which caused the mud, led to the whole place being declared a Disaster Area. In truth this may have been exaggerating things a little.....people may have inconvenienced a bit here and there but apparently there were very few casualties.....a few cases of trench foot, maybe. The thing that shone through was that by helping each other it's possible to get through virtually anything. Peace and Love man.

Anyhow all this plus some of the best music ever captured on film adds up to a 'must-see' as far as I'm concerned. The reviews have all said Jimi's the star of the show as well so no surprises there. I know it's playing somewhere in the great metrollops so I'll be viewing it at my earliest convenience...or maybe in a cinema. You can tell I'm in a silly mood tonight can't you?

On a more serious note, in the same magazine, there was also a truly shocking article on the murder of Roman Polanski's pregnant actress wife Sharon Tate and her houseguests. It was all quite gory.... lots of colour photo's showing the aftermath of the crime. There was blood everywhere....on carpets, furniture, walls.....you name it. You were shown exactly where various people were stabbed to death and it didn't take very much imagination to visualise what had happened. It must have been a nightmare. Apparently the police have now charged some hippy called Charles Manson and some of his 'followers' with the murder. I think the trial starts soon so I'll be following that with interest. You have to wonder why they did it don't you?

On the one hand you have an article about how half a million hippytypes can live in peace and harmony despite lousy conditions....and on the other how a small band of them can go on a murderous rampage.

Doesn't make sense really, does it?

You know this is getting way too serious. Let's get back to the altogether more frivolous subject of tonight's TOTP. As well as Country Joe, Jimmy Saville had the pleasure of bringing us good stuff like Free (All right now), Joni Mitchell (Big Yellow Taxi) and not-too-bad stuff like The Kinks (Lola) and, although not actually in the building, Elvis (The Wonder of You). Five decent acts in one episode is usually about as good as TOTP gets.....well, to the person of discerning taste, like me, anyway.

Add to this Pan's People and you have a satisfaction rate for tonight's programme of something like 50%.....not too bad really.

On the minus side there was Shirley Bassey totally ruining the Beatles _Something._ The way she sings it is so predictable.....like a James Bond theme. I suppose the song itself _is_ pretty middle-of-the-roady so you can't really blame her for giving it a go can you? I suppose the truth is, I want all the people on TOTP to be young.....I don't want the older generation getting a look in.....let them go on the Val Doonican Show or somewhere like that. They should create a rule where no-one over 30 gets on the show.....I might have said 25 but I know Jimi is about 28...

or on Radio 1 for that matter. Give youth it's head I say.....I wouldn't mind some.

Another act on tonight's show that I've come to really hate is Mungo Jerry. We've had to listen to _In the Summertime_ for weeks now.....or is it months? Years? Eons?.....it certainly seems like it. The song says that in summertime 'You've got women, you've got women on your mind'..... well why only in Summer? I've got women on my mind all the bloody time!.....much good it does me, though. You know a crap record when you hear one when they start going 'Da da de de de da da da da dum' like they can't think of anything better. I can't believe that people are still going out and buying the sodding thing.....maybe they've had to save up for it.

Another of tonight's baddies was Hotlegs _Neanderthal Man._ It goes 'I'm a Neanderthal Man, you're a Neanderthal girl, lets make Neanderthal love, in this Neanderthal world'...

I can imagine the Neanderthal girl telling him 'No way...I'm not letting you in my cave, man'

Lastly, dishonourable mention must also go to Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich with _Mr President_. I think I've forgotten how it goes already..... thank goodness. What's happened to Dave Dee? I don't think their name really scans all that well without him does it?. I think they should either get him back or look into the possibility of replacing him with someone similar-sounding......maybe _Simon_ Dee. He doesn't seem to be on the telly any more so it's possible he might be interested.

Okay, then, it's decided...Simon Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich.

Perfect.

Let's be honest guys, no discussion about TOTP can be complete without a going into the merits and demerits of Pan's People. On one hand they _are_ gorgeous-looking girls but, on the other, most of their routines are sadly sexless aren't they? From week to week it's possible to see them dressed as flowers, cuddly toys, animals maybe anything else that happens to get mentioned in the records they dance-to. Hasn't anyone told them that all that's required is that they prance around as scantily-dressed as possible in order to fully maximise their ogleability quotient? I ask you is it possible to get excited by a sexy woman dressed in a teddy bear costume? It's a pity no-one's brought out a record which mentions girls dancing around in short skirts, suspenders and no knickers.

I think us blokes would all appreciate their completely literal approach then!

You know like most young people I've been watching TOTP since it started back in 1964. I know that's only six years but it represents a third of my lifetime.....quite a thought. Somewhere along the line, probably for a birthday, I was given a mono reel to reel tape recorder and each week I would set up the mike next to the TV speaker and record the stuff on TOTP that I thought was worth keeping. Of course this was fine as long as no-one spoke during the songs. Everyone had to be quiet when I was recording because I needed totally perfect, noise-free recordings. Sadly this didn't always happen. Many's the time a recording would be totally ruined by having my Dad's voice on it saying things like 'Look at his hair, he should be made to join the army', 'What's he singing about?, you can't hear the words'.....or maybe even just 'Turn that bloody row down....are you deaf?'

If it wasn't him it'd be someone else. Mother's gems were things like...'He looks old now, doesn't he?', 'Do you think that's a wig?'..... or maybe 'Is that Cliff Richard?' I mean, let's be fair, who else, other than Cliff, looks like bloody Cliff Richard?

These were the type of unwelcome comments I had to put up with week after week, ruining my, otherwise perfect, recordings. They just didn't seem to share my enthusiasm for the music and, of course, what made it worse was if I tried to stop anyone talking by 'shushing' them then _that_ would appear on the tape as well. It was a no-win situation.

Still, I suppose when I think about it I probably was a complete pain in the arse!...I can see that now. That tape recorder was fantastic, though, and played a big part in my teenage life. I'd record from the T.V and radio and never had to buy any 'proper' records. I'd just tape over them after a while when I got bored with what I had. I remember I got _Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_ one Christmas on a reel to reel tape and put it on excitedly. It was very strange....not like music at all.

'Mmmm this sounds a bit way out' I thought.

But there was a good reason for this. The tape had been put on the spool the wrong way round and was playing BACKWARDS! Eventually I realised that the Beatles hadn't turned into Stockhausen and had to run the whole tape onto another spool so it would play properly.

You know I really miss that tape recorder. It eventually ground to a halt in a cloud of acrid smoke...a bad case of overheating. Sadly, I never got a replacement and was forced to start acquiring proper records instead of making pirate ones courtesy of programmes like TOTP.

Oh well, enough of all this reminiscing...I'm going back downstairs now for some more T.V.....I think Steptoe's on next.

What larks eh.'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

Saturday 18th July. 3:30 PM. Hyde Park.

' _When we finally got to Hyde Park, we were half a million strong'_

Well, possibly not.....but it _was_ pretty damn crowded. As Me and Pete had arrived late in the afternoon there didn't seem to be much chance of finding a decent viewing place so we had to make do with a spot behind the stage. Not exactly ideal, then.....no view and only vague sound quality.

The Edgar Broughton Band were on and were doing their exorciststyle anthem _Out Demons Out_ which finished with some heavy guitar soloing. The weather was great and the atmosphere nice and relaxed. We sat down on the grass and, almost immediately, the guy sitting nearest to me offered me his spliff. He looked a bit saddened when I said 'no' but it would have made for a strange start. You know, a joint as my first fag. I really _wanted_ to have a drag just to show friendship but just couldn't do it. It was a sort of Peace-Pipe situation...but at least I wasn't likely to be scalped for refusing it!

I bet if I _had_ gotten tempted I'd have been sick all over someone and blown my credibility straight away.....not that I _had_ any real credibility, you understand.....I was definitely the most obvious non-hippy in the whole world. I mean I might have been wearing a tie-dye tee shirt but that wouldn't have fooled anyone. The evidence of non-hippiness was all there.....short hair, no beard, no 'tache.....and a total absence of anything mind-enhancing.

I hadn't even got a can of beer!

Edgar duly finished and the next act due on were Pink Floyd. At this rate we were only going to be able to hear, rather than see, them. But then I suppose that would have been the case for the vast majority of people present seeing as though there were no huge video screens like there usually are these days at this type of event. We couldn't really complain, though, could we?.....it _was_ a free concert.

After a fair old hiatus (and a long wait) the Floyd were announced to a great roar from the crowd and opened their act with something I'd never heard before or since. Apparently it was called _Embryo_....

maybe because it was new and yet to become fully developed. As I don't think it ever found it's way onto vinyl I suppose it must have been aborted. At any rate it soon gave way to more familiar-sounding material like _Careful with that axe Eugene_ and _Set the controls for the heart of the sun_. Even from behind the stage you could feel the power of the music....there was a nice vibe and everyone was smiling. The material was pretty familiar to me coming, as it did, from the live side of PF's _Ummagumma_ double album. I'd had this record for a while and played the live stuff to the point where the vinyl was almost worn out....the studio album, however, was probably played only once. It was termed 'experimental'.....or crap.....depending on whether you were the group or the record buyer. Each member of the band had a track and all the music was pretty forgettable but you had to admire them for including a track called _Several species of small furry animals gathered together in a cave and grooving with a Pict_.

What a great title....dig it man!

The Floyd had given us some stuff we knew but I think their raison d'etre for doing the concert was to plug their new album _Atom Heart Mother_. This work was a bit of a new departure for them featuring, as it did, brass instruments arranged by Ron Geesin. It wasn't, it's fair to say, the kind of spacey, hippy-trippy, guitar-laden, blow-your-mind sort of stuff we'd come to expect from our heroes and it wasn't long before me and Pete started looking at each other as if to say 'What the fuck is this?'

Obviously our vantage point (or lack of one) didn't really help but we had to admit we were bored. Not only could we not see the band or hear them all that well but it seemed like they were going out of their way to alienate their audience. Maybe we were wrong but I don't think so because, to this day I would guess that _Atom Heart Mother_ is probably the least-liked of all the Floyd back catalogue. I actually bought it just to see if I mistaken but decided I wasn't. The album cover says it all I think....a photo of a cow.....how boring is that? Perhaps a cowPAT might have been a better option.... _Funky Dung_ indeed.

'Shall we go?' I asked.

'Yeah' said Pete.

So we did.

On the way back from the concert we were chatting on the tube...

'So what part of Portsmouth do you live in Pete?'

'Do you know Pompey then Tim?'

'Well I've been there a few times.....last time I was there I bought some clothes'

Pete looked slightly puzzled.

'Really...what made you go to Portsmouth to do that.....I didn't know we had a reputation for menswear?'

'I don't think you do actually.....it's just that my parents decided to go there for some reason.....God knows why'

'Mmmmm, okay.....so you just went along for the ride?'

'Pretty much.....and ended up in this bloody stupid boutique, being sold all manner of sad apparel'

'Right...well the least said about that the better then...getting back to what you asked before, ever heard of Fratton?'

'Yeah, Fratton Park....that's the football ground.....you live near that do you?'

'Yeah, quite close'

'Handy if you like football then.....do you?'

'Yeah, but I haven't been much since coming up to London' Talking about Fratton Park started me thinking......

'You know I'm pretty sure that when I was quite young my Dad took me to watch a game ay Pompey. He used to support them when he was in the Navy....he still goes on about them winning the Cup one year'

'1939 that was mate.....last Cup Final before the war.....we beat Wolves 4-1'

'Mmmm that sounds about right...anyhow I think this was in the late fifties and the game was against Manchester United. Don't ask me any more about it though cos I can't remember a thing.....I wasn't even interested in football then so I don't know why my dad wanted to take me along'

'Seems a bit pointless doesn't it?'

'Totally pointless.....like Pompey probably were after the game I should think!...ha,ha'

'Watch it.....at least I'm a proper supporter....I don't just pick on a side that's doing well and jump on their bandwagon.....and I actually go to games, not just watch _Match of the Day_ on the telly'

Was he having a dig? Did he know I was a Leeds fan?

'I see what you're saying but would like to point out that to qualify to be on telly you need to actually be in the FIRST division, rather than.....'

'Yes alright....you don't need to rub it in.....we'll get back'

'Maybe.....and anyway I've been following Leeds for over 5 years now and there've been a lot of disappointments, it hasn't all been win, win, win...and I _have_ been to one or two Leeds games, including the 1968 League Cup Final.....oh and I spent a whole season going to watch Aldershot one year as well'

'Does watching Aldershot qualify as football then?'

'No, probably not.....it was a good laugh, though'

'I bet...so you went to Wembley in 1968 did you?'

'Yeah, I actually went up there on my own....which was either quite brave or foolhardy I suppose....considering that I was still only fifteen'

'It was probably a bit of both considering how Arsenal and Leeds supporters really love each other'

'True.....anyhow, I went up to London with a friend on the train but he was going to watch Wolves so we parted company fairly early in the day and I made my way on the tube over to Wembley Stadium. When I got off the tube I was immediately offered a match ticket by a tout so I bought it'

'You'd come up to London without a ticket then?'

'Yeah...anyhow I walked about for quite a while, I remember it was pretty cold....this was in March and the kick-off was at three thirty so I had loads of time to kill. I bought a rosette and, after a while, decided I might as well queue up outside the turnstile, so I did....at first I was on my own but before long there were quite a few other people stood around me.....the only problem was that they were all Arsenal supporters'

'Ha.....so you'd got a ticket for the wrong end'

'Yeah.....after a while I started thinking that maybe the rosette wasn't such a good idea'

'So you got beaten up and never got to see the game, right?'

'No I got lucky...an Arsenal supporter spotted the rosette and asked if I wanted to swap tickets with his mate who had a ticket for the Leeds end'

'You jammy sod.....so you swapped'

'Well I'd have been mad not to wouldn't I?'

'Definitely.....you'd have probably been killed if you hadn't'

'Yeah, that would have been a real possibility.....it was a very badtempered game and we ended up winning 1-0 with a hotly-disputed goal by Terry Cooper'

Pete was laughing by now.

'What would you have done with your rosette if no-one had swapped tickets, then?'

'Mmmm.....well I have to admit I _was_ thinking of undoing it and letting it drop to the floor without anyone noticing'

'And then pretend to be an Arsenal fan?'

'Absolutely.....a coward to the last'

'Ha ha.....don't blame you mate'

Pompey were then a very average second division team so I couldn't resist having a laugh at their expense...I mean the nearest they ever got to a victory was that old ship in their harbour.

'Anything unusual ever happened while watching Pompey, Pete........like, maybe, a goal?....I suppose lose or draw you always go away happy, right?'

'Piss off.....I've seen them win loads of times.....they're not doing too badly at the moment'

'Yeah but only cos it's the close season....ha ha'

'You can laugh.....we'll get promotion this season, you watch'

'If I _do_ watch I bet I'll be one of the few who does...is it true that if you phone Pompey's ground and say 'What time's the kick-off?' they say 'What time can you get here?'

'That's a really old joke'

'Well, yeah, but they say the old ones are the best...I expect that's Pompey's selection policy as well isn't it?'

'Ha.....you might be right there'

'Still, I suppose when they get really old and useless you could always sell them on to Aldershot.....they're not proud...some of their players have had more clubs than Arnold Palmer'

'No matter how old they get they're never going to be older than your jokes, mate'

I couldn't really deny it could I?

We were now at Hammersmith so conversation ceased while we went under the subway to the Metropolitan Line and caught the tube back to Ladbroke Grove. I was really enjoying the afternoon and felt a friendship with Pete forming. It's always good when you find someone who's on your wavelength, I think.

We chatted about Portsmouth some more...

'Pete' I said....'have they still got that roller coaster thing called the Wild Mouse on the front at Southsea?'

'Yeah I'm pretty sure it's still there...I must admit I've never been on it.....doesn't look all that safe if you ask me.....have you been on it then?'

'Bloody hell yes...I still have nightmares about it now'

'So why did you want to go on it then?'

'I didn't _want_ to at all.....it was about four or five years ago.....I was there with the family and my sister said she wanted a go on the bloody thing... _I didn't_.....it looked like a bloody deathtrap to me.....I don't like heights at the best of times...'

'...but you ended up going on it cos you'd have looked like a coward if you hadn't'

'Exactly.....I had to do it didn't I?'

'I suppose so.....ha,ha '

'Alright you can laugh....well you _are_ laughing...anyway we both got into this pathetic little car and it creaked it's way to the top of this rickety scaffolding....of course when we got to the top it was every bit as scary as I thought it would be.....you seemed to be miles up in the air.....I might have admired the view but was shit scared.....'

'Go on, this is good'

'...the bloody car snaked it's way along this little track at the top.....there was no safety rail and every time the little car turned it seemed like we were going over the edge'

'Was your sister enjoying it?'

'No way......she was crying and yelling that she wanted to get off..... fat bloody chance of that was there?'

'Sounds horrible mate'

'It was diabolical.....I'm definitely never, ever, going on anything like that again'

'Yeah, quite right.....admit you're a coward in future, ha,ha......it's easier in the long run'

'I certainly will.....'

We were nearly at Ladbroke Grove so I decided to ask Pete about deejaying.

'Why did you decide to run a mobile disco?'

'I don't know really.....I was working for DB down in Portsmouth and one day just had an idea that I'd like to do it...it wasn't the worst idea I've ever had...I thought it would make a change from being a butcher...a bit of a laugh, and I might make some money as well'

'And _have_ you made any money?'

'No, not really...most of the profit goes on buying new chart singles.....I really enjoy doing it , though'

I thought I'd strike while the iron was hot.

'You _did_ mention the possibility of me coming to a gig with you.....

have you got anything lined up?'

'Well I have.....as it happens.....'

'Hey, watch out, you're starting to sound like Jimmy Saville.....'

(Does a Jimmy Saville impression)

'Now then, now then....Tim has fixed it for you to be a top deejay....

now then, now then'

Pete laughs....as do one or two other fellow travelers.

'Okay mate, I'll do a deal.....you can come along next Wednesday night to my gig in Kensington...as long as you promise not to do any more impressions.....you can be my official roadie'

I was slightly hurt, but jumped at the chance...with a condition.

'Alright, I'll do it....as long as _I_ get the chance to put a few records on' I said.

'Okay, fair enough, you're on' he said.....'Wednesday night it is'

I was now in showbiz.

*

Later the same night. In bed.

'I'll have to keep my voice down a bit here talking to you cos Gordon's asleep. I'd be asleep as well by now if I had any sense but just had to mention to you that it's been a fantastic day. I know the concert wasn't exactly great but sometimes it's just the being there that matters. In years to come I can genuinely say that I was there when Pink Floyd played in the Park....I didn't actually see anything, but what the hell....it was an experience.

You know, I'm really keen to do this gig with Pete next week. He's promised me a couple of quid if I help him hump his equipment...hey, that sounds a bit rude doesn't it? Anyhow with all the stairs around here, and bearing in mind his gear is on the top floor, I doubt if it's all exactly going be a picnic.....or, indeed, any other chocolate bar.

Pete was showing me how to work the double decks earlier tonight and it all seems pretty straightforward. Don't tell him I said-so but his stuff seems a bit...well, tacky. It seems to work okay but there's wires going all over the place.....don't know how he remembers where they all go. The whole thing looks like it's been thrown together. It'll be really embarrassing if it conks out halfway through the night, next Wednesday.

I don't know what the posh people of Kensington are going to make of Pete's motley collection of speakers and amplifiers.....hopefully they won't notice if we blow them away with some great sounds.....hello, Gordon's beginning to stir'

'Tim.....are you talking to someone?'

'No mate.....you go back to sleep'

Gordon turns over.

'Right then, I'd better try and go to sleep now, myself.....if I can stop thinking about deejaying.....goodnight'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWELVE

Monday 20th July. Morning.

It had been a fairly quiet weekend.....if we're not talking decibels. There'd been a fair amount of those floating about, both in the Hyde Park ether, and also the top room of the Hostel where Pete kept his mobile disco. We thought it was fairly safe to turn the volume right up on the latter on Saturday night and have a practice seeing as though Mrs T had gone out for the evening. After a while I got the hang of it all (You know how it goes - 'That was.....this is.....') and felt pretty confident that I could do a reasonable impression of a deejay when we did the party on Wednesday night.

'A whole new career could be beckoning' I thought.

I was still musing on the possibilities of this when, on Monday morning, I was summoned to enter Mr Hughe's inner sanctum.....no jokes please.

What was the purpose of this?

Maybe I was going to get promotion...

Maybe a rise........

.....maybe not.

Mr H was looking quite stern when I went into his office.

'Take a seat will you' he said.....'we've got things to talk about' This didn't bode well.

'How have you been getting on with the Green Fruit?' he asked. 'Er....fine' I answered, tentatively.

I had the distinct feeling that any good opinions I may have been harbouring about myself weren't about to be reciprocated.....and I wasn't wrong.

'I have to tell you that we've had one or two complaints' he asserted.

'Oh really' I said with an air of shocked innocence.....'what sort of complaints?'

'Well' said Mr H.....'for one thing the manager says you're rather flippant'

'Am I?' I said, genuinely puzzled (I hadn't a clue what 'flippant' meant).....'have you any examples of this?'

Sadly, he had.

'Well, for one thing, he said a customer told him he asked you ' _Young man where do I find mangoes?'_

.....and you said ' _Where woman goes_ '

I had to stop myself from laughing. Mr H had succeeded in removing any humour there might have been (I did say _might_ have been) in the gag by the unsmiling, interrogational quality he'd brought to the delivery.

A flat denial seemed like the best way forward.

'No, I can't remember saying that Mr Hughes' I said...'sounds much too witty for me...are you sure it wasn't someone else?.....it might've been that porter Archie, he's a bit cheeky'

Mr Hughes wasn't impressed with this attempted deflection.

'Well that may be the case' he said...'but considering he's bald, considerably older than you and wears a brown coat, he's not likely to get mixed up with _you_ now is he?'

I had to admit he wasn't.....and there was more to come. Mr H was warming to his task.

'Talking of Archie the Porter' he said.....'is it true that you threw an egg at him last week and it broke over his head?'

It _was_ true, actually...but it had been a complete accident.

'Well, yes that _did_ happen' I said.... 'it was just a laugh.....I saw Archie coming and just happened to be holding an egg.....I shouted 'Catch' and threw it _to him_...not _at him_...it's just that he didn't manage to catch it!'

Mr H looked aghast.

'Let's get this right.....you just _happened_ to be holding an egg and decided to throw it to Archie'

'Yes'

'And where did this egg come from that's what I want to know?'

I resisted all temptation to say 'A chicken'.

'I can't remember.....it just seemed to be lying around'

'You say it was just _lying around_...have we got free range hens wandering around the place?........

I shook my head.

'...and, having found this egg, you decided to _throw_ it?'

'Yes'

'Hmmm.....young man, I have to say that it all strikes me as being rather silly'

'Not as silly as Archie looked when it struck _him_ ' I thought.

Things went a bit quiet as Mr Hughes considered what he had heard. He then started on a new line of questioning...

'Do you remember seeing someone in a suit in the prep room the other day?' he asked, gravely.....'quite a tall gentleman...spent some time with you'

Actually I did. How could I forget?...he was a complete GIT..... kept on trying to hurry me up all the time and I've never responded well to this.....yes I certainly remembered _him_ alright.

'No, I don't remember seeing anyone like that' I said.

'I think you probably do' he persisted...'his name is Alan Warren.....he's one of our directors.....and he wasn't terribly impressed with you'

'Oh....why was that?' I queried.

Well, I'd asked for it and the H-Boss wasn't in any mood to spare my feelings.....

'He told me he's seen tortoises move faster than you. He said that you were so slow you were in danger of leaving a trail of slime behind. He said.....'

'Yes, okay.....I think I understand what you're saying' I blustered......'but I think he was being unreasonable'

'Unreasonable!.....he said you only had a few melons and cauliflowers to wrap and you wanted all day to do it.....time is money you know'

I was certainly starting to feel a bit melon-cauli _now_.

Mr Hughes sucked in some air. It was obvious that he had played the part of prosecuting counsel to his satisfaction and was now about to take on the role of judge. Sentence was about to be passed. Things were going really badly. I half expected to see Mr H put on a black cap. A thought crossed my mind that maybe I should have been brought to his office in a tumbril with people (appropriately) throwing rotten fruit at me along the way. I felt sure I was going to be sacked and began thinking of ways that I could explain all this to the folks back home.

'Well, we've come to a decision' he said.....'we want you to go and report to Mr Paul at Shepherds Bush'

'What?........branch 25?' I said.

It took several seconds for this to sink in.

I was in shock.

This was, possibly, worse than getting the boot.

'Yes, that's right.....please go there straight away.... he'll be expecting you' he said, dismissively waving me out of his domain.

So that was it then. I hadn't been sacked but obviously wasn't exactly flavour of the month (unless that flavour was vomit).

'Can I ask what I'll be doing at 25?' I asked, in luck-pushing fashion.

'Just do whatever Mr Paul tells you to do........he won't stand for any nonsense.....' said an exasperated-sounding Mr H (his natural ruddy complexion having ruddy well doubled in ruddyness)

'.....if anyone can show you how to do this job properly it's him - now good day'

Exit stage right.....one sad and sorry(ish) trainee manager....tail between legs.

When I announced that I was going my co-workers made it fairly apparent that they couldn't have given a toss. I had the feeling that this sort of thing happened quite a lot and that I was just the latest casualty. The mortality rate of Trainee Managers was probably about the same as World War 2 fighter pilots. I left the shop surfing on a wave of indifference. The only person who cared in any way at all was probably Miss Piggy who must have been glad I was going and thereby not in a position to keep asking her for my fiver back. They say it's an ill wind etc, don't they?

Personally, I had mixed feelings about being given the boot. On the one hand the job was boring and I didn't seem to be learning a lot. Also, as you know, I wasn't too keen on the time it took me to get to work or having to get up really early. Shepherds Bush was much nearer where I was living and a big improvement in those terms. On the other hand though I realised I was effectively being demoted and by sending me to 25 the powers-that-be were punishing me for all the 'sins' Mr H had outlined. If I'd had a sword, no doubt it would have been ceremonially snapped in half. It seemed like I'd gotten off on the wrong foot and was now going to be made to suffer for it. Banished like some kind of Russian dissident to the forced labour camp that was Uxbridge Road, Shepherds Bush.

Woe (and thrice woe) was me.

I had plenty of time to reflect on all this whilst on my way across town on the tube. Was I going to see this as the beginning of the end of my, all too brief, sojourn in London or was I going to resolve to rise Phoenix-like from the ashes and make a success of the job?

I decided to focus on the positives. Gordon, no less, had worked with Mr Paul for quite a while and had plenty of good things to say about him. He was a good teacher, apparently, and had actually pushed Gordon forward for a managers job. I wondered how I would fare with him....it _was just_ possible that he could be the making of me. I obviously needed some discipline and the Uxbridge Road Boot Camp beckoned. I reasoned that there was more than just a touch of kill-or-cure about all this and the 'kill' option didn't seem very appetising.

'Shall I just call into the Hostel and gather up my stuff or shall I stay on this train and get off at Shepherds Bush Road?' was all I kept asking myself.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Monday 20th July. 7 P.M. Lying on my bed. Knackered.

'Well I've got to tell you people that today has been a shattering experience.....and I'm sitting here on my bed trying to make some sense of it all. Nearly getting the sack this morning was bad enough...but then being sent to what's regarded as the hardest branch to work in was like a double whammy!

Needless to say, I didn't get off the tube at Ladbroke Grove like I was considering....but it may not have been a good decision. I began regretting it pretty much from the first moment I arrived at 25. I'd hardly got through the door when a stern-faced Mr Paul handed me a white cotton top and matching apron with orders to go upstairs and put them on. Quite reasonable you might say, bearing in mind that I'm working with food, but I soon realised there was an element of put-down about it and I'll explain why. It seems as though the grey-coloured nylon top that I've been used to wearing is viewed as something of a status-symbol at 25.....not just _anyone_ gets to wear one there. You need to be some sort of manager and it doesn't look like I am one any more. Making me wear the white stuff was a way of taking me down a peg or two and putting me in my place. A suitable punishment for blotting my copybook.

Anyhow that's the overall situation.....ha, the _overall_ situation, geddit? Sorry, there are times I just can't resist the temptation to pun. Even when I'm really pissed off like now. The apron and top weren't made of sackcloth but might just as well have been. I suppose in theory I'm still a Trainee Manager.....no-one's actually said I'm not.....or that I'm gonna have to take a pay cut.....but it all has to be seen as a step backwards.

Let me tell you about the rest of my day.....I expect you could use a laugh.

When he was satisfied with my appearance Mr Paul immediately put me to work helping old George unload the delivery van that had just arrived. All the heavy cases loaded with tins and packets are sent down a conveyor belt to the basement which doubles as the grocery storage area and provisions preparation room. We had to unload what seemed like tons of stuff and stack it on the floor downstairs.....but this was only half of the job! Afterwards we had to either lug each item to it's rightful place in storage or take it _back upstairs_ ready to be put straight onto the shelves. There's no lift and I can tell you that, on a hot day like today, all this was seriously sweat-inducing.....especially when trussed up in those bloody white overalls I mentioned earlier!

You know 25 thoroughly deserves it's reputation as a workhouse...

having spent all afternoon shifting boxes all over the shop I can tell you that getting the sack this morning would definitely have been the softer option! The only drawback, of course, was that I would've had the unenviable task of having to explain to my parents why I'd come back home so soon. Bloody hell, I could end up having to go back to the Post Office! I bet my Dad would be going 'I told you not to leave.....you'd have got a brilliant pension'.....you know I'd really hate to give him the chance to say that. I've decided I'm not going to give in easily to this small set-back.....I'm going to be like a Lion...I mean they never want to swallow _their_ pride do they.

The David Black shop in Uxbridge Road is a small supermarket, much smaller than the one I've been used-to at head office but aside from size there's one really big difference that you can't help noticing...this shop has customers! Yes, it really does. It's the busiest shop imaginable for it's size and anyone who works there really _does_ work. We do get some breaks, though, and during the afternoon George took me round the corner for a cup of tea at Eddies stall in the Market. Ex-army man Eddie makes a great cup of tea and it was nice to sit outside and take in some of the local colour. There was this constant supply of reggae music blaring out from one of the stalls and, although it's not really my favourite sort of music, I have to says it's pretty damned infectious. During the rest of the afternoon I kept catching myself singing _Red Red Wine_ over and over again just like I was a Jamaican. Now I've heard it in reggae form I can't imagine Neil Diamond ever singing or writing it. As far as I'm concerned it's only _ever_ going to be a reggae song from now on.

Eddie is a bit of a character. You have to go to London to find people like him. I made the mistake of telling him that I wanted to 'order' two teas and he said 'I stopped taking orders when I left the army, mate'

'Fair enough' I thought, slightly taken aback.

It would be really unlikely that someone would say that sort of thing to you back in Farnborough while, supposedly, trying to win your custom.....but then there's more of a 'nitty-gritty' feel to life up here, I think.

It's like he was figuratively saying to me 'It's not posh here in Shepherds Bush you know....now live with it'

I reckon I can.

One thing I found out today is that one of the guys who got the boot from the hostel works at 25. I happened to mention that I'm living in the hostel and someone said 'Oh Clive used to stay there'. It's interesting that they should say 'stay' rather than 'live' isn't it? Anyhow, I saw quite a bit of him during the day and have to say he's one of the scariest blokes I've ever seen. He's got a glass eye and a permanent scowl. Stop laughing, I'm being serious...I haven't spoken to him yet and, to be honest, don't really want to. Mrs T might not have been such a bad judge of character after all. Clive seems to spend all day boning and slicing bacon and, just for a bit of variation, might cut and wrap a few joints......that's bacon joints, of course. I must admit that what he was doing seemed a lot easier than the sort of donkey-work I was being putto today. I suppose if it was some kind of test then I feel I came through it quite well. Maybe if I can show people that I'm capable of doing some hard work they'll take me seriously and I'll get some proper training. You know I'm gonna show them that they can't get rid of me just by sticking me in some white overalls and making me lift a few boxes. I'm gonna get that grey nylon jacket back you wait and see'

During tea later everyone was very sympathetic and didn't want to hurt my feelings when it became known where I'd been sent...well Mrs T was anyway.

Laurie was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

'Tell us again what Mr Hughes said then Tim.....I loved the egg bit, can you just talk us through that one again?'

'Well it's like I told him I only lobbed the egg gently to the guy having warned him beforehand that it was coming'

'And he was supposed to catch it without it breaking in his hand, was he?'

'Yes'

'But, instead of catching it, somehow the silly sod let it hit him on the head?'

'Yes'

'So what did he do then? I can tell you that you'd have had to run away pretty quick if you'd done that to me...wasn't he just a tad annoyed?'

'I think he might have been.....I didn't stay to find out.....I legged it and made myself scarce for a while'

'How long is a while?'

'Well, I spent a good hour mooching around in the canteen upstairs before showing my face again.....by this time Archie had got cleaned up and managed see the funny side'

'Just as well for you, then'

'Well yes.....but like I said I didn't mean to do it...and I _have_ said sorry'

'Was he suffering from shell shock?' asked Gordon.

Well it was only a matter of time before the jokes started flowing wasn't it?

They were all pretty lame...'I bet he wasn't eggs-pecting it'.....'The yoke was on him', that kind of thing.....until Gordon came up with.....

'Good job you didn't throw milk and flour as well Tim....or they might've accused you of trying to _batter_ him to death'

This, deservedly, got a big laugh........and pun-time wasn't over yet........

'So no more green-fruiting for you then Tim?'said Laurie.

'It looks that way' I said.....'things seem to have gone a bit _pear_ shaped'

There was a bit of a groan and then it became a fruit and veggy free-for-all.....

'And there was you thinking it was a real _plum_ job' said Gordon.

'Mmmm' I replied....'but it seems I wasn't exactly a twentyfour _carrot_ success...'

'You definitely weren't the _apple_ of Mr Hughes's eye were you Tim?'

said a rather pleased-with-herself Mrs T.

'I suppose you felt a bit of a _lemon_ today 'added Pete.

'Well I was certainly _pea_ 'd off' I replied.

'That's what comes of trying to _cherry_ -pick jobs until you find a _peach_ ' said Laurie.

'Well' I said.....'I have to say that, at the moment, I'm feeling like a bit of a has- _bean_.....what happened today was a real _turnip_ for the books....

and we'll just have to see what to- _marrow_ will bring'

Gordon had heard enough.

' _Lettuce_ stop talking about this' he said.....'I'm going for a _leek_ '

After he left the table we all came to the conclusion that there wasn't _mushroom_ for any more weak humour and that it would be fruitless to discuss the matter any further.

'Seriously, though, Tim' said Pete....'it's going to be tough going for a while at 25....do you reckon you can stick with it?'

'Hard to say at this stage' I said....'at the moment I'm just doing what I'm told and waiting to see how things pan out'

Gordon had just come back and heard this.

'If you _do_ get on okay with Paul you'll do alright.....he was always fair with me' he said.

I knew this as he'd often been mentioned when we talked at night.....

'You know when you used to tell me things about Mr Paul....you'd say Paul said this and Paul said that....I thought that Paul was his first name and I thought you must _really_ get on well with him to be on first name terms'

'Mmmm.....well not quite _that_ well' said Gordon.....'but he's a good bloke once you get to know him.....and he'll train you properly'

'It always helps if you're well in with your manager' said Laurie, whilst looking in Malcolm's direction.

Malcolm looked a touch uneasy with this but declined to comment. For a while conversation became work-related and fairly forgettable until Mrs T decided she would make an announcement...

'It's my birthday in a couple of weeks' she said.....'and I've decided we are going to have a party here'

We all looked at each other with bemused looks.

'Yes that's what I've decided...and you _could_ all look a bit more pleased about it' she said, seemingly a little hurt by our rather obvious lack of enthusiasm.

Laurie jumped in.

'It's not that we're not pleased......it's just a bit of a surprise that's all' he said, and then added in true teacher's pet fashion.....'I'm sure we'll all enjoy it...'

And, turning to us,...'Isn't that right chaps?'

We all nodded dutifully and made encouraging noises.

'Who else are you going to invite?' asked Gordon, trying to show at least modicum of interest.

'Well' she replied.....'I was thinking of inviting all the people who have anything to do with the hostel...you know, people like the shop staff from downstairs, the cleaning ladies and anyone that _you chaps_ might want to invite.....what about Suzie and Deidre for instance?'.

We all looked at each other again...as ideas go I think we were all wishing that it _would_.

'My daughter will also be there as she'll be staying with me at the time' she continued,...'Tim, you haven't met Jane yet have you?'

'No' I said.....'but I think I've seen her photo in your room.....how old is she?'

'Fifteen' replied Mrs T.

The other guys were looking at me as if to say 'Don't ask any more questions' so I just nodded.

'So you'll all be there then?.....Saturday 1st August?.....won't you?' she said, looking at each of us in turn.....kind of defying anyone to come up with an excuse for non-attendance.

One by one answers were forthcoming...

'Smashing'

'Brilliant'

'Great'

'Superb'

'Fantastic'

Sincerity was the watchword

'How many candles are we going to need for your cake then, Mrs T?' asked Gordon, rather cheekily.

'Not more than 21' she replied.

'Probably just as well' he said...'putting them _all_ on would probably constitute a fire hazard'

We all held our breath...what would Mrs T say....or do?

'You cheeky bugger!' she said, as if really annoyed.....and then, to everyone's relief, burst out laughing.

We were amazed. She really did have a sense of humour under the rather prim exterior. She'd even said 'Bugger'.

Maybe the party would turn out okay after all.

Later that night I was lying in my bed tossing......and, of course, turning. I was mulling over everything.....and you know there's nothing quite like a good mull when your 'king tired (think Paul McCartney). I weighed up all the pro's and con's of staying in London and was quite surprised to find that I came out firmly in favour of remaining with David Black. Apart from anything else, I decided that if I went back home I would look (and feel) like a quitter and that wouldn't have been good. The other factor was that I felt I had made some real friends and didn't want to have to say goodbye to them after only two weeks. I resolved to try and make the best of things. I would speak to Mr Paul as soon as possible and see what, if anything, he had in mind for me.

What I needed was a proper career plan.

Just for a change.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Wednesday 22nd July.

Wednesday evening soon came round and it was mobile-disco time. Pete parked his Austin Westminster Tank as near as he could to the front door of the hostel and we piled all the gear into it. We had taken the precaution of getting it down the requisite three flights of stairs the night before so as not to be completely knackered by the time we had set it all up at the venue (a mere _two_ flights up). On the way to Kensington we decided on a plan of action. We reckoned that being in retail wasn't really glamorous enough for the guests of the party we were going-to and figured we should upgrade our image.

'Well what are we going to tell them?' said Pete.....'I don't fancy telling them I'm a butcher'

'No' I said, whilst pondering on the matter.....'and I certainly don't want to tell them what I do'

There followed as much silence as was possible in a clapped out Westminster.

'Well why don't we tell them we're trainee Radio 1 deejays?' was the best that I could think of. I thought Pete would just laugh but.....

'You know that's not bad at all' he said....'I mean we _are_ deejays.... Mmmm, not bad'

So that was it....sorted.

We worked at the BBC as trainee deejays and as soon as the likes of Jimmy Young retired, which surely couldn't be that long given his ripe old age, we would be there to take over. Perfect.

'You know they probably _do_ have trainees' said Pete with an air of dubious authority....'I mean when you think of it most of the deejays they've got now were just nicked from the pirates'

'Mmmm I see what you're saying....they've got no stations left to pinch the staff from now.....so they're forced to train them up themselves?'

'Exactly' he said, satisfied that, to coin a radio term, I was on his wavelength.

I tried to picture all this.

'Where do we work then?' I asked, feeling that it was vital to the success of the thing that our stories synchronised perfectly.

'Broadcasting House of course, you idiot ' he replied....'where do you think Radio one deejays work...Buckingham Palace maybe?'

Well I didn't know did I? They may have had a special school for broadcasters set up somewhere other than London. I visualized a class full of people practicing phrases like 'And now to take us up to the news' or trying to think up new catchphrases and super-corny jokes. There would be exams where the candidates would have to introduce records while the intro was playing and finish speaking just before the singing began. I pictured an Oliver Twist character saying... 'Please sir, can we have _more_ records......the playlist is ever so small?'

After a while I came back to reality.

'Where _is_ Broadcasting House anyway?' I said, thinking I really ought to know exactly where I worked.

'Actually I'm not sure' said Pete.....'but I think it's in central London somewhere'

'Excellent.....that pinpoints it exactly' I said.

We both thought this was quite funny.

'I know what we could say' I said, having had a brainwave...'we could say we often have to go to the Top of the Pops studio as part of our training. I know it's recorded in Television House which is only around the corner from where we live really. We could say we get to meet all the people who appear on TOTP.....how glamorous does that sound?'

'Brilliant' said Pete....'and as long as no-one at the party works for the BBC at either Television House or Broadcasting House I think we'll be okay'

That was sorted then. I felt there were a few rough edges to our stories but they would have to do, we had reached the party venue so there was no more time to make up elaborate details. We would have to go with what we had.

The party was taking place in a large flat in a posh-looking block of the same. They even had an intercom which you spoke into to announce yourself. I pushed the button and a Dalek-like voice just said 'Yes'.

'Tim and Pete - deejays' I said. I don't think Pete would have liked the billing order but he was busy struggling with a large speaker.

'Who?' said the Dalek.

I should have said 'Yes, it's the Doctor' shouldn't I?

'Deejays....you know....mobile disco' I persisted.

'Come in' said the Dalek.

The flat, as I already mentioned, was two flights up and there was no lift so several journeys were needed to bring in all the equipment. We made contact with the Dalek, otherwise known as Simon, whose birthday party it was and whose flat we were in. Whilst talking to Simon we made it our business to find out what he did for a living....just in case the BBC was involved in any way. Luckily it wasn't. He worked in advertising so our cover was unlikely to be blown....at least not by him.

We reckoned he'd started celebrating his birthday well before we got there by the look of him. Anyhow he was the perfect host as far as we were concerned seeing as though he seemed to have his priorities right. He thrust a couple of beers at us and made sure that we knew where the food and drink was. He even paid Pete in advance.

'Don't rush to set up your stuff' he said...most of the guests won't be here 'til around nine, at least.....have a few drinks'

He tottered off and we looked at each other with sort-of 'We've fallen on our feet here' type expressions.

Pete didn't bother with fancy things like disco lighting that pulses with the beat of the music or, to be fair, any form of lighting at all..... so all we had to do was assemble the twin deck console and put a few wires into the right holes. Having helped get the equipment into the party-room I left all the putting-together to Pete while I went off looking for more refreshments. Our initial drinks hadn't really touched the sides after all the fetching and carrying we'd done. In the bar area (kitchen) I couldn't help noticing a couple of fantastic-looking girls..... keen observation or what? They seemed to be discussing what was, I imagined, their favourite occupation.....shopping.

In the space of just a few minutes I learnt all I probably needed to know about the relative merits of Harvey Nichols and Harrods. To be honest it wasn't really my sort of conversation but in this case I was fascinated and could have listened (ogled) for ages. There was plenty of variety of drink to choose from so I thought we could start on beer and maybe progress to spirits later. Whilst I was pouring the beer (very slowly) one of the girls turned to me and decided to make some introductions...

'Hello' she said...'I don't think we've met.....I'm Lynne and this is Patricia'

'Er....hello' I said trying not to appear over-awed.....'er.....I'm Tim.....I'm a trainee mobile deejay.....er no, I mean trainee deejay....

but in this case with a mobile disco....if you see what I mean' (imagine Hugh Grant....but minus the handsomeness)

The girls looked a trifle confused.

'Are you deejaying here tonight?' said Patricia.

'Yes indeed' I said trying my best to sound convincing.

'Super' said Lynne.

'Do you do any other deejaying?.....you know, other than parties'

asked Patricia.

I have to say I didn't think that I would have to start lying quite as early in the proceedings and it had thrown me a little. I was getting hotter by the second and it was nothing to do with the weather. I took a gulp of beer and went for it.

'We both work for the BBC as trainee deejays' I said as convincingly as possible.

They both looked impressed.

'Gosh that sounds interesting' said Lynne.....'do you know anyone famous?'

'Well I _have_ met quite a few pop stars' I said, with a fair amount of misplaced confidence.....'I go to the Top of The Pops studios at Television House quite a lot as part of learning the job....Jimmy Savile's a friend of mine'

Well when you lie you might as well make it a good one.

'Fantastic' said Patricia.....'is he as daft as he seems on TV?'

'Oh absolutely' I said...'old Jim.....he's a total nutter'

This was going a lot better than I could ever have dreamed-of. They were swallowing it hook line and sinker. Harrods and Harvey Nicks had been completely kicked into touch.

'What pop stars have you met?' asked a wide-eyed Lynne.

'More a case of who haven't I met, really' I said...'you name anyone who's been on TOTP lately....I have to chat to them before they go on.....you know, keep them happy.....sort out if there's anything they need...'

'And what sort of things _do_ they need?' asked Patricia.

'Well mainly drugs.....the odd groupie.....that kind of thing' I joked.

'You find them girls?' said Patricia.

'And drugs?' said Lynne, both sounding horrified.

'No, I'm only kidding' I said, looking from one to the other for signs of amusement.

None was evident.

'Do you know Mick Jagger?....I like him' asked Lynne.

'Er, no' I answered (truthfully, for a change).....'the Stones seem to have given up doing the 'Pops"'What about Peter Frampton?' said Patricia.

'Who?' I said.

'You know.....of The Herd.....and Humble Pie ' they persisted, in unison.

'Um, no' I said.....'don't think he's been at the BBC recently.....I think I spotted _Thora_ Hird the other day ,though.....if that's any good?'

The girls looked disappointed. Course I could have said 'yes' but it was beginning to seem a bit more like a two-way interrogation rather than a conversation. One girl might have been okay, but this was getting difficult with questions coming from two sets of beautiful lips. Lying isn't all that easy you know.

Just then I heard sounds coming from the party room.....chance to escape (Saved by the ball.....or maybe saved from the belles).

'Look, I'll catch up with you both later' I said...'I'd better go and see if Pete needs my help setting the levels....don't want the music too loud do we?'

With that I grabbed both drinks and beat it. I was sweating more now than when I'd carried the gear up all those stairs.

'You've been a long time getting those drinks' said Pete, making a statement sound more like a question.

'Yeah, I've been chatting up some girls' I said, smiling.....'they really fell for the trainee deejay bit.....we could do all right there'

'That's all very well but I've been dying of thirst...all right for you' he said taking a huge gulp of the beer........'anyway, where are they?'

I pointed them out. They'd come into the room to see what we were doing.

'Mmmm, I see what you mean' said Pete.....'I take back any slight annoyance, Tim old chap, that you may have perceived.......they're both fucking gorgeous!'

I couldn't have put it better myself.

Everything was set up and ready. Pete cued up the first record which had become his signature tune...Booker T and The M.G's _Green Onions_. It blasted out of the speakers and we were off and running. I felt quite important standing behind the console with Pete, finding records for him and putting them away again. People were dancing and having a good time and the vibes were great. Every now and again we would do a silly joke or pick on someone who wasn't dancing and make them feel stupid. You start to feel quite brave standing behind a few hundred watts of amplified power and can't fail to make a complete tit of yourself. This was typical...

Pete (talking over record's intro): Do you see what I see Tim?

Me: I probably do.....what is it?

Pete: I see some people not dancing...can you believe it?

Me: Certainly not Pete....let's make em get up with this next record. Pete: What shall we do if they won't dance, though.

Me: We'll play that Des O'Connor record you bought with you as a punishment.

Pete: Yeah, do hear that people?....(shouting) DES O'CONNOR! Loads of people suddenly seemed to want to dance.

It was great fun and the time seemed to go by in a blur of requests and more alcohol. We didn't even have to refer to our cover story again as we weren't mingling with the guests. The music was too loud to talk anyhow, without shouting. At some stage after midnight I went back into the kitchen in search of yet another beer and met up with Lynne and Patricia again. They were looking a bit the worse for wear like we probably all were by then....but were no less attractive.....quite the reverse.

'Come here you' said Lynne.

I couldn't believe it.....she just pounced on me and, before I knew where I was, started snogging me!

I don't know how long this lasted but certain bits of me were starting to solidify.

When she (finally) let me get some air she let me know she what she thought of our show...and it looked like we were a hit.

'Amazing deejaying, darling' she enthused.....'you boys are so professional'

I was beginning to see the advantages of this deejaying lark.....free drinks and gorgeous women throwing themselves at you.

'Just imagine what life would be like if I was a _real_ deejay' I thought.

'What are you doing later....after the party?' whispered Lynne in my ear.

Well let's see now, what _were_ we going to do? Oh yes, bung all the equipment back into Pete's old banger (the very sight of which would probably blow our cool image straight away) and go home back to salubrious, upmarket Ladbroke Grove.

'Well I don't know' I said.....'we haven't really decided yet...

we may go on to a club or call in on one of the radio one deejays we know.....quite a few live round here you know'

Basically, I just didn't know when to stop.

'Ooh....who lives round here then?' they gushed, almost in unison I named a couple of deejays who leapt to mind.....god knows where they _really_ lived.

'It must be fantastic to know loads of famous people' said Patricia. 'Yes' I said....'it certainly is'

'You know _we_ only live round the corner darling.....why don't you come and see _us_ when you finish here?' offered Lynne.

'Yes dooo come' said Patricia.....'I'll find something to write the address on'

Opportunity was certainly knocking.

*

I was talking to Gordon later that evening. It wasn't that I particularly wanted to speak to him, it was more the case that I'd woken him up by accident having tripped over some shoes that were on the floor. This was at around 4 in the morning and the room was totally dark.

Gordon: Tim...is that you?

Me (scrambling to get up): Yes mate.....don't worry it's not a burglar.

G (having switched on the bedside light): What the fuck are you playing at?

Me: Well, surprisingly enough, I _was_ trying not to disturb you by putting on the light.

G: What time is it?

Me: Fourish

G: Four 'o' fucking clock!...where the bloody hell have you been to get back at this time of the night?

Me: You may well ask.

G: I fucking well _am_ asking!

Me: Yes alright, don't get agitated....I'll tell you what happened. As you know we went and did this disco at a posh flat in Kensington. G: Y e s (that's an elongated 'yes' by the way)

Me: Well it all went really well....the disco was great, there was loads of booze and I got chatting to these two fantastic-looking girls who said they only lived round the corner.

G: Okay....well then what?

Me: Well it was all agreed.....we would meet them round there after we had packed up the gear....I had their address and everything.

G (less grumpy by now): Sounds promising.

Me: That's what I thought....but what I wasn't bargaining for was that bloody wreck that Pete describes as a car. After the party ends we load all the stuff into it with thoughts of finding the girl's flat uppermost in our minds....the problem is that this is the precise moment that Pete's car decides to not start. We tried everything. We got Simon, the guy whose party it was, to get some of his friends to push....but the bastard thing still would _not_ start! I mean....embarrassing or what? The sodding thing weighs a ton and, of course, it's choc-full of disco equipment and records....pushing it nearly killed all of us.

G: So did you get it to start?

Me: No....we bloody didn't. Simon.....he's a great guy by the way...said we could use his phone and we phoned the AA.

G: Did they suggest you give up drinking?

Me: Not _that_ AA, you idiot!

G: I was only joking mate....did they manage to get it started?

Me: Well, yes....but only after we waited for about an hour or so for their bloke to arrive and then fix the bloody thing....needless to say we didn't feel like calling on the girls after all that.

G: No I don't suppose you did....they'd probably have given up on you by then anyway and gone to bed.

Me: No doubt.

G: Missed a good chance there then didn't you?

Me: Probably....thanks for pointing that out.

After a short pause...

G (having woken up a bit by now): Actually I know a joke about an AA man...but I'll leave it for now.

Me: It isn't the one where a brainless hooray Henry breaks down in his Jag and an AA bloke comes to fix it....he lifts the bonnet and manages to start the car in no time...the dim driver asks 'What was the problem?'.....the AA bloke shrugs and says 'Just shit in the carburettor' and the driver says 'How often do I have to do that then?'

.....is it?

G (laughing): Yeah.....it _is_ , actually.....how did you know?

Me (mirthlessly): Just a guess.

The light goes off and the room is dark

After about 5 minutes.

G: Tim.

Me: What now?

G: Those girls....I don't suppose you've still got their address and phone number?

Me: Gordon...go back to sleep.

G: Okay....just thought I'd ask.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Thursday 23rd July. Bedroom.

'I seem to have plenty of time to think about the previous evening's events seeing as though I've got the morning off work. Gordon's just gone. He was like a bear with a sore head when he had to get up and go to work so I kept my head down and pretended to be asleep when he was moving around getting ready. I could tell that he wasn't happy, having been rudely awakened from his slumbers in the middle of the night, cos he was banging and crashing around. Probably hoping to wake me up. Also, every now and again whilst putting his clothes on he'd be swearing away to himself. Is this what they mean by crossdressing? Actually, when I think about it, _I_ should be the one who's upset, having _not_ had the chance to go and see the two girls after the party and therefore _not_ had the chance to lose my cherry! It's all so unfair.

One good thing, though, is that, for once I've got the room to myself and therefore will be able to 'fantasise' a little about what might have happened the previous evening if things had gone to plan. And I may have to make use of a magazine in order to remind myself of what a girl looks like with very few clothes on. I think you know what I'm saying here.

Obviously this all rates as poor consolation but will have to do. You know it seems like virginity is harder to lose than the taste of garlic but it's certainly good for the ego when a couple of posh birds throw themselves at you like Lynne and Patricia did last night. And I'm not gonna let the fact that they were drunk.....or the fact that they thought we were big-shot deejays, undermine the image I now have of myself as a potential lady-killer.

I feel I need all the ego-massaging I can get.....and _ego,_ of course, means 'The Self'.

Okay then, you can all consider yourselves evicted for now and I'll catch up with you later.....bye'

Later, that same morning, the 'fantasising' was well under way when the bedroom door suddenly opened and, horror of horrors, there was a woman in my room! Our eyes met at the same time and I don't know who was the more embarrassed. It must have been fairly obvious what was taking place as there was a sort-of tent pole effect in the middle of the bed and one of Gordon's 'nudie' books held in the hand that wasn't under the sheets.

'Sorry' she said, looking away quickly.....'I didn't know you were in here' and departed rapidly.

'Bloody hell' I thought.....'is there no privacy to be had at all in this place?'

Seemingly not.....the one time I'd had the bedroom all to myself my space had been cruelly invaded. I'd heard of _coitious interruptus_ and this was something broadly similar.

It had put me right off my stroke I can tell you!

How much had she seen?

What did she think?

It was embarrassing.....I felt a real prick (or _had been_ anyway). I was both shaken and stirred.

As a measure of how traumatic it was I can tell you that it must have been several seconds before I was able to get back to the job in hand.

Like Magnus Magnusson, I thought.....'I've started so I'll finish'

The lady who had barged in my room was only going about her rightful business being one of the two cleaners who worked at the hostel. I'd seen her before and noted that she wasn't at all bad looking, being small of height, long of hair and pretty of face. I knew her name was Tanya and guessed that she was probably in her late twenties or early thirties. When I first arrived at the hostel I'd seen her and noted that she was sporting a black eye. I remembered speculating as to how she might have got it. Perhaps she had a jealous husband or boyfriend.....or maybe she just happened to jump up and down too fast....well she _was_ quite well stacked!

Being in a daft mood I started putting silly surnames to her name. I came up with stuff like Tanya Backside, Tanya Arseoff....and even a Bulgarian-style version, Tanya Arsov. I thought back to the 1966 World Cup when I'd noticed that all the Bulgarian players surnames seemed to end in the suffix 'ov' and couldn't resist coming up with a rather naughty team....Pissov, Sodov, Buggerov, Avitov etc

A bit juvenile I suppose, but strangely in keeping with the spirit of this book.

Just me playing silly Bulgars really.

Let's get back to the plot. Yes there _is_ one....and it's about to thicken (it thickens motht people, actually). I couldn't help wondering what Tanya had made of our little encounter and the more I thought about it the more inwardly embarrassed I felt.

'Maybe if we were forced to have to face each other we could just pretend nothing had happened' I thought.

I remembered a story I'd heard about a butler who accidentally went into a bathroom where a lady was having a bath. He just said 'I'm sorry sir I didn't realise you were in here' and left. In fact he'd noticed it was a woman but by saying 'Sir' he'd sown the seed in the woman's mind that he hadn't seen anything (like tits, for example).

Good psychology, I think as it meant that in future they could face each other without embarrassment.

'Anyhow' I thought, 'I don't suppose that me and Tanya would ever be in a situation where either of us would have to pretend _anything_..... she's just a cleaner and doesn't work here most of the time that I'm around.'

This was a consoling thought.....and I was just beginning to feel a little better when a totally un-consoling thought booted it out of the way unceremoniously.....

'Oh god.....Mrs T' birthday party...I bet Tanya will be there...Shit!'

My face was starting to go red just thinking about it.

*

One thing I wanted to do with my morning off was look into the possibility of having driving lessons and was determined that recent developments weren't going to get in the way of this. I'd already found out that there was a driving school in the vicinity called 'Auto Scuola' so the plan was to go there and check things out. I felt that the name wasn't too promising, to be honest...why not just call it a more Britishsounding _Auto School?_ The word 'Scuola' sounded Italian to me and I wondered if they gave instruction on how to ride motor scooters, as well as drive cars. Perhaps I'd have an instructor called Luigi who would end almost every word in 'a'...

'You put-a your foot-a down on-a the clutch and-a then put-a the car into first-a gear'

Well, it was possible.

Actually I could have done with a few scooter-riding lessons when I'd had _my_ motor scooter. It was a Lambretta LI 150 that my Dad bought for me on the basis that I would pass at least five 'o' levels. Most people laughed when I told them this and you could see their point. My scholastic track record up to this time was fairly patchy and it had been some while since I'd stunned everyone by managing to pass the eleven plus. Popular opinion held that it was a clear case of hope over expectation on my Dad's part.....but his faith was rewarded when (to everyone's surprise..... including mine) I managed to fulfill my part of the bargain.....and actually exceeded it. I got SIX 'o' levels!

Personally I don't think it was ever in doubt and always felt that it would all come right on the night. Others were less than magnanimous and some even asked me how I'd cheated. What a cheek! Anyhow it did kind of legitamise my ownership of the scooter....I felt I'd genuinely earned it.

Okay, having got that out of the way, let's talk about the relative merits and demerits of motor scooters. Here are the merits....NONE WHATSOEVER.

Here are the demerits.....THOUSANDS.

You know you see old photo's of Mods riding these gleaming machines which are always kitted out with tons of wing mirrors and there's always a smart-looking guy wearing a suit and a mini-skirted dolly-bird on the pillion? Well forget that because the truth about motor scooters is that they were (and probably still are) DEATH TRAPS.

They fall over at the drop of a hat, have a turning circle larger than an articulated lorry and are generally the most impractical item of vehicular transport ever designed. If you ride more than a couple of miles on one without mishap you feel a genuine sense of achievement. Five miles on a scooter is the equivalent of at least fifty in a car. Honestly you'd be better off driving a Sinclair C-50 on a motorway with no brakes and three bald tyres.

But, you know, having said all that....my innate sense of honesty won't let the scooter take the rap for all the mishaps (and there were many) that befell me whilst riding it. I can't let the scooter (may it rust in peace) take all the blame....it was the combination of me and it...

we were LETHAL!

How I lived to see eighteen I'll never know.....I must've fallen off the bloody thing dozens of times! And when I think about it there was a common thread which linked virtually all these 'accidents'...they were all my own fault.....and more often than not no other road-users were involved!

The problem was that I seemed to want to go round corners faster than the scooter did. It just didn't seem to have been made to take bends. Maybe it was the Italian connection...I mean the Romans built all their roads straight didn't they?

It was ages before I understood this concept and until I did the wretched scooter threw me off at every possible opportunity! Many's the time I had to pick myself up off the road in front of a bunch of worriedlooking onlookers, assure them that I was okay, bend the fairing back into shape, and then get back on the bike, seemingly unconcerned, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Sadly, it _was_ an everyday occurrence.

It wasn't just rider error that would cause this motorised Devilfrom-Hell to behave like a Bucking Bronco either. Scooters, as a breed, seem to be incredibly particular when it comes to road surfaces and any deviations from perfection are likely to upset them....and if they're upset you can bet the rider soon will be as well.

Rain, ice, snow, mud, loose chippings.....any of these things could spell trouble of the kind which would generally entail a close encounter with the tarmac. It was like I was Evel Knievel....but didn't need any ramps! I'm not gonna think about it any more....it's too painful.

You know, in anyone's book motor scooters were bad news but I also had to face facts.....I hadn't helped. The truth was that I'd been a danger to myself and the general motoring public by scootering without due care and attention and didn't want this to happen again when I got behind the steering wheel of a car. I really needed to start off on the right foot and get the basics right. I actually fancied driving a car a lot more than riding a scooter anyhow. On a scooter you were too exposed to the elements. Rain was particularly nasty. If it rained I'd have to stop and put this cycling cape on pretty quickly.....if I didn't then rainwater would gather on the lap of my parka and then all of a sudden soak through.....a real 'Urrrr' moment!.....and it never creates a good impression to arrive anywhere with a wet crotch does it?

Another thing was that I hated wearing a crash helmet. I don't remember if it was mandatory to wear one in those days but know I often didn't do so. This resulted in the consumption of one or two winged insects almost every journey. They tasted horrible. Spit don't swallow, would be my recommendation. Having eaten a few bluebottles I can honestly say that I know what a Bush Tucker Trial must be like. I'd rather do one of those....I mean a Witchetty Grub may not be everyone's ideal snack but, unlike the fly, it's fairly unlikely to have been perching on a dog turd only minutes before consumption is it?

I hope you're not having your tea whilst reading this.

No, motoring had to be a far better idea than all of that. In my mind's eye I could visualise myself zooming along a country road in a sports car with a beautiful girl by my side. In an ideal world, of course, both would have their tops down. An E-Type Jag would have fitted the bill nicely but, on the wages I was getting, I realized a Z-Type Bubble Car was probably more my mark.

Anyhow, I've digressed somewhat....but you can see what my thinking was and why I went ahead that morning and booked half a dozen lessons with the iffy-sounding school of motoring.

I needed wheels.

Four rather than two.

Having returned from all this and before heading downtown to the mean streets of Shepherds Bush I decided to make myself a sandwich. I was rummaging in the fridge to see what could go in it when Mrs T appeared.....she had a habit of doing that. You know, just appearing as if by magic.....think Trapdoor Spider.

'Ah Tim I wanted a word with you before you went off ' she said.

I was all ears (a genetic defect).

'Yes' she continued...'Gordon was very unhappy about you waking him up last night.....it won't do you know, coming in at four in the morning'

This wasn't exactly news. I pointed out that Gordon didn't seem to be too unhappy at the time and was even going to tell me a joke if I'd let him. I said that I could tell that he was in a bit of a mood when he got up but thought it best to say nothing then and maybe see him later (I couldn't really avoid him could I?).

'Well I've been thinking about it' she said...'and I think that it would be best if you had the small bedroom next to the one you've got now...you'll have the room to yourself and won't disturb anyone then if you stay out late.....how does that sound?'

'FANTASTIC....YIPPEE....HOORAY' I thought....but didn't want to seem too eager.

'Of course if you think it's for the best' I said.

'I do' she said, and added 'I would have given you that room in the first place but I thought you might like some company.....being new in London and all'

'Well it was a nice thought' I replied....'but I think most people like a bit of privacy if they can get it'

Mrs T smiled when I said this as if to say 'Yes....and I know why'

It was a bit worrying.....had Tanya been telling her things? What did Mrs T know...apart from the fact that I was a young lad.....and all young lads like to play with their willies?

'Well I suppose we all need our own space...' was all she said, and I wasn't going to ask any questions.

'I'll move my stuff over tonight, then, shall I?' I asked.

'Yes, okay and I'll see you later' she said...

And was gone.

This was great. Now that I had my own room I could do as much 'fantasising' as I pleased. The only real drawback of moving bedrooms _was_ that it would deprive me of the services of Gordon's record player although this was a relatively minor point as I was planning to buy a new stereo anyhow (It's funny that we say we're going to buy a stereo these days but, before stereos, no-one ever said 'I'm going to buy a mono' did they?).

Also I'd already decided to bring my radio and acoustic guitar with me when I came back from visiting home at the weekend so there would be plenty of entertainment available. It seemed that in most respects I was starting to sort things out but, of course, there was one big problem..... my job. It had started unpromisingly.....and then gone downhill from there. It was clear that if I was to remain in London things were going to have to be addressed fairly quickly. I decided then that I would try and find a time to tackle Mr Paul and get some sort of plan of action worked out.

Here's how it went.....

When I arrived at work Mr Paul was deep in conversation with a chap I didn't recognise. They were looking under workbenches and generally finding evidence which bore out what we all knew already.....the place was alive with mice!

'Well what can you do about it?' said Mr P to this person.....evidently, someone D.B had brought in to solve the rodent problem.

'Sticky boards' said the guy.....'that'll catch 'em'

'STICKYBOARDS.....what the fuckin' 'ell are they?' said a somewhat incredulous shop manager.

The rodent operative took out a large square bit of cardboard from his suitcase.

'This is a sticky board, or rather will-be when I've covered it with the special glue' he said.

Mr P's eyes narrowed and he appeared to doubt the theory of the whole thing.

'And what are you going to do, when you've covered it with glue?' he asked, a bit poetically.

'I'll show you' said the guy, whilst gluing.....'now what happens is we put them down on the floor where we know the mice go and they just stick to them.....it always works.....even if they manage to get off the board the glue sticks in their fur and they can't go anywhere'

The guy had invented the mouse-mat.

It sounded somewhat barbaric to me.

'What happens to the mice after they get stuck then.....do they die?' asked Mr P.

'A good question' I thought.

'Well not straight away' said the mouse-slayer...'you've got a choice...you can either wait for them to die...'

He paused.

'Or what?' asked the, increasingly horrified, shop manager.

'...or scrape them off into something......boiling hot water soon kills 'em'

Mr P looked around at me. I just shrugged my shoulders and pulled a sort-of Stan Laurel expression in return. He shook his head and turned back to address the rodent bloke.

'Do the RSPCA know about all this?' he asked, in mock seriousness.

I don't think the mouse-man had ever been asked this before. 'It's quite legal' he said...'we do it all the time.

It was easy to tell that Mr P had misgivings (Who's Miss Givings you ask).

'Well alright, I suppose we'd better give it a go, then' he said....'anyway it's Head Office's idea, not mine.....what are you going to do now?'

Mr rodent man said he was going to put quite a few of these boards down in all the corners and along the side of the walls. This was where the mice were mostly to be found at night (before going off in search of digestive biscuits, presumably).

'Well you'd better get on with it then....let's hope all this works.....

these bloody mice are costing me a fortune in stock losses' were Mr P's parting words to our friendly neighbourhood exterminator.

As if _he_ could have cared less.

Fresh from this little encounter I asked Mr P why I had been sent to 25 and what was going to happen.....seeing as though I was still, officially, a trainee manager. Mr P looked down at me from his oversix-foot height and considered his reply carefully. He fixed me with a particularly firm-jawed expression, looked me in the eye and asked....

'What do you want from this job.....do you want to do it properly?'

I was slightly taken aback.

'Well yes....of course I do' I said.

Mr P obviously needed some convincing.

'The people at head office told me that you were lazy and disinterested' he said.....'so they sent you to me to see if I could make something of you'

A little harsh I felt.

'They didn't seem particularly interested in _me_ for that matter' I said,...and added, with a half-smile ' _Are_ you going to make something of me?'

Mr P also smiled. I had had the feeling that we could have a decent rapport if the ice melted a little and this was evidence of it.

'There's a lot to learn' he said.....'where would you like to start?' 'I think I'd like to learn how to do the bacon' I said.

'Mmmm' he said thoughtfully.....'Clive's really doing that at the moment.....perhaps we'll start you on cooked meats first and see what you can make of that... if it goes okay, and you show me you can do it, then we'll show you how to bone out and slice the bacon.....now is that fair?'

'Yeah' I said.....'that seems fair enough'

As a career plan it was probably the best offer I was going to get.

The only person who didn't look particularly happy with all this was Clive. I knew he had been earwigging Mr P's conversations with me and the mouse-man. He'd been close by slicing up his bacon and was now giving me the evil eye. Not that I wanted it. I didn't really have any use for any more eyes....evil or otherwise.

I wondered what his problem was. Maybe he didn't want anyone else muscling in on his territory. I guessed that since Gordon had gone he'd probably seen his personal status rise somewhat and didn't want a rival. He looked like he was ready to give me a hard time and the thought crossed my mind that maybe Mrs T had been right to expel him from the hostel. Perhaps she wasn't just being vindictive when giving him his marching orders. He didn't exactly look like a fun person to have around the house. Surly....that's how I'd have described him.

Anyhow it looked like it was a _fait accomplis_.....I was seen as an _enfant terrible_ who'd committed a _faux pas_ by adopting a _laissez faire_ attitude and was now deeply ensconced in the _merde._ Clive was my new colleague and I was obviously going to have to be Phyllis O'Fickle about it.

'Bollocks' I thought.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Friday 24th July. Early evening.

Friday night I get a phone call from home:

Mum: Hello son, how are you....are they looking after you?

Me: Yes mum, everything's going fine.....anyhow I'll see you sometime tomorrow.

Mum (Expressing a little surprise): Will you Tim?

Me: Yes....don't you remember, I _did_ mention that the hostel was closing this weekend.....I mentioned it the last time you called.....two days ago.

Mum: Oh yes, I remember now.....when will we see you then?

Me: Well, I'll leave work at about one o'clock and then get back there whenever I can.

Mum: Right....well see you then.....I can't keep talking, my money's nearly run out....Ooo there go the pips....see you tomorrow.

Gone.

'You know we're always having these sort of really meaningful conversations.....she's walked to the nearest phone box on our estate, a distance of about half a mile, just to find out what she's been told already. I suppose it's about time that I explained a few things about my mother so I'm going to do that now. It's a bit heavier than other stuff we've talked about.....there's a saying 'into each life a little rain must fall' and, a couple of years ago, the heavens well and truly emptied.

In a nutshell Mum had a mental breakdown and spent two or three months in a mental hospital in Basingstoke. This was a traumatic time for me and the rest of the family as you can imagine. It's difficult to explain to anyone how hard it is to watch someone you love start doing irrational things and then keep breaking down in floods of tears. You see that same person sitting in a chair, staring blankly at the fireplace a lot of the time, and don't seem to be able to get through when you try and talk. You go through months of upset and uncertainty and it's not easy to describe how you feel when, eventually, it's deemed necessary for the person you love most in all the world to be taken away from the family and put in a place from which people sometimes never return.

After she'd been in this mental institution for a while Dad told us she was going to have Electric Shock Treatment. For those of you who are lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the process I can tell you it's where they attach electrodes on the person's head and pass jolts of electricity through them. Sounds barbaric doesn't it? I suppose there must be some evidence that it can do some good but I'm guessing that most people wouldn't want to have to undergo it. Anyhow she had it and before long we were told she should be able to come home soon...

Let me be honest here, guys....I wondered if I really _wanted_ her to come home. Doesn't that sound awful?.....I felt _so guilty_ for having those thoughts...but I didn't want to go through all the stuff we'd gone through before she went away. It sounds selfish but I didn't think I could go through that sort of ordeal all over again.....it really _was_ that traumatic.

She'd been diagnosed as having 'depression' which, in my view, is a complete misnomer and doesn't go anywhere near to describing what the sufferer is going through. For most people the word 'depression' just means being, temporarily, a bit down-in-the-dumps....like when your favourite football team loses.....but the mental illness of which we speak is nothing like that at all. It's a total black hole and the person concerned is in a completely desperate situation. The word 'depression' really just doesn't begin to cover what it's like at all.....it's a very serious mental illness.

Anyhow, fingers crossed, it looks like the treatment worked and she's fine now in an 'I can't remember very much' sort of way. The idea of the therapy, if I understand it right, is that it scrambles the brain and the sufferer becomes a bit disorientated, thereby being brought back to a sort-of 'square one' memory situation. This definitely seems to be the case with Mum. She's not how she was in years gone by but, I think, on balance, that it's far better that she's able to live at home.....albeit in a slightly altered state.

It frightens me to think that she could of ended up living in the hospital as one of it's permanent residents. I tell you, just visiting that place was the stuff of nightmares and I never want to go there or anywhere else like it again.

You know I wouldn't have told you any of this but I think that we're friends now and I wanted you to know a bit more about me and my family. I don't see mental illness as anything to be ashamed about....it could happen to anyone. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone back in Farnborough tomorrow but I know there'll be one person who will be especially glad to see me...my extra-special Mum. Thanks for listening.'

*

We were all sitting around in the lounge that evening watching some old rubbish on TV when I couldn't help noticing that Pete was filling in some sort of form.

'What have you got there then, Pete?' I asked.

Laurie was smiling.

'It's his Dateline form' he said.....'he's desperate for a date'

Well who wasn't?

'What've you got to do then, Pete?' I asked....and moved closer to see what it was all about.

Pete explained that he had to put all his details on this form so I took a look at it. There were lots of details required about the potential 'datee'. Pete had to put down everything about himself.....the form was pretty thorough.....there wasn't much that it didn't ask...other than maybe the length of his knob! It would have been funny if it had, though, wouldn't it? Imagine if he'd had to measure himself in order to fill in stuff like: Size flaccid/Size erect.

The Dateline people seemed particularly interested in what Pete did with his spare time. Interests, hobbies....that kind of thing. I advised him to put down stuff like Devil-Worship, Arctic Exploration and Knitting....but only got told not to be so 'bloody stupid'. Pete said that it was important that he put down the right information on the form because all the data would be fed into a computer and in due course he'd be sent the names of six girls that, in theory, he'd be compatible with. I felt it was going to be interesting to see how true this would turn out to be in practice.

'So have these girls got to have similar interests to you?' I asked, in all seriousness.

'I suppose so....I dunno really.....I haven't given it a lot of thought' he said.

'Hmmm.....I think it's worth thinking about' I said...'I mean if you wrote down on the form that you liked Basket-Weaving and Sumo Wrestling what sort of girls would they find for you then?'

'Probably the same ones as if you'd put Train Spotting and Lion Taming' added Laurie, cynicism to the fore.

This was a good point though. I mean how would Pete know how the computer did the matching? As long as he got a list of girls names he wasn't going to know how they'd been chosen.....or what they'd put on _their_ forms.....or even if a computer was used at all! In short, the Dateline people were safe as long as the list they supplied met the following exacting criteria :

1. It had to have six people on it.

2. They all had to be girls.

3. They all had to be alive (at the time they'd filled in the form, anyway).

And that was about it.....six girl's names and job done.

There seemed to be differing opinions as to whether all this was worth doing or not. Malcolm said he'd be interested and asked Pete where could he get one of these forms. Gordon said he thought the whole thing was rubbish and that the computer couldn't possibly pick out people who would fancy each other. Laurie said he'd read reports that it was all just a big con and reckoned someone was getting rich on the strength of it. All interesting points of view. I didn't know what to think.....so decided just to be silly, as usual.

'So, to sum it up' I said, looking in Pete's general direction.....'you fill in this form, send it away, and before long you're inundated with girls wanting to be dated'

'That's about it' he said, ignoring (quite rightly) the sad attempt at humour.

(I've always thought the PUNishment for making bad PUNs should be quite PUNative)

'Computer dating is all very well' said Gordon....'but going back to my earlier point, they don't ask for any photographs or anything..... it's possible the six girls they send you could be complete and utter dogs'

A bit non-p.c...but a reasonable point, surely.

'Yes, of course I've thought about it' said a slightly irritated Pete....'what I'll do is arrange to meet them somewhere and make sure they look conspicuous....that way I'll be able to leave without having to make myself known if I don't like the look of them'

That seemed like a good plan.....rotten and nasty, but a good plan. 'It's all a bit pig-in-a-poke I reckon' said Laurie.

'Yeah, and you don't want to end up poking a pig' smirked Gordon.

Pete still carried on filling in the form, seemingly oblivious to the general atmosphere of scorn pervading the room.

'You lot can laugh if you want' he said....'but I've noticed the only one of you currently seeing anyone is Gordon.....the rest of you would like a girlfriend and anything that can possibly help in that direction is a good thing as far as I'm concerned'

Well that told _us_ didn't it.

'Well said' said Malcolm...'but I'll see how you get on before I send them any of _my_ money'

'So how much are they charging you for these six 'gorgeous' girls' asked Laurie in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

'A fiver' replied Pete, a touch sheepishly.

'Bloody hell, you could shag a woman for that in the West End... er, probably.....so I've heard' said Gordon.

'That's the going rate is it?' asked Laurie.

'I think so' said Gordon....'not that I've done it.....you know, pay for it'

'No....you're better off keeping your money and just having a wank' said Laurie.....'at least you can't catch anything too bad off your hand' Much laughter.

Turning to Pete, Laurie continued....'So it looks like you've a choice then, mate.....spend your hard-earned fiver getting the details of six girls who may or not be any good.....or spend it on a guaranteed shag...... what do you think?'

'To be honest I've never fancied the idea of using a prostitute' said Pete in dead earnest.

'Why's that?' says Laurie in mock seriousness....'surely it's only a business transaction'

Pete didn't buy into this.

'Nah' he said....'it just doesn't seem right somehow....paying for sex.....I'd sooner take my chances with computer dating.......IF THAT'S OKAY WITH YOU LOT'

The last few words were addressed quite forcefully to us all. He was obviously starting to get a bit narked. It seemed like he'd taken our ribbing a bit too much to heart.

'Okay' said Gordon, attempting pacification.....'keep your hair on.....it might work out well....and then all these guys (pointing at us) will be filling in the forms like a shot, you see...(pause)... talking about prostitutes, wanna hear a joke?'

Pete visibly brightened and we all nodded.

'All right...go on then' he said.

'Well' says Gordon.....'this guy starts a new job as a Monk at a monastery.....'

'This isn't the one where someone says _Are you the chip monk?_ and he says _No, I'm the chief friar,_ is it?' I asked.

'No' he said, trying to ignore the interruption...'if I may continue...he gets there a bit early and the Mother Superior says he ought to go into the local town for a walk 'til she's ready to show him round. So he wanders around the town and ends up in the red light district.....before long a girl in a short skirt comes up to him and says _Want a shag_..... _only five pounds?_

He ignores her and walks on.....soon another one says the same thing... _Want a shag_..... _only five pounds?_ Again he takes no notice.

This happens again so the bloke decides he'll ask Mother Superior what's going on when he gets back to the monastery.

'Mother superior' he says....'there's something I need to know..... what's a _SHAG?_ '

'FIVE POUNDS' she says.

Well _we_ liked it.

*

Later that night. In my own, small, self-contained, bijou bedroom.

'I'm lying here in bed thinking about what has happened in just three short weeks and I can tell you it seems like a _lot_ longer than that. They say that things happen fast up here in London and so far that certainly seems to be very much the case. On the work front Mr Paul has kept his word and I've been shown how to prepare cooked meat for sale. The machine we use for this has a big wheel that's razor-sharp so there's really only one rule....after you finish make sure you still have the same number of fingers you had when you started. I know Django Reinhart didn't have a full complement of digits but I feel _my_ guitar playing would definitely suffer if lost a finger or two. Also I think I'd be at a disadvantage as a motorist if I wasn't able to communicate displeasure to other road users, digitally, from time to time.

I remember seeing a series of photos in a magazine of this bomb disposal guy and he was carrying some kind of explosive device when it went off. The pictures showed his hand being blown away completely. That must be very strange and shocking mustn't it? One minute you have and hand and the next it's gone. It's not as though it could even have been sewn back on seeing as it had just disintegrated.

It was horrible.

Let's not dwell on that....on a different tack, it was Clive....you know, the mean, moody and not-so-magnificent one....who was asked to show me how to do the cooked meat. He didn't look too pleased but, to be fair, took time away from his busy schedule to show me how it's done. He was okay and I thought 'Maybe I've got the wrong first impression.....

maybe he's not as scary as he looks'.....so I broached the subject of his eviction from the Hostel.....do you know what he said about it all? Nothing.....well nothing if you took out all the swearing.

'I'm not fucking talking about that stupid fucking woman!' he shouted.

So much for that then.

On a different subject entirely, you know those sticky boards that the mouseman was gonna put down.....well they _really_ worked. It was carnage yesterday morning when we got to work. Mice galore, stuck to the boards....dead and alive. Poor sods...I felt really sorry for them. It's not, it has to be said, a particularly humane way of dealing with the problem but then I suppose it's hard to think of any way that really _would_ be. It's a shame. When you think about it you can't blame mice for being attracted to places where large amounts of food are stored can you? From their point of view all they have to do is bite their way through the odd cardboard box and the nosh is unlimited. Sadly for them though, mousy heaven just seems to have become mousy hell.

You know it wasn't my decision but I can't help feeling a bit guilty about it all.....I reckon I'm going to be dreaming about gluey mice for a while.....and as for watching Tom and Jerry......

Oh well, I mouse.....I mean _must,_ get some sleep Goodnight'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Saturday 25th July.

I managed to catch the 3:27 from Waterloo to Farnborough. Like I've said it was a pretty quick run with only three stops in between: Clapham Junction, Woking and Brookwood. The train also went past the old Brooklands racing circuit, famous for it's banked corners. The remains of one of these could still be seen from the train and it always made me feel a bit sad....the way old, disused, discarded, things can. You look at something like that and maybe try and remember how it would have looked back in it's heyday. They say nostalgia isn't what it used to be don't they and I suppose that at least it was some sort of point of interest in an otherwise fairly humdrum journey.

I mentioned that one of the stops was Woking and there are two things worth noting about this town. Firstly, it's where the boring Aunt and Uncle (talked about in chapter six) lived and secondly, according to my birth certificate, I was born there. This has never meant that I've ever showed the slightest bit of interest in the place, though. To the best of my knowledge I never lived there and was put up for adoption soon after being born. As I see it Woking is a forgettable sort of place and the longest you should ever spend there is the time between the train stopping and then pulling away.....around three minutes.

The last stop before Farnborough was Brookwood.....best known for it's cemetery. I've heard it became the burial place of choice for wealthy Londoners as the graveyards in London became used up. Apparently they were just dying to get in there.

Sorry.

The train got into Farnborough at 4:12 and I decided to take a taxi back to our humble abode on the Minley Estate. This wasn't an attempt to be flash, it was just that I hadn't arranged to be met at the station so it was either that or try lugging my heavy suitcase to the bus stop. Why was it heavy I hear you say, surely an over night bag would have been ample? Well there are two good reasons:

1. I didn't possess an overnight bag.

The suitcase was choc-full of dirty washing for my Mum to wash.....well she'd have been disappointed if I hadn't brought any!

In the time it took to get home from the station I was thinking about what I would tell my folks. I decided not to make it sound like I was doing really well just in case I turned up back home soon afterwards.... that would be much too confusing for them. I thought I would accentuate the positives....then tried to decide what they were. Well I _had_ made some new friends hadn't I? That was the sort of thing I knew my Mum would like to hear. She'd only have worried if she thought I was lonely.

Other positives were a little bit more difficult to think of seeing as though I'd effectively been demoted. I'd started on zero out of ten and was now at about minus three! Still, I didn't have to mention this and would only have to say that my training was taking different forms..... maybe not the whole truth but not a lie either. I would have liked to have told them that I'd been out with a girl (maybe a little bit of reassurance, eh...wink, wink) but didn't think I could stand all the questions that might result. Also I wasn't keen to mention that I'd been dumped pretty damn quick by letter. The least number of people who knew about _that_ the better.

The plan for the evening was to go to see my mate Steve and maybe go out for the odd drink or four. He wasn't on the phone so it wasn't possible to arrange anything in advance....I'd have to go round to see if he was in. It seems strange to think that nowadays we take mobile phones for granted but in 1970 quite a lot of people still didn't even have a landline. How did we ever arrange anything? Dark Ages or what? Anyway that was my plan for a perfect Saturday night, Farnborough style.

Food and then pub.

Later that evening, having dined on some excellent fatted calf (only joking) and filled in my folks with some (but not all) of my exploits, I decided to go and see Steve with a view to visiting a local hostelry and imbibing some alcoholic refreshment (I sound like some old actor don't I?). Luckily my friend was at home and only too willing to accompany me to our favourite local pub....The Snow Goose.

Actually it wasn't so much that it really was our favourite.....it was more to do with the fact that it was about the _only_ local pub that would let young Stephen into it's saloon bar looking like a tramp! Most other pubs in the area were trying to keep the riff-raff out and would rapidly show the door to anyone not wishing to conform to their snobby dress code. Steve certainly didn't want to conform. He'd insist on wearing his old, scruffy scooter parka (so oily it constituted a fire hazard!) and defy any landlord to confront him. Also he had long hair and was trying to grow a beard....imagine Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull in the world's dirtiest coat and you've probably got the picture. He had a point to prove and that point was that we (and particularly he) should be entitled to use the (posher) saloon bar in any pub he (or we) chose to visit and that appearances (particularly his) shouldn't matter. Sadly for him (and very often me) this opinion wasn't always the one held by local landlords.

So the Snow Goose it _was_ then.

I ordered two pints of Watneys Red Barrel and we sat down. You know this is digression but when I think about it I can hardly believe that we ever considered Red Barrel to be proper beer. They should've called it....'I can't believe it's beer'. It wasn't so much a wee dram as several drams of wee. I can only suppose we drank it cos we were young and didn't know what real beer should have tasted like. Any resemblance between RB and real ale was, looking back, purely coincidental. I mean consider what subsequently happened to Watneys. They must have spent millions on advertising their name....it was on the telly, in newspapers, on hoardings....do you remember....'What we want is Watneys'?

It obviously worked for quite a while (at least on gullible people like me and Steve) but good taste prevailed in the end and the awful, mass produced, Red Barrel was eventually 'outed' for the rubbish it undoubtedly was. The brewery must have started to get the message cos they tried shortening the name to just 'Red' and then, when there was nothing left to shorten (Watneys R?), abandoned it completely. Not only was the _beer_ kicked into touch but also the brand name of 'Watneys' just disappeared off the face of the earth like some extinct Dinosaur. Ushered out you might say. No-one missed it at all....proof positive of how shit it must have been.

Anyway we obviously have no taste at all and are thoroughly enjoying our pints of Red Barrel in the only pub around that will allow us in its carpeted bar. I'm about to regale friend Steve with three week's worth of London stories when he suddenly says..... 'Some of us have been busy while you've been away'

'Busy doing what?' I reply. I can see from his smug expression that he's just bursting to say something significant.

'Some of us have been sowing our wild oats' he says.

'Oh yeah' I say, trying to look as if I know what he's talking about 'Okay was it?'

'Brilliant' he says.

That could have been the end of the conversation because I really didn't know what a wild oat was and had never seriously considered sowing one myself. The short period of silence is broken when Steve asks....

'Don't you want to know who it was with then?'

Obviously I was still fairly unmoved.

'You know.....her name...do you want to know it?'

It was then that I began to catch on. He'd done something with a girl and sowed a wild oat or two.

'Shit' I thought....'it sounds like he's trying to tell me he's had sex!'

Suddenly the conversation starts to make sense.

'Okay....so who was the lucky girl then?' I ask.

'Oh you don't know her, she's a friend of my sister's' he says.

'So how did it happen?' I ask, genuinely interested now I knew what the hell we're discussing.

'Well' he says.....'she was staying overnight with Pam (his sister)...

..I was talking to her quite a bit of the evening and she seemed to like me...'

'So it seems' I say.

'....yeah we got on really well and she laughed at my jokes and everything.... I didn't think anything was going to happen though'

'Go on' I say.

He does...

'Alright, well I'm in bed....I don't know what time it was....all the lights are off and my room's completely dark when I hear my bedroom door start to open'

'And you think _Hey it looks like I'm gonna get a shag_ '

'No I fuckin' well don't.....I don't know what I think, due to being half asleep.....it could have been a burglar for all I knew'

'But you see what looks like the outline of the beautiful young girl you've been speaking to all evening....a shaft of moonlight picking out the lines of her curvaceous naked body'

'Not exactly....I couldn't really see who it was to be honest.....when she got into bed with me I just presumed that it wasn't Pam'

'And did what any guy would do in the circumstances'

'Yeah'

There's pause for dramatic effect while Steve affects his best 'I'm a man-of-the-world' expression. He obviously thinks that because he works for the local newspaper, all this makes him some sort of press stud.

I continue.....

'She didn't insist that you....er, wear anything then?'

'What sort of thing?.....I had my pyjamas on'

'Not pyjamas you prat....I mean a johnny....you know one of those rubbery things you put on your knob to prevent babies....did you have any?'

'No'

'Okay....well you know what they call a man who doesn't believe in birth control don't you.....Daddy'

'Mmmm'

Steve considers this (maybe for the first time). Could there could be some unwanted outcome to this thrilling, night-time, encounter?

'Did she stay the rest of the night?' I ask.

'No my bed's much too small for that.....she got out after about 20

minutes.....said Pam might notice she was gone'

'So she must have stayed around for.....mmm, let me see.....about 19

minutes after you'd had sex, then'

'Oh ha ha...very funny.....so you're saying that the actual sex only lasted about a minute?...'

He acts insulted.....but soon cracks a smile.

'...actually it must have been at least three'

'Yeah....more like three in-outs, I bet.....if it happened at all.....you sure you weren't dreaming all this?'

'I shall ignore that' he says, with exaggerated disdain.....'anyway you're only jealous'

I certainly _was_ if it was all true.

'Have you seen her since?' I ask.

'No....she had to leave quite early that morning to catch her train' he says, shaking his head for added emphasis.

'And are you going to see her again?' I persist.

'Well, to be honest, I wouldn't particularly want to go out with her'

he says.

'Why's that?' I ask, a touch surprised.

'Well she's from Liverpool' he says....'and I don't really like the way she talks'

'Except when she says _Put it in_ , I suppose' I say, with a grin.

Steve didn't see the joke.....

'No, I just don't really like the Scouse accent' he says....'anyway I'm not likely to see her again, she's gone back home for good now'

'Fair enough' I say.....'I suppose you'll just have to hope that you don't get a phone call or letter telling you that there's a little Steve on the way, won't you'

Steve wasn't looking quite as smug in the snug now.

'You don't think that'll happen do you?' he says, frowning.

I point out that it doesn't matter what I think. Steve's obviously worried.....he doesn't want to have to marry someone as a result of a one night stand.

'I could say it never happened' he says....'no-one could prove it was me'

'I'm pretty sure there _is_ some sort of paternity test they can do to prove who the father is' I say, not very reassuringly (it's what friends are for isn't it?).

'Well I'm not going to worry about it' he says.....'I don't suppose I'm the only bloke she's had it away with recently'

I restrain myself from mentioning VD and go with the upbeat mood...

'Yeah' I say.....'it probably wasn't her first time.....she's probably on the pill'

This thought has the effect of cheering Steve up no end.

'Yeah.....fancy another pint?' he asks.

'Don't mind if I do' I reply.

And we have another pint of delicious Red Barrel.

I arrived back at the hostel early evening on the Sunday complete with acoustic guitar, radio and washed washing. A couple of the lads were about and, noticing the instrument, asked me if I could actually play it. Of course when I answered in the affirmative they insisted on a demonstration....so I got it out of it's case and gave them Bob Dylan's _Blowin in the wind._ This was one of the first songs I ever learned to play from a Dylan guitar songbook. In it all the songs were in the relatively easy chords of C,F and G which meant that you didn't have to be Hank Marvin to knock out a tune or two. I think the best thing about my versions of old Zimmo's songs were that they didn't feature wheezy harmonica solos like his did. When Dylan went electric, instead of shouting 'Judas', his fans should have been glad that he'd discarded that crappy old mouth organ of his just for a change. I can't understand why he wanted to spoil all his early records by putting the same awful, asthmatic drone on every single one. Did no-one dare tell him? Couldn't someone have said 'Look Bob, mate, there's a chance that you may be overdoing the harmonica.....it's great, but maybe let's put in a guitar solo in, just for a change'? Would anyone suggesting this have been turned into a pillar of salt? I don't think so. Thank God for Kooper and Bloomfield I say.

Anyhow, 'Blowin' seemed to be quite well received and the guys even said I had a good voice. Praise indeed.....so I decided to quit while I was ahead.....one or two more numbers and they might have had cause to rethink their decision. It was great to have a few more of my bits and pieces with me in London. The place was getting more like home all the time. All I needed now was my records.....and, of course, something to play them on.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tuesday 28th July. Evening.

Tuesday evening came and it was time for my first driving lesson at the 'Auto Scuola'. Like any first time it was a bit of a nerve wracking occasion but I started to feel better when I met my teacher, a middleaged chap called Mr Fry.

'Call me Jim, old son' he said, in a voice that had friendliness and dependability built into it. I liked him straight away. We had a little chat and he asked if I'd done any driving before.

'Er, well.....I used to ride a motor scooter' I said.

'Oh yes...and how did you fare with that?' he asked.

'Not all that well, to be honest' I said, with huge understatement.

He then listened while I filled him in about my scootering exploits. I must say that if I'd been him and my pupil told _me_ that his only road experience consisted of repeatedly falling off a motor scooter I might have been a bit concerned. But Jim seemed perfectly fine.

'Don't you worry about any of that, old son' he said, while puffing away on his pipe.....'a car's totally different from a scooter.....four wheels are much better than two'

This made a lot of sense.....I couldn't really fall off a car could I? 'Don't you go booking any more than eight lessons, Tim' he said...'we'll have you passing your test in no time'

Confident or what?....and on that upbeat note we proceeded to the school car which was parked nearby. It was a Ford Anglia (the one with the back window that's angled inwards - think Harry Potter) which was a happy coincidence seeing as though we had one as our family car. Dad was on a break from his usual Morris 1000 at the time. We climbed in and Jim explained the controls to me.

'The left pedal is the clutch the middle pedal is the brake and the right hand pedal is the accelerator.....but I always call it 'the gas', does that all sound okay?'

'So I have to step on the gas to make it go, then' I said.

'That's right old son' said Jim, as the car filled up with smoke from his pipe.

He went on to explain the workings of the other controls and then asked me if I had any questions.

'Well, yes' I said.....'what's this big round thing in front of me?' 'You'll probably have seen one of those before.....it's called a steering wheel' he explained, in mock seriousness.

I felt like we had a rapport.

Having told me how to make the car go Jim suggested that we move off into the traffic. It was then that I noticed that he didn't seem to have any pedals on _his_ side of the floor pan. Surely this was some sort of mistake. I thought all learner cars had two sets of pedals. I decided to point out this (potentially fatal) omission.

'Oh we don't worry about that sort of thing' he said, confidence to the fore again.....'let the British School of Motoring have all that....it's totally unnecessary you know'

'But what if I do something wrong and we need to stop quickly?' I said with a kind of rising panic.

'Don't you worry Tim old son' he said...'you won't be going all that fast in the traffic round here and all you've got to do if there's a problem is hit the brake mucho-pronto when I shout STOP'

Seemed simple enough.

'Now before we move off don't forget to signal and look round to see if the road's clear' said Jim.

That done I edged out into the road and began speeding up.

'Okay now change gear' intoned Jim, through teeth that were holding on to his pipe. It was a good thing we had the windows open or I'd have been lucky to have seen anything through the thick cloud of smoke (Possibly the only good thing about smoking a pipe is that you can ask the girl in the newsagents for a rough shag without getting your face slapped).

Anyway, eager to do Jim's bidding, I grabbed and jerked at the gearstick with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly necessary and it came straight out of it's socket...I was going along with the gearstick in my hand!

'Oh bloody hell....that's always happening, this car's hopeless' said Jim in a sort-of-resigned fashion....'don't worry old son, just pull into the kerb and we'll put it back in'

'Excellent' I thought.....'maybe I _should_ have used BSM'

(Jim had already pointed out that BSM meant Bring Some Money but economy isn't always the best policy is it?)

I pulled into the side of the road and the gear lever was duly replaced back in it's socket.

'Try not to yank the thing so hard when changing gear, Tim old son' said Jim.....'we don't want to have to keep doing this now do we?'

I suppose I could have taken the attitude that it wasn't my fault if their stupid car just fell to bits but I liked Jim already and didn't want to make a fuss.

'Fair enough' I said.....and on we went.

The rest of the hour's lesson seemed to go pretty well inasmuch as I didn't hit anything or manage to dislodge the gearstick again. Jim seemed happy enough with my efforts and when he offered me a lift back to the Hostel with his next pupil, an Indian gentleman wearing a turban, I readily accepted.

'Just get in the back of the car Tim' he said...'Mr Singh, here, will drive you home.....won't you Mr Singh?'

Mr Singh nodded and smiled, so I got in the back of the car.

Before we could pull away the car had to be reversed as I'd parked quite near the back of another car. Now I don't know how much practice at reversing Mr Singh had had before but it's fair to say that this attempt couldn't have been one of his best. The car shot backwards and came to a halt when it came into contact with the front bumper of an aged black Humber (no Englebert in sight but definitely a Humber-dink).

I suddenly felt better about _my_ level of driving skill, having spent a whole hour driving around without coming a similar cropper.

We all got out to see if there was any damage.

'Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry' Mr Singh was going.....'this is a terrible tragedy'

I felt 'tragedy' was probably stretching it a bit.....after all it was only a smallish bump.

'What damage am I causing?' said the worried Mr Singh.....'not too bad I hope'

Luckily it wasn't.

'Oh, it's only a small dent on his bumper' said Jim.....'I don't think he'll notice it.....let's not waste any more time'

And with that we all got back into the school car and drove off. I don't think the owner of the Humber would have been too impressed seeing as though we didn't leave a note or anything to say that we'd damaged his vehicle....we hit and ran!

I'm happy to report that we made it back to the hostel without further incident.

'See you next week' said the still puffing Jim as I got out of the car.

'Okay' I said.....'it's been a lot of fun'

Here endeth the first lesson.

*

Wednesday 29th July. Late evening. My bedroom.

'I've been to see the Woodstock film tonight at a cinema in Leicester Square with Pete and to say that we were both knocked out would be an understatement. It's around three hours long and I reckon we'd have both watched it again straight away if they'd let us. There's some great music from the likes of Joe Cocker, The Who, Santana, Ten Years After and, of course, the great Jimi Hendrix but it wasn't all just about the music.....there was a lot of other stuff there. Me and Pete were talking about it on the way back here and we'd both picked up on the war references. There were quite a few of them and it got us talking about what it must be like to be a young guy in America right now. We both reckoned the same thing.....it must be BLOODY FRIGHTENING.

Ever since seeing Country Joe on TOTP I've been thinking about that line about being the first one on your block to have your boy come home in a box. If you're a young guy like me and Pete then America is clearly not the place to be right now....and hasn't been for quite a large part of the last decade. I don't think that we in England can really imagine what it must be like to be drafted into the army and the sent to the jungles of Vietnam to fight an enemy that's pretty much invisible. I'm only 18 and if I was American that's the only thing that I'd be thinking about right now....you know, when were my draft papers going to drop through the letterbox. Personally, I don't know how I could live with that...it's tough isn't it?

Imagine....you're only a kid and before you've been able to do anything with your life you're being asked to go halfway round the world and fight in a war that a lot of people don't believe in. You may not even understand what the war's about. I don't think we in this country really do. We're told it's the threat of Communism.....but can that really be worth so many young lives? Personally I doubt it.

There's one bit in the film where Crosby, Stills and Nash are onstage and Steve Stills tells the audience that his group are 'scared shitless'.....well I can see what he means.....it _was_ only their second-ever performance and the crowd was huge.....but all _they_ had to do was sing a few songs. It doesn't really compare with the enormity of being sent to war, does it? I'm sure that if they'd been told they were being sent to Vietnam they'd have had a much better reason to be scared shitless! I bet that if those 'draftees' in the audience had been given a choice between entertaining the crowd or fighting in Vietnam they wouldn't have had to think twice.....I'm sure they'd have been up on the stage like a shot.....even if they knew the whole _WORLD_ was watching.

Let's get back to talking about the film itself. It's a great documentary and covers the whole festival, not just the music. There's a scene where someone interviews the guy who cleans the portaloos. Port-a-san Man. He was incredibly cheerful considering what he was having to do.... and they grab this hippy just as he comes out of the toilet and ask 'How was it?'. He was really smiley as well and says something like 'Really good'. There was obviously a great vibe about the place. Of course this may have had something to do with the serious amount of drug taking that was going on.

At the end of the day you've got to say that the guys who organised the festival really didn't have clue....it was a mess.....but an absolutely wonderful mess. If someone wants to compile a time capsule of the late sixties then Woodstock has got to go straight in. It'll tell future generations a lot about the world as it is now and the music will definitely stand the test of time. It's the ultimate rock music film and I'll definitely be going back to see it again. A toothless hippie guy called Wavy Gravy sums it all up perfectly when he tells the crowd.....'There is always a little piece of heaven in a disaster area'. Well the festival may have been declared a disaster area but the resulting film is certainly a little piece of heaven. Go and see it for yourselves...Goodnight'

*

Thursday 30th July. Afternoon. Half day off. Beautiful weather.

The third item on my week's 'things-to-do' list was to investigate obtaining some kind of hi-fi and, with this in mind, went down to Kensington High Street. Whilst down there I was also on the lookout for a Bob Dylan bootleg LP called 'The Great White Wonder'. Friend Steve had given me a tenner at the weekend so I could buy it for him, if possible, and I was assured that you could get anything like that in Kensington Market. This was basically a large department store full of stalls selling all kinds of hippy-type stuff including bootleg records. To those of you who aren't familiar with bootleg albums I can tell you they're basically unofficial recordings which have been made and sold without the blessing of the group or artiste's record company. A lot of them have been recorded at concerts by fans who basically just wave a microphone in the general direction of the stage....they're usually rubbish quality. Some are what's known as 'soundboard' recordings and these are usually taped direct from the official mixing desk at concerts.... these tend to be pretty good quality. And others are studio recordings that have somehow escaped out into the world. The Dylan LP was the latter (although it wasn't made in a commercial studio - more like the basement of a house) and featured some versions of his songs that had been previously released by other artistes. Things like _This Wheels on Fire_ (Julie Driscoll/Brian Auger), _Mighty Quinn_ (Manfred Mann) and _If You Gotta Go,Go Now_ (also Manfred Mann). It wasn't what I would have chosen to spend money on (too expensive for a start) but there you go.....at least finding and purchasing it didn't present too many problems. The stall I got it from had a fair old selection of contraband at stupidly inflated prices. And I thought the hippy ideal was that music should be free...no chance!

High Street Kensington was certainly worth a visit even if you didn't plan to buy anything. There were interesting shops to nosey round and plenty of gorgeous girls to feast your eyes on whilst walking about. For this reason I managed to bump into several people seeing as though I never seemed to be looking where I was going.

Anyhow having done some window shopping (and plenty of ogling) I found that Dixons had a stereo called a system 6 which looked like it might fit the bill. It had a Garrard record deck that sat on top of a builtin amplifier and two separate speakers. I went in and listened while a salesman wearing a dickie bow extolled the virtues of the product.

'Sir would be making a very good choice' he said.

It's funny how one suddenly becomes a 'sir' isn't it......usually when being asked to buy something.

'Er....is it possible to have a demonstration?' I said.....'I mean sixty quid's a lot of money...I might decide to have the system 4 instead'

'Oh I wouldn't do that sir' he said, pointing at my intended purchase.....'this is a much better option'

He put on a record.....God knows what it was.....some sort of classical thing.

'How does that sound?' he asked.

Well it sounded pretty good to me.....the only real drawback was possible pecuniary embarrassment. How was I going to pay? After all this was in the days before credit cards and I didn't even have a bank account. Like most people in 1970 I was paid my weekly wage in cash. I told the guy my problem (lack of £60) but, of course, salesmen are paid to get over small details like these.

'Don't worry about that, sir' he said.....'we'll take a deposit and you can pay off the balance in instalments'

'How does that work then?' I asked.

'Well' he said.....'we give you a payment book and you come into the shop every month and pay an instalment until it's all paid off'

'So does that mean that I can have it right now?' I asked, sensing it was all too good to be true.

'Yes' he said.

'Great' I said.....'I'll take it'

A short while later I found myself struggling up Kensington High Street with a really large box. It was a (great white) wonder I wasn't charged for three seats on the bus back to Ladbroke Grove cos the bloody stereo took up at least two! When I got back to the hostel I had to stagger up the stairs dripping with sweat and was totally knackered when I was finally able put the package down on the kitchen table.

'What on earth have you got there?' enquired Mrs T when she saw it.

'It's my new music system' I answered with pride.....'it's a stereo' Mrs T didn't look particularly impressed and her comment of..... 'Well...just don't play it too loudly'

........pretty much summed up the extent of her enthusiasm.

I chose to ignore this and decided to press on. Having got it this far now all I had to do was lug the big box up the rest of the stairs and I'd be home and wet (the sweat you know).

Once inside the confines of my room I just flopped onto the bed and waited for my coating of perspiration to dry before bothering to liberate the contents of the parcel. After a short while I did though and found that setting up the unit was really easy.....just a matter of plugging a couple of speaker plugs into the back and I was ready to go....or rather would have been if I hadn't suddenly remembered an all important fact.

I didn't have any records.....they were all still back at home. This was bad news...but then inspiration struck....

'Hey' I thought....'I've just bought _The Great White Wonder_ haven't I...good old Steve won't mind if I play it a once or twice'

So I did play it.....LOADS OF TIMES.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

Saturday 1st August. Mrs T's Party Night. Early evening.

'You join me as I'm getting dressed to go downstairs to the evening's shindig. It promises to be interesting, seeing as though Mrs T has cast a fairly wide net when doing the inviting. Apparently, quite a few of the people from the downstairs shop are going to turn up but I don't really know them and, from what I've seen, they're nothing to get particularly excited about. Mrs T's daughter Jane is here and seems like quite a nice young girl....definitely off limits though. I'll be surprised if Suzie and Diedre turn up cos I was talking to Malcolm and he says they're not keen. Fair enough, I'm not really bothered....and all that business with Suzie's letter doesn't seem to matter any more.....I just see it as her loss....it's the only way of looking at it now from my point of view. Also on the list of possible guests is Tanya, the famous bedroom invader. I've gotta say that if she invaded my bedroom tonight it would be an excellent outcome. Who knows, I might even get to use one of my rubbery things before it's shag-by date expires....what a result _that_ would be! Anyway, more realistically, the whole evening will probably be a bore...and a massive waste of time when you consider all the things you could do instead on a Saturday night here in London. About the only good thing about tonight is that I'll get to play at being a deejay once again, using Pete's stuff. We've set it up and we're all ready to rumble.

I thought I'd mention that Clive....you know, the surly one I work with....has become a whole lot more friendly during this last week and even smiles occasionally now....this represents quite a breakthrough I can tell you! I think his general mood upswing may well have something to do with the fact that he seems to have something going with one of the girls who works in our shop. Every time she comes down into our domain for some more bacon or whatever, he flirts outrageously with her....and it all seems to be working cos she looks as though she's enjoying it. Anyhow it's had the effect of thawing him out of his previously frozen state so it can only be good for poor sods like me who have to work near him.

Seeing as though we're now sort-of mates I even felt brave enough to broach the subject of the Hostel and his removal from it. What he said amounted to the view that Mrs T had just taken a dislike to him and his roommate Joe....and that was about it. I said that surely she would've had to have a _very_ good reason for having them kicked out but he maintained that this wasn't the case.....it was just a matter of their faces not fitting. Actually, without being too rude, it would be difficult to imagine where Clive's face _might_ fit.....some sort of rogues gallery maybe?

I shouldn't laugh, though, cos the thought has struck me that the same thing could happen to me if I manage to rub her up the wrong way. Actually that's a funny phrase isn't it?.....being 'rubbed up the wrong way'. I could imagine someone who was being rubbed shouting 'No, it's the other way you idiot!'

Ha Ha...a massage nightmare.

Hey, on a different tack, you don't think it's possible that Mrs T might look to get people evicted every now and then just to cut down on the amount of cooking she has to do, do you? After all, by getting rid of two out of the six inmates she brought the work down by 33%.....not counting herself.....and not counting meals for the downstairs workers. Less spuds to peel has got to add up to more leisure time hasn't it? And then, of course I arrived and increased the percentage again.....mmm, worrying.

Anyhow Clive said he's not too bothered now cos him and Joe are sharing a flat in Hammersmith and they've got tons more freedom than they ever had in the Hostel. He reckons he's not bitter but it's interesting that when the subject of Mrs T comes up he still has a few choice words to describe her.....and I'd hazard a guess they're not the words _she_ would choose!

Right that's it then....I've made a big effort you know. As you can see I've put on my alcoholically-challenged tangerine shirt.....remember what Mr Hughes said?.....I don't think it looks too bad.

Also I shaved off all the bumfluff I could find.....and washed behind my ears....that took me ages.....well just look at the size of my ears!

Oh yeah, and I've splashed Brut liberally all over. I mean it sort-of worked last time didn't it?

Let's just check my hair.....oh God, it's still awful.

You don't suppose there's a gorgeous blind girl downstairs who's turned on by sickly-smelling aftershave do you? No, I thought not. Anyway here goes nothing.....bye for now'

When I got downstairs Pete was sorting through his collection of singles trying to decide what to play. I suggested we put on plenty of Tamla Motown in the sure and certain belief that everyone would be able to dance to it. Four Tops, Supremes, Stevie Wonder, you name them.....all fantastic to dance to.

As well as the above we had some soul music with the likes of Otis Redding (a personal favourite), James Brown, Aretha Franklin, and Percy Sledge. Gordon lent us his _This is Soul_ album so if we wanted a twenty minute break we could just put a side of this on and leave it playing. This record and the Motown Chartbusters series were the party music of choice in the late sixties. They were indispensable.

As well as Motown and Soul, Pete also had plenty of chart singles. He had quite a few of the current top twenty and never missed a chance to tell me that, when we did a gig, these were his main big expense. I told him he'd be better off advertising himself as a Soul and Motown deejay then he wouldn't have to keep up to date with all the pop rubbish and 'fab, chart-bound sounds'. I said he could then go to the local secondhand record shop and buy old stuff for a fraction of the cost.

He said he'd consider it.

It was around eight 'o' clock and the 'wide net' I mentioned earlier didn't seem to have caught an awful lot in the way of guests. Perhaps they resented forking out for some sort of present for our smiling hostess. We'd clubbed together and bought her a large willow-pattern vase for her sitting room. The others assured me was quite tasteful. What did I know.....I couldn't tell a Ming from a minger.

'Where is everybody?' I said to Laurie, who was hanging around in the part of the lounge where the drinks were situated.

'No idea mate' he replied, while pouring a large whisky.

We looked around. So far there was us lads, Mrs T, Jane (her daughter) and an unidentified girl.

'Who's that over there then?' I asked, by kind of flicking my eyes her general direction.

'I think her name's Cindy' he said....'she works downstairs.....fancy her then do you?'

I had a better look and had to say, in all honesty, that I didn't. She was small of bosom, lank of hair and spotty of face.....not really a winning combination.

'She keeps looking at you' said, the by-now-grinning, Laurie.

'Piss off' I said and poured myself a beer.

After a while a few more people turned up. Most were from the downstairs shop and there was the odd relative of Mrs T's to add to the exciting mix. Time passed fairly slowly as we took turns to play records and maybe have the odd dance (My dances were particularly odd). I was just getting myself another beer when a female voice behind me said 'You're Tim aren't you?'

I looked around....it was Cindy.

'Er...yes I am' I said.....not sounding overly sure that I _really_ was. 'Well, I haven't danced with you yet, have I?' she said.

It was true....I'd been quite lucky until then.

'Er.....I don't really dance' I said.

It was true.....I was rubbish (and dancing was a waste of good drinking time).

'Well I've been watching and _I've_ seen you dance.....you were good' she said.

I looked around but couldn't, off the top of my head, think of a suitable excuse not to strut my terpsichorean stuff...I'd have to bite the bullet.

'You want to dance _now_ do you?' I asked, without enthusiasm. 'Ooo yes please' she said, almost jumping for joy.

So that was that....I had to dance with her didn't I.

Laurie, who'd been watching, thought this was hilarious.

'Get in there my son' he whispered as I went past, accompanied by Miss Acne.

It's a pity there wasn't a spot prize.

In the dance-room there was only a couple of people already dancing so I felt exceedingly conspicuous as we both walked in. Pete smiled from behind his decks when he saw the two of us together and gave me a 'Rather you than me' type of look.

_I feel good_ by James Brown was playing....

*

I feel good

I knew that I would I feeeeel good

I knew that I would

*

'Wish _I_ did' I thought, and proceeded to jig about in an unenthusiastic manner. This wasn't faked.....I was un-enthusiasm personified.

The record was finishing so I gave Pete my best 'Don't you bloody dare try putting on a slow record' sort of look.

Having got me on the floor (the dance floor that is) Cindy was really going for it....joggling and gyrating away in front of me like a good-un. _Tears of a Clown_ was mixed seamlessly in and she showed no signs of wanting to stop.....just kept going like one of those toys that demonstrate long-life batteries...

*

Just like Pagliaci did

I've got to keep my sadness hid

Smiling in the public eye but in my lonely room I cry

The tears of a clown, when there's no-one around

*

I couldn't really keep my sadness hid and in the end decided that enough was enough....I was going to have to get another drink.

'I'll have to stop and get a beer' I yelled, in Cindy's ear.

'Oh yes let's....I'm dying of thirst' she said, and followed me into the lounge.

'I think I'll try some of this whisky' I said, probably feeling that the situation would seem less real if I could get pissed very quickly. This would be my first taste of whisky.

'I'm just having Coca Cola' said Cindy....'I don't want to get drunk.... you might take advantage of me.....ha ha'

'God help me' I thought and poured myself a large measure topped off with a tiny amount of soda. I tried it.....it was bloody awful.....I wanted to spit it all out but didn't want Cindy to think I'd never tried it before.

'Mmmm that's lovely' I heard myself say. I felt if I drank it quickly I'd get it over with as soon as possible. So I had another large swig.

'Gosh you're really putting that away aren't you' said Cindy, obviously impressed.

'What this?' I said, affecting nonchalance.....'this is nothing....wait 'til I really get going'

In truth I was already beginning to feel the effects of the whisky and although this made my female companion seem a tad more attractive I was looking around for an excuse to off-load her onto someone else. There wasn't much opportunity....then I spotted Malcolm who was busy trying to make himself scarce in the corner.

'Have you met Malcolm?' I said, nodding in his general direction...'that's him over there'

She looked round to see who I meant.

'Oh him....he looks boring' she said, turning back to me.

'Oh no he isn't' I said, sounding a bit like someone in a pantomime. Just then, as if he could tell what we were saying, Malcolm beat a hasty retreat.

'Shit!' I thought...'how can I get out of this?'

Then I had a brainwave.

'Oh, I've just remembered' I said.....'I have to go and help Pete out by putting on some records while he has a rest.....perhaps I'll catch you later'

Actually, I think I'd rather have caught bubonic plague.

'Can I watch while you put on the records?' she asked.....'maybe I could choose some.....I like slow, romantic ones'

'I bet you do' I thought.

What could I say? It was really quite flattering but all I seemed to do was drink more than was really good for me. My stint as deejay was going really well when Gordon came in with his girlfriend. He must of noticed Cindy was hanging around me and made a point of coming up to speak to me.

'Who's your friend?' he asked, out of my constant-companion's earshot.

'Her name's Cindy' I replied, although by now it probably sounded more like 'Shindy' as the alcohol began to start taking over my powers of speech.

'Do you fancy her then?' whispered Gordon.

I pulled a sort of 'What do you think' kind of expression.

He gave me a nudge and said 'Don't forget you've got your own bedroom upstairs' ,adding...'glad you're not in mine any more...I'm gonna sneak upstairs with Lorraine in a minute while Mrs T's not looking'

'Well give Lorraine a _quiche_ from me won't you?' I said, accompanied by a weak grin.

Gordon didn't really acknowledge my little joke but at least it indicated that my sense of humour hadn't totally deserted me in spite of everything.

I could see what Gordon was trying to tell me but didn't really want it to happen like this. Of course I wanted _it_ to happen sometime soon... but preferably with someone I actually fancied. Even in my alcoholic haze I could see that it was quite possible (nay, even quite likely) that Cindy wouldn't even want to do the deed with me.....she _was_ stone cold sober after all. And in any case the fact that she worked in the shop downstairs would mean that, henceforward, I may have had to keep avoiding her all the time on days off. Finally the best reason of all was that I was beginning to have the distinct feeling that I was becoming too pissed to perform even if the chance presented itself. The room was beginning to feel as if it was moving. This was not good.

Pete came back and resumed deejaying duties.

'Come and dance with me some more' insisted Cindy, grabbing my hand and pulling me in the direction of the music.

I couldn't really say no, could I?

Pete played _Soul Man_ by Sam and Dave.

*

I'm a soul man (da dant da dan da dan da dan)

I'm a soul man (dant da dan der dan)

*

(I've added the 'dans' etc myself.....it's not what they sing...it's the horn parts))

This was great stuff and any inhibitions I may have had seemed to have disappeared. I bopped away crazily whilst singing 'I'm a Soul Man' at the top of my voice.

'I see we've even got Tim singing' said Pete as he intro-ed the next record.

'This is Percy Sledge with _When a Man Loves a Woman'_

'Bloody hell....a slow one' I thought...'I hope the title doesn't give a certain person round here any ideas'

Cindy was delighted and grabbed me round the waist, pulling me close. We were holding each other just going round and round like people do when they don't really know how to dance (or are pissed). As I went round I had to endure the grinning faces of, not only my (supposed) mates, but also good old Mrs T whose night I seemed to have made perfect.

After what seemed like a very long three minutes we stopped going round but the room didn't. It was strange but people's voices started to have a sort-of disembodied sound to them.

It was surreal.

I was vaguely aware of someone asking 'Are you okay Tim?'..... clearly I wasn't. The room seemed to be like the deck of a ship in a force ten gale. My only thought was that if I could lie down for a while I would, hopefully, be alright. This being the case I made a swift exit out of the room and headed upstairs in a bedroom-wards direction.

Well I made it to the bedroom so the first objective was achieved. Sadly the second (making it to the bed) was not. I fell in a heap on the carpet and the next few hours went by in a whirling haze as I alternated between being sick and holding on to the floor for dear life - in case I fell off it!

At some stage during the night I must have managed to get into bed somehow. This would have been no mean feat in my advanced state of collapse. Well it was at least three feet away and a bloody long way up!

Next morning it's fair to say that my room was not a fragrant place. I would have liked to have stayed in bed all morning but the awful pong wouldn't let me. It dawned on me that I would need to do three things: Firstly, I would have to clean myself up and get dressed.....that was going to take no small effort.

Secondly, I would need to get my hands on some headache tablets mucho-pronto. There seemed to be someone lurking inside my scull with a large hammer.

Thirdly (and by far worstly....if that's a word) I would have to tell Mrs T about the state of my carpet. I wasn't looking forward to that.

Having dragged myself out of bed, splashed my face repeatedly with cold water and got dressed I steeled myself to go downstairs to face Mrs Thomas. I was going to have to tell her about my little 'mishap' and wanted to make some excuses but my hangover just wouldn't allow any excuses to insert themselves into my brain. I decided I was going to have to bite the bullet and tell Mrs T what had happened. I would throw myself at her mercy. I imagined this was how troops going over the top in WW1 must have felt.

Machine gun fire..... Mrs T.....Mustard Gas..... Mrs T......

Pretty much the same really.

Having gotten downstairs I found the good lady in the kitchen getting the veggies ready for our lunch. I slunk into the kitchen and kind-of mooched around not really knowing how to broach the twin subjects of aspirins and vomit.

'Did you want something Tim?' she asked after quite a few minutes thus breaking the embarrassing silence.

'Er...um...well....yes' was my carefully considered reply.

'Well' she said, turning round towards me.....'what is it?.....I'm not a mind reader you know'

She seemed a bit tetchy.

'She suspects something' I thought.

I decided to mention the headache first. For one thing it was _my_ priority and for another I thought it might get me a bit of sympathy.....I did say _might_.

.....'Erm, I've got a really bad headache.....you, er...don't happen to have any aspirins at all do you?' I asked, trying to sound as pathetic as possible.

To be fair she did say that she would get me some aspirins as soon as she had finished peeling the spuds but I also got a five minute lecture on the devil that is alcohol. Just as I thought she'd finished and was wondering how to tell her about my other little problem she said....

'You haven't been sick in your room have you?'

So, she _was_ a mind reader.

'Mmmm' I said, head down in shame.

'You _have_.....well typical' she said, huffing and puffing......'I said we shouldn't have put bottles of spirits out......I said you were drunk when you rushed off......why did you want to drink so much?'

I could tell she wasn't pleased (understatement).

'I don't know' I flustered (knowing any explanation, re Cindy,.....probably wouldn't really help me a lot).....'I didn't think I drank all that much'

'Well, you can take a mop and bucket upstairs and clear it all up' she said, tersely....and added 'We ought to make you pay more rent money this week for ruining the carpet'

As I was going up the stairs, cleaning utensils in hand, I remember thinking....

'Well that didn't go too badly'

*

Postscript:

I'm happy to report that I got my painkillers, cleaned my carpet and didn't have to pay any extra rent money. As well as this I could console myself that I hadn't had to kiss, fondle, dance or even spend another second of time with Cindy the previous evening.

Clearly the next time I was going to be in the vicinity of any girls I was going to have to be a lot more careful and go easy on the Brut I'd obviously made myself much too desirable!

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY

Tuesday 4th August. Early evening.

I was chatting to Pete for a little while before going in to have dinner and especially wanted to know how it was panning out with Dateline. Had he had any responses and was he any nearer to going out with someone yet?....that sort of thing.

'Yeah, I got the six names, as promised, and I phoned them all in.....one go....no sense in wasting time was there?.....you know the first one said that she hadn't even filled the form in, so I said _How did they get your details then?_ and she said that she reckoned her best mate had sent it in for a joke'

'Quite an expensive one at a fiver' I said.

Pete nodded. 'That's true.....anyhow she sounded okay so I thought I would try and chat her up'

'Any luck with that?'

'Yeah....we talked for quite a while....she was really interested when I said I did deejaying'

'Did you also tell her that you were a butcher?'

.....'Well, no......I didn't happen to mention that.....'

Quelle surprise.

'.....it'll give us something else to talk about when I see her' 'So you're seeing her soon then, are you?'

'Yep, this Saturday'

I liked the 'Yep'....maybe he'd have said 'Nope' if he hadn't have been seeing her.....a bit Gary Cooper-like.

'And I'm right in thinking that she imagines that you're a full-time, on-the-radio, smooth-talking deejay, am I?'

'Well, yes....I suppose I may have given her that impression' he said with a smile.

This was, as you know, fairly familiar territory.....but it wasn't actually a lie. I mean Pete _was_ a professional deejay inasmuch as he got paid for the gigs he did....and, to be fair, it was a good deal more glamorous to talk about than cutting up meat for a living. I suppose he figured that by steering clear of all that he was bettering his chances of getting his hands on some loins that weren't pork and, maybe, some rump that wasn't steak!

The thought occurred to me that if my friend was sorted then I might be able to make use of one of the other names he had on his list. He said he'd already phoned them so I began wondering how he'd got on. How keen or otherwise were they? This was getting interesting..... but I thought that maybe, before asking Pete about the possibility of purloining one of his other dates, I ought to try buttering him up a little first 'You know mate, that sounds like a fantastic result.....getting a date like that when the girl didn't even know she was on someone's dateline list.....amazing.....you're obviously brilliant at chatting the girls up...'

Pete was visibly preening.

'...so, er, how did you get on with the others?'

'Well you've got to have a bit of cheek and charm you know Tim..... yeah, cheek and charm...'

'Okay...and the others?'

'Oh them...mmm,.....a bit of a mixed response, really, I'd say' 'Really....what happened then?'

It was getting to the stage where I'd have had to have killed him if he hadn't told me everything.

'Well a couple of them weren't there and I had to speak to their mums.....it was all _What do you want with my daughter?_.....you can imagine can't you?'

'I can.....and I suppose you told them you were hoping for a shag......

hopefully on the first date.....if their daughters were willing?'

'Er, no, I didn't say that....actually I was exceedingly polite and asked them if it would be alright if I called back another time'

'And was it?'

'Well I have to say they weren't particularly encouraging.....one just went _Please yourself_ and slammed the phone down'

I made a mental note not to ask for that one's number.

'The thing is, though' I said.....'if you _were_ happy to just go on pleasing yourself.....well, you wouldn't be trying to meet girls would you?'

'That's very true' said Pete, in earnest agreement (and a knowing grin).

'So any luck with the other three then?' I asked, eagerly.

'Well, one of them said she was going out with someone but if I wanted-to I could call back in a week's time to see what the situation was.....I must admit I didn't really know what to make of that. The other two both said that they would go out with me sometime but we haven't arranged anything yet'

'Any reason for that?'

'Yeah, one was going on holiday for two weeks with her parents so I'll give her a call when she gets back, and the other said she's a bit busy with work at the moment but asked me if I could call again in about a week's time'

I thought that all sounded quite promising.....they were well spaced out (but not in the druggy sense) and if Pete got sorted by either of the first two that would still leave the third one free....maybe for me.

'So you're seeing the first one this Saturday then?'

'Yes....her name's Jill'

'So how will you recognise her then.....I don't suppose you know what she looks like do you?'

'No.....I mean she described herself as medium just-about-everything.....height, weight, build.....'

'But instead of average she might turn out to be _very average'_

'...yes, that _is_ a bit worrying.....after all I haven't seen a picture of her or anything...'

'Mmmm...so how are you going to meet?'

'Well, what I've said is that we could meet outside Kensal Green tube station.....that way I can clock her before I make myself known...'

'And bugger off if you don't like what you see'

'Exactly.....I'll drive past a couple of times slowly and see what I think'

(Laughs) 'I like it.....but how will you be sure it's her?'

'I asked her what she'll be wearing.....she says she'll have some long boots on, and a beret, so, hopefully, I ought to be able to recognise her'

'She won't have a string of onions and a striped jumper on as well, will she?'

'No.....and I don't think she'll have a bike....'

'Or smell of garlic?'

'No, hopefully not...'

'Hey...you might get to use some French letters'

(Twists imaginary moustache) 'Zat ees right.....he haw, he haw'

Us, childish?.....never.

I continued.....

'Anyway, always assuming she looks reasonable when you drive by, where do you plan to go?'

'Oh, I expect we'll go out for a meal somewhere....haven't decided where yet'

'There's a nice Wimpy Bar in Shepherds Bush Road near our shop' I said, helpfully..... 'also I'd recommend the place me and George go to in the Market.....the bacon sandwiches are particularly nice.....but I think it'll be closed by the time _you_ go out'

Pete wasn't impressed.

'I think we may go a bit more upmarket than that' he said, affecting an air of sophistication.....'maybe we'll visit an Aberdeen Steak House'

One could only be impressed...upmarket, rather than up the market.

This wasn't really the time to ask Pete if I could impersonate him for the purposes of having access to his Dateline harem....and anyhow if they met _his_ profile they were probably going to be a few years older (and more experienced) than me. Actually, when I think about it, it's difficult to imagine how they could have been _less_ experienced than me without being Nuns!

I decided to change the subject altogether.

'Got anything coming up deejay-wise?' I asked.

'Well yes, I have if you're interested....it's a bit of a strange job though' he said.

'Strange' was an interesting way of describing a deejaying gig so it had to be worth hearing about.

'Okay then, what is it?' I asked, all ears.

Pete paused, gathering thoughts

'Well the really honest answer is that I don't for sure what's going to happen when I get there....it's called an 'Encounter Group' and all takes place in a church hall not too far from here...'

Good so far.

'...and apparently, so the guy I spoke to said, all they want _me_ for is to put on a few records so that they've got music to _encounter_ each other by.....they won't even be my records....they'll be bringing some with them'

'And encountering each other to them' I said, while pulling a 'you're making this up' sort of face.

'I'm serious' he said (underlining it with a serious expression)....'but, without having been to one of their meetings, I can't really say exactly what it is they do'

Sounded fascinating....and I couldn't help asking the (for me) obvious question...

'They don't all strip off do they?.....like in the hippy musical _Hair_ ' Pete didn't seem to have thought about it.

'I really don't know.....I suppose they might'.

'You know they may ask us to join in if they do' I said....'just so we don't look different to them.....I hope its not cold in that hall'

'Yeah' said Pete.....'your assets might get frozen....or someone might point at your knob and say _That's like a penis - only smaller_ '

I had to laugh.

'Actually that's not far from the truth' I said...'when I used to play football at school if the weather was cold my knob would shrivel up and go really tiny'

'And you'd have to massage it to get it back to normal size, right?' 'How did you know?'

'Just a guess'

The conversation moved on.

'You know' I said.....'I've heard that male actors aren't keen to appear naked in films or plays cos they're worried that people will notice they've only got a small part'

Pete liked this.

'Ha ha...that's good' he said.....'I see what you're saying.....I wouldn't worry though, I can't imagine we'll be asked to remove any of _our_ clothing...are you game for all this or not?'

'When is it anyway?' I asked (not that I had a full diary or anything).

'Tomorrow night' he said.....'it was pretty short notice.....their usual bloke couldn't make it, apparently, and they spotted my ad in the local paper...so are you on or not?'

'Of course I am' I said....and made a mental note to have a bath and wear clean underwear.

Just in case.

Dinner was, as usual, a good chance to find out what was going on in the cloistered world of DB. This particular day was probably better than most because we had 'young' Ted staying with us for a couple of days. He wasn't actually _that_ young (inasmuch as he was a lot older than all of us....nearer thirty than twenty) but the interesting thing about Ted was that he was a company high flyer, i.e a person destined to go places. He was being groomed to take on an elevated position in the company and, as such, knew a lot more than we did about what was going on at boardroom level. Of course he couldn't go into any great detail about life at the top but it was nice to be able to ask a few questions and get some fairly down-to-earth answers, That was the good thing about Ted....he didn't pull rank and was a genuinely friendly bloke. The sort you could have a laugh with.

For our part we liked to think we had at least one friend in a high place. I asked him what he was doing at Head Office at the moment.....

'Oh, at the moment I'm standing in for old Mr Hughes in the Personnel Office, he's not been too well of late I'm afraid'

'Old age catching up with him then is it?' said a smiling Laurie....'he must be pretty near retirement age I should think'

'You going to take over from _him_ then?' asked Gordon.

'No' said Ted....'I don't think so....I'll just do it until he comes back, shouldn't be too long from what I've heard'

Mrs T couldn't be left out of this one.

'I think Ted's got better jobs in his sights than that....'

And, turning to him with a smile, added....

'.....isn't that so Ted?'

Ted looked a little embarrassed with this proclamation of intent. He may well have been looking to higher things but didn't want to appear nakedly ambitious.

'Well, we'll just have to wait and see' was all he would say.

I got the impression he wanted to curtail that line of questioning. 'Anything funny happen to anyone recently?' he asked, by way of a diversion.

Gordon could always be relied on for something funny...and didn't let us down.

'Well, I had some woman apply for a job this week' he said....'honestly you should have seen the state of her. She was small and dumpy with a huge great bum....and talk about dozy....I was asking her what she'd done before and she goes... _Well I aint worked in no shops before_..... _what's the pay like?_.....in this pathetic voice that made her sound like she had a mental age of about six. The worst of it _was_....you know Sue and Jean, the two part-time women who work with me.....they were creased up behind her back taking the piss. They kept pointing to this woman and making faces all the time when I was trying to be serious. I could hardly keep a straight face....and after she went the three of us were pissing ourselves.....we didn't stop laughing about it for the rest of the day'

'I take it she didn't get the job then?' said Ted, with a grin.

'No' said Gordon.....'if a monkey had turned up he'd have stood a better chance than her'

Much laughter.

After that Malcolm was telling us about a customer he'd served a few days ago.....

'She was quite old and wanted everything cut in half. She even told me to cut a pack of butter in half cos she said it was too much money otherwise. She said she was a pensioner but didn't really look like she was particularly hard up. She kept wanting bits cut off this and that.... fat off of bacon, rind off of cheese.....after all this when she gave me a pound note I felt like ripping it in half and saying _Here's your ten bob change_ '

More laughs all round.

'Anyone else got anything?' asked Ted, who seemed to genuinely enjoy our company. I should think we were a lot funnier than most of the people he normally worked-with.

I decided to tell them about the mice problem at 25 and the attempts to get rid of them with the sticky-boards...

'...and next day there were all these mice stuck to the boards..... they were everywhere.....the worst thing about it was that they were nearly all still alive and just wriggling about without getting anywhere.....it was disgusting really'

'So how _did_ you get rid of them?' asked Ted.....'did you throw the boards out with the mice still on them?'

'No' I said.....'they wanted the boards re-used.....we found the best thing to do was to run some really scalding hot water into a bucket and then just scrape the mice off the boards into it....I know it sounds horrible.....well it _was_ horrible....but we knew they were going to die anyway.....and at least it was quick'

I could see that Mrs T was looking totally appalled and suddenly felt the need to get a bit defensive.....

'Well it wasn't my idea to put down the boards was it' I said, hoping to absolve myself of any blame for the mousy-mass-murder...'and anyway it does seem to have done the trick.....we've had boards down ever since then but caught very few mice'

There was a pause while all this was given due consideration.... finally Ted spoke....

'So Tim....to sum up....you're saying that if there was a newspaper headline it would probably read something like...Mouse Menace Minimalised by Mean Method'

Smiles all round.

'Yeah' I said, thinking quickly.....'but it did work, so how about........Rotten Rampaging Rodents Radically Reduced'

'Not bad' said Ted...'not bad at all'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Friday 7th August. Late at night, in my bedroom.

'Hey folks, did you know I lost a finger in the bacon slicer this week?...I said to her _How long have you been slicing bacon, then?....._ ha ha, just my little joke.

I'm keeping the noise down cos it's quite late and I've been down the pub with the lads. I just had music on but I've turned it off now and before I go to sleep thought I'd tell you what's been happening this week. By the way if you were wondering whose records I've been playing, Pete has lent me a few things to be going on with until I bring some stuff of my own from home. Anyhow, things have been interesting in the last few days.....on Wednesday I went with Pete to the Encounter Group meeting which, like Pete said, was just down the road from here. I have to tell you that it was a bit too weird for my liking and, if I'm honest, somewhat boring. The group consisted of around twenty or so hippy types who only seemed to want Pete for his sound system.....they didn't really need a deejay so all we did was play the records they gave us in the order they wanted them played. All the while they just moved slowly around touching and feeling each other but not, I hasten to add, in a sexual way.....I would have been eager to join in if they had! They encountered each other in a ' _We are all inanimate objects'_ sort of style and could have just as easily have been touching animals or statues. It actually reminded me of something we used to call 'Musical Movement' when I was in the junior school....only I can't remember having to touch anyone during that.

It was all very strange and I think it's the sort of thing that only happens here in London.....up here nobody really seems to care about what other people get up to.....back in Farnborough they certainly do. I can't see _Encounter_ groups ever catching on there.

You know I don't mind people doing weird stuff but by far the worst thing about these people was that they didn't pay very well..... and I didn't have the heart to ask Pete for any roady-ing fees out of the meagre amount of money he got for _our_ trouble. Needless to say we won't be attending any more of their sessions in future unless we 'encounter' a considerable increase in cash...fairly unlikely I'd say.

I mentioned slicing bacon just now in jest but I reckon I've been dreaming of bacon slicing lately in the same way as I once dreamt of pulling out chicken's gizzards. Strange things to dream-of you may say, so I think a word of explanation would be in order. First off, at work this week I was given my first lessons in the art of using the Automatic Bacon Slicer. Make no mistake, this a fearsome machine which demands the respect of anyone who attempts to get to grips with it. What you have to do is put your uncut half-side of bacon into it's spiked jaws and then set it to a speed you think you can keep pace with....the idea being that, once set, the machine slices the bacon automatically and all you, as operator, have to do is take the rashers off and stack them up in small piles that are roughly even. I know it sounds easy enough but I'm here to tell you that it isn't. What tends to happen in my case is that in no time I find that the bloody thing's speeded up and I can't keep up with it!

The ABS doesn't seem to have any brakes at all (irony) and I usually end up with rashers of bacon going everywhere.....think Norman Wisdom going ' _Mister Grims-day-al'_.

In my case I'm yelling 'Clive' and he has to come and sort out the mess. You can imagine what he says.....well, like I've said before, he says nothing actually.....not if you ignore all the swearing!

Not only that but all the rashers end up being of different thickness..... some are almost transparent.....others look like pork chops!

I suppose I'll get the hang of it eventually.

Now all this would be bad enough but it doesn't end there..... and this is where the chicken's gizzards come in. About a year ago I was on Summer hols, blissfully unaware that I was soon going to be unceremoniously booted out of school, and decided to get myself a temporary job.....it wasn't because of any real work ethic, more a case of my Dad insisting I did something useful rather than sit around the house all day. Anyhow I decided....don't ask me why....to go get a job in a chicken processing factory in Aldershot. This was easily the worst idea I've ever had. Having gotten through a really exacting interview, pretty much consisting of the words 'When can you start?', I was told I'd be working on something called the Eviscerating Line.....well I didn't know what 'eviscerating' was did I?....I thought, in my innocence, that it didn't sound too bad.....hell, was I ever wrong!

On my first day I was kitted out with loads of protective clothing, including a rubber apron with gloves to match, given a pair of scissors and then taken out into the factory. I was then stationed next to a long metal trough with some other poor unfortunates and given a short demonstration on evisceration techniques. Before long I got chance to put these into practice as all these plucked chickens came past hanging upside-down. Someone at the start would slit the chicken's arse with a knife and then it was our job to use the scissors to cut their gizzards out.....that's the chicken's gizzards, not the people with the knives..... they wouldn't even have _had_ gizzards would they.

Anyhow, further up the line it was other people's job to pull the chicken's guts out.....all these gizzards and giblets went into the trough and the overall smell of the place was putrid. This was what evisceration amounted to.....extracting chickens guts....it was complete shit and I'd somehow volunteered for it!

Every now and then whilst trimming a gizzard I'd cut ends off the fingers of the gloves I'd been given.....just as well it wasn't _my_ fingers I suppose.....it seemed to be an occupational hazard. I bet in the very short time I spent in that factory I probably cost Buxted's a fortune in replacement gloves. I wonder if anyone ever complained or maybe sued after they bought one of my chickens and found unwanted bits of rubber in it. I hope they did.

Working in the chicken factory was pretty disgusting but it did open my eyes to the kind of thing a lot of people have to do to earn a living. Clearly, one person's hell-hole is another persons normal working environment and it's amazing what you can get used to if you have to.....I mean the girls in there would be singing along to the songs on the radio like they were at Butlins or something!

I must admit that I could only stand it for a week.....the job, rather than the singing, you understand. I took my first, and only, week's pay on the Friday and then beat a hasty retreat. It was an unforgettable experience but not one I'm likely to repeat. The one really good thing about it all is that it makes what I'm doing now seem wonderful in comparison. Which brings me round to the point of telling you all this...

I suppose you're wondering where the parallel with the bacon machine comes in aren't you?.....well it's this.....when I went home from the factory I didn't realise what a brainwashing effect all these chickens would have on me.....all night I'd be dreaming they were going past me and I'd have to just keep cutting their gizzards out..... it was non-stop.....I couldn't stop myself and I'd just have to keep on working in my sleep all night. In the morning I'd be knackered and then I had to get up to go to work again!

Would you believe that now the same thing's happening with the bacon slicer? I dream I'm using it when I'm supposed to be sleeping. All I can see is all these rashers coming at me faster and faster....I'm grabbing at them but never seem to be able to keep pace with the bloody machine! It's a bacon nightmare and a real bore (or maybe Boar).

Is all this normal do you think? You don't think I'm being e-rashernal?

Maybe I suffer some sort of compulsive illness that makes me need to do repetitive things in my dreams. I think I ought to try and leave the bacon machine to Clive as much as possible in future cos I don't think that he suffers this sort of reaction. It's amazing isn't it...all I want to do when I'm asleep is dream about sexy women - BUT NO....I HAVE TO DREAM ABOUT GIZZARDS OR BACON!

How unfair is that?

Speaking of Clive, you know I said that he's becoming more friendly the last time we talked...well it's true and, would you believe it, he likes a lot of the same things as me. No, I can hardly believe it either. Especially after the poor footing our 'friendship' got off on. Would you credit that he's a Hendrix fan and has a copy of pretty much everything Sir Jim has ever released? Also he's got an electric guitar and loves groups like The Who and Led Zeppelin.....we've positively bonded over it all. It's an amazing turnaround but, like I've said before, I think a lot of this mellowing is due to the fact that he's obviously totally smitten by the girl I told you about at work.....and who, incidentally, he's now going out with.

Ain't love grand?

On the work front things have definitely taken a turn for the better all the way round and I've even been given permission to wear a grey nylon top instead of the white cotton one. 'Big deal' I hear you say, but to me it's confirmation that Mr Paul thinks I'm a worthwhile member of staff and that's quite pleasing. What Gordon told me about him is definitely right....once you get to know him he's a really likeable guy and quite funny as well. Like the other day....I had to laugh....the results of his last stock take came back and they must of been bad cos he was going round the shop shouting _Where's my money, Who's had my money?_....like some sort of lunatic. If anything caused the loss I reckon it must have been those bloody mice....judging by all the holes I've seen in packs of biscuits and the like. I don't suppose it's much consolation to Mr P that the majority of the greedy little buggers literally came to a sticky end..... not after seeing his quarterly bonus get drastically reduced anyway.

Blimey look at the time.....you lot are keeping me from my beauty sleep and, God knows, I really need it. Before I turn the light off, though, I just _have_ to tell you what happened tonight. We all decided to go to Hyde Park and crammed into Laurie's Riley Kestrel. It's not a big car, as you might know, so three of us in the back was pushing it a bit. Anyhow we got to the park just as it was beginning to get dark and were walking along by the Serpentine in the direction of the bar that's at the far end. It was warm and we were in no real hurry so it was quite dark before long. As we walked we could hear these girls being quite noisy and they were obviously moving in our direction. Soon they got to us and the next thing you know one of them has grabbed me and we're snogging....I mean really going for it! I'm not really boasting....why she picked _me_ I honestly don't know.....as I say it _was dark_.....but I can tell you it was pretty damn good and put my stock up a few points with the other blokes. They couldn't stop talking about it. Even though it was over almost as soon as it began and didn't really mean anything I'm still buzzing now just thinking about it. At the time we merely went on our way and I didn't act as though it was any kind of big deal.....it wasn't really, but I know the guys were amazed and so, quite frankly, was I.

It's like I said about the encounter group...only in London.'

*

I got up in a rush on Saturday morning. As you know, getting up has never been one of my favourite things in life and the earlier I have to do it the more onerous it is. If I was a mathematician I'm sure I'd be able to plot a graph showing the exact nature of the relationship between earliness and onerousness....but, to be honest, I was never much good at that sort of thing. Starting work at 7:30 in the morning has never struck me as an activity I might like to take part in. The human body just doesn't function properly at that kind of time and it's my theory that we, as a species, weren't designed to perform tasks (or even be awake) at abnormal hours of the day.

Of course this theory meant 'Jack Shit' while working for David Black. It was very much a case of 'like it or lump it'. I suppose I could, at least, console myself that....early as it was.....I didn't have to travel right the way across London now just to get to work.

Shepherds Bush was, after all, only two stops on the tube from Ladbroke Grove.

The preparation room was a hive of activity first thing in the morning cos Saturday was a very big day when working in the food trade. We would have to have plenty of bacon, cheese and cooked meat ready for when the inevitable tide (nay Tsunami) of humanity came rushing through our door. I have to admit that, on the whole, these were quite fun times and there was a real buzz to be had from getting things done well. Aside from the normal staff we'd always have extra people in on a Saturday and it has to be said that some of them were a considerable improvement in terms of beauty. Of course I'm talking, in particular, about the girls here and I can tell you that they very often gave the business of working at the weekend an extra dimension. Usually they'd be asked to either work on the checkouts (not great from the chat up point of view) or behind the counter. The latter was the better choice as far as I could see cos the girls would have to come downstairs every now and then and ask us for things.....either that or we could go upstairs and see how things were going. As you can imagine both scenarios offered decent contact possibilities....

.....or would have done if I'd been any good at that sort of thing.

This particular Saturday I'd seen someone I liked the look of but had made a really bad mistake.....I'd mentioned it to Clive. This ensured that from that moment onwards me and the young lady had no chance whatsoever of having any kind of interaction without Clive making some 'hilarious' comment or other. Whenever the poor girl came anywhere near us she was subjected to a barrage of his _What are you Join' later, gorgeous?_ style of ingratiation....and soon made a point of _not_ coming near us.

After hearing him intimate that I fancied her she gave up coming downstairs altogether. Clive seemed to have a way of making most girls feel embarrassed just by the way he would stare at them. I knew how they felt, having myself been the subject of the 'one-eyed' stare treatment.....although, thank God, in my case, I was pretty sure that it wasn't driven by any sort of sexual motive.

If I'm honest I think in some ways I would have liked to have been a bit more like him....maybe more outwardly extrovert (mind you in Clive's case for 'extrovert' read 'mouthy and downright infantile'). I'd have loved to have had the cheek to come out with the sort of lines that Clive could say, seemingly without embarrassment. The fact that they usually brought a totally negative response was neither here nor there. On balance I felt it was probably better to be more outgoing when trying to connect with girls than not really saying anything and just ending up frustrated.....a feeling I knew only too well. Anyhow on this particular Saturday it seemed unlikely that I was going to be able to make any progress with my love interest seeing as though Clive had done his best to frighten her away.

'Maybe some other time' I thought.

One bit of excitement during the day was a visit from the security woman who came to the shop every so often. She'd just pose as a normal customer and walk around with a basket watching out for shoplifters. I'd been told she was shit-hot at finding them and always bagged at least one 'victim' whenever she came.....such was the 'honesty' of our beloved customers. This was the first time I'd seen her and Clive pointed her out. What a woman she was.....hard of face, tough as nails and built like a proverbial brick excrement house....think Tamara Press, the Russian (allegedly female) shot putter. She looked like a human Rottweiler and I started to fear for any shoplifter who'd be unlucky enough to be caught by her. For them it was going to entail, at the very least, a change of underwear!

Sure enough, this Saturday she seemed to be on form and soon nabbed her first 'criminal'.....a quivering old age pensioner. God knows what he'd tried to pinch but he was obviously no match for our inhouse Miss Marple. He was apprehended and taken down. Not to the cells....to the office downstairs. The drill seemed to be to take them down there, read them the riot act and then tell them not to come back. I suppose this was a lot better than being arrested and fined but the shock couldn't have done any of them much good. I expect that in most cases their arteries were a lot more hardened than their criminal tendencies! Anyhow the in-store detective managed to catch another two oldies before the afternoon was over and, in true fisherman-style, threw them both back. Nobody's collar was actually felt by the long arm of the law and all three miscreants were allowed to go home. I was glad about this really. I realized that the supermarket sleuth had a job to do but didn't like to see how distressed her 'victims' could get. The old dears could have had a free tin of beans, or whatever, as far as I was concerned.

Work mostly done for the day I was busy tidying up in the prep room when the young lady of rare beauty I mentioned earlier suddenly appeared as if from nowhere. She looked around as if to satisfy herself that Clive wasn't about, then came over.

'Has Clive gone?' she asked, and without waiting for a reply...'he gets on my nerves...how do you stand working with him, Tim?'

'Oh he's not too bad really....when you get to know him' I heard myself say.

She didn't look overly convinced.....but it was good that she was telling me she didn't like Clive as it kind of implied that she did like me. Logic or what?

'Have you finished for today then?' she asked.

'Yes' I said.....'I'm going home soon'

'You live round here do you?' she asked.

'Well not far...Ladbroke Grove' I replied....and, after a pause... 'Do _you_ live round here then, Marlene?'

The answer was pretty obvious really....I mean she was hardly likely to get a Saturday job that was anything other than local was she? Still I didn't profess to be good at chatting up girls did I.

'Oh yes.....we live just up the road....round the corner....near the football ground.....it only takes me a few minutes to walk home from here' she replied with a smile playing about her lips.

Hughie Green wasn't around but I had the feeling that opportunity was knocking. Was she inviting me to ask her something?

Of course she was...and being a man of experience (one date) I had no hesitation in jumping in with both feet.

'Er, I was wondering.....'

Her eyes opened wider.

'Um, whether you'd consider.....'

Wider still and a slight nod.

'Er, if you're free.....'

She was smiling.....

Just then Clive appeared....

'What are _you_ up to then, Addams?' he shouted...'not cradle snatching are you?'

With that Marlene turned and beat a hasty retreat.

'Well, cheers mate' I said a certain amount of annoyance...'allow me to ruin your chances next time you look like you're doing alright with a girl'

Clive looked a little chastened.....but soon got over it.

'Do you know how old she is?' he asked (like maybe I should). 'No' I said 'Fifteen' he said, with gravitas.

'Fifteen?' I said, like there was some sort of echo.

'That's what I was told' he said, while effecting a _better to hear it from me_ sort of stance.

As I've said I was never a mathematician but _even I_ could work out that fifteen was less than sixteen.

'Really' I said...'anyway we were only just chatting...no law against that is there?'

Already I could imagine what the lads at the hostel would say if they knew I was going out with a girl who was only fifteen

'Don't give me that' said Clive, with a dismissive tone....'I saw the look in your eye'

It was true....he probably _had_ seen.....and I probably _did have_.

........but there was more to think about than just on-paper age.... after all it was her who sought _me_ out....it wasn't like I'd made all the running. She may have had boyfriends before.....she may have been very nearly sixteen.....I had no idea...she certainly looked more than fifteen to me that's for sure.

One thing was certain, I wasn't going to let it drop....I was sure she would have liked me to have asked her out....I'd make it my business to find out what I could before she was due in again.....and this time _try_ to speak to her without interference from you-know-who.....

......... SOME HOPE.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Saturday 8th August. Evening.

Saturday was proving to be the ultimate quiet night in. It was around eight and me and Malcolm were sitting around like the saddo's we were....just watching the telly. We presumed all the others were out on dates but weren't really sure. They hadn't seen fit to tell us what they were up to. We knew Gordon was seeing the lovely Lorraine so that was him spoken-for. He was always talking about her.....it was Lorraine this and Lorraine that.....so when we were chatting about her one day

I couldn't resist telling him never to take her on any Spanish holidays. Naturally he looked a bit puzzled.....

'Well' I said....'you'd never get her off the aircraft cos.....(wait for it)... _Lorraine, in Spain, stays mainly on the plane_ '

There was stony silence.

I thought it was quite good but Gordon seemed genuinely unmoved.....obviously his girlfriend was far too precious to be the butt of my infantile humour. You know people are smitten don't you when they can't take any sort of joke about their other half (like they're, bald, fat, ugly....a total arse.....that kind of thing).

Clive was exactly the same. I'd noticed you couldn't say anything about his girlfriend Janet without him going 'What's that supposed to mean?' in a way that suggested humour wasn't an option. All quite funny really cos before she took the fateful (and, some would say, foolhardy) step of agreeing to go out with him she'd had to endure a ceaseless cascade (nay, a crescendo) of leg-pulling 'merriment' courtesy of Clive. He'd call her all sorts of embarrassing things and nothing seemed to be off-limits at all.

I could only suppose that it was all down to what people meant when they said they were in a 'serious' relationship. They were serious (as opposed to jocular) about each other and woe betides anyone who might make light of it.

One person who wasn't about to give anyone a chance to have a laugh at his expense was our good friend Laurie. He'd gone out somewhere but no-one knew exactly where. I asked Malcolm about this cos he worked with him and may have been aware of something I wasn't.

'So where do _you_ reckon he's gone?' I said.

Malcolm pulled a 'search me' type of expression and shook his head.

'No idea' he replied.

'Not out with Suzie then...or Deidre?'

'Dunno mate...he could be for all I know...with Suzie...

definitely not Deidre'

By jove this was riveting stuff.....I kept trying, though.....

'So Laurie and Suzie don't look like lovebirds to you while they're at work then?'

'No...not really'

'Only she sounded like she might have had a crush on the boss when she went out with me'

'Did she.....mmm, I suppose it's possible'

Ever get the feeling you're wasting your time?

'So, to summarise, then it's possible that they're together at this precise moment in time but also, on the other hand, just as likely that they aren't'

By now Malcolm wasn't even turning his head towards me when he answered.

'Mmmm.....that's right' he said in distracted fashion.

We clearly weren't going to have much of a conversation on this subject so I felt a change of tack might be beneficial. I thought for a while and decided that I didn't really know much about Malcolm and that this would be as good a time as any to correct this.

'So what brought you to London then Malcolm?' I asked, with as much sincerity as I could muster.

'Well' he said....'I thought it might be a lot more fun than Margate.........

Margate's crap'

This sounded like a familiar story but I was a bit surprised. I mean Farnborough is the ultimate boring, forgettable place but Margate was a seaside town and surely living near the seaside couldn't be too boring.

'What...you mean there wasn't much to do?...I'd have thought it was quite good living near the sea.....'

'Well, yeah....that's what most people seem to think.....'

He sort-of trailed off without really enlarging on this. I persisted.....

'What about all the girls on the beach.....in bikinis.....plenty of them I should think.....wasn't there?'

'Well, to be honest....I haven't had much luck in that direction... with girls I mean....' he said, this time turning towards me.

'...you know I'm twenty and haven't even had a proper girlfriend'

'Any improper ones?' I said, not being able to deal with what I was being told without resorting to my usual flipancy.

'No....none of those either...twenty and I've never had a shag..... can you believe it?'

Yes, I definitely _could_.

'Oh really' I said...'well you've got ages yet...there's loads of girls out there'

Not, you notice, ' _And neither have I'_.....I didn't even have the good grace to blush....of course on the evidence of the other night I was quite obviously a man of experience. Malcolm looked as if he imagined he was the only virgin in the whole wide world and my every instinct told me to reassure him that he wasn't by admitting that I was as well..... but, you know I just couldn't do it. Those four words.... _And neither have I_...to my eternal shame, remained unsaid with the obvious inference that I actually _had_ done it.

'Well at least you're not laughing' he said....'I reckon others round here would have if I'd said that to _them_ '

'Oh no.....I don't think so' I said....and then remained silent, hoping the subject would be allowed to drop.

We both went back to watching the telly for a short while when Malcolm suddenly turned and asked the question I was dreading..... 'How about you Tim?'

I kept my eyes on the screen. This was not good. I didn't particularly want to answer questions on _my_ love life - or lack of it.

'Well I haven't done too badly I suppose' I said, trying to sound so convincing that I wouldn't be asked to go into too much detail... obviously I wasn't convincing enough though.....

'Did _you_ have a girlfriend then, Tim.....before you came to London?' he persisted.

This was the very line of questioning I'd hoped to avoid...served me right for starting it really.

'Er....yes' I said....'more than one actually'

Well a big lie's the same as a small one isn't it?

'Oh really' he said.....'what were their names?'

Television, to Malcolm, was obviously now of only secondary interest.

'Er, well....let me see.....oh yes there was Janine, er....and Sheila, oh yes and Elizabeth'

I thought that was pretty good....coming up with three names like that sounded quite convincing. Malcolm didn't need to know that none of them were over the age of eleven when I knew them...and that I very definitely hadn't done anything more than hold hands with any of them (only Sheila actually.....cos we did country dancing as a pair).

'Blimey mate' he said.....'you've had three girlfriends.....what were they like?'

'Oh, um....quite nice actually' I said (well they were....in a flat bosomed, pigtailly sort of way).

I did feel reasonably safe cos a guy is fairly unlikely to ask another guy outright if he's had sex.....it's just not something you'd say and I was counting on this to be the case.

WRONG

'Did you....you know...do it with any of them?' said Malcolm the persistent (in the same way that Ethelred was 'The Unready').

'Er, yes...definitely' I said....like I was trying to convince _myself_.

Malcolm just looked at me and I could see his mind turning over. It would have been saying 'Do I believe this?, Shall I keep up this line of questioning?, Can I show him up for the liar I'm pretty sure he is?'

After a short pause (during which I'd started to feign avid interest in the TV) he'd obviously decided against at least the latter.....

'My trouble is I never seem to meet any girls' he said.....'where did you meet your girlfriends....at school maybe?'

The irony of this made me smile, seeing that he'd managed to guess in one...obviously, though, he was thinking Senior, rather than Junior. He wasn't to know that I'd stood no chance of meeting any girls at the Salesian College as there were none there (although there _were_ nuns there).

Still, I continued to surprise even myself with the plausibility of the stuff I was coming out with.....

'No mate, not school, there were only boys there...I used to go to a youth club, that was pretty good......lots of girls there'

Well of course there _were_.....but none of them ever seemed that interested in me. My non-existent fashion sense probably didn't help much. I used to wear this thick, white, round-necked, naff-patterned jumper. It was pretty similar to ones Val Doonican wore on his T.V shows and, for some unknown reason, this generally failed to impress the opposite sex. Maybe I hadn't noticed that VD (as I liked to think of him) was about fifty at the time. No, the youth club was where I played ping-pong, listened to records, drank coca cola, and hung around with other (equally girl-free) guys.

'I envy you there' said Malcolm...'that sounds great....I never really had anywhere like that to go'

What could I say? We were a lot more alike than he knew.....it's just that he was admitting his lack of success and I wasn't.

We sat in silence for a short while contemplating adverts for Polo Mints and Guinness until I turned and said 'Malcolm, you are glad that you came up to London aren't you?... is it definitely an improvement on Margate?....I mean we're not exactly living it up tonight, for instance, are we?...just sat here in front of the telly'

Maybe I was also asking myself.....there was a bit of a pause for consideration.

'Well' he replied.....'I can see what you're saying but yeah, it's much better.....at least here I've got mates.....'

His voice trailed off. He was admitting that he was a bit of a social outcast. Not an easy thing to do.

'You didn't have that many friends in Margate, then?' I asked. 'No.....not really' he said, and a bit more silence ensued.

Maybe I was luckier than Malcolm. I didn't have much confidence with girls, probably because I hadn't been used to being around them on a day to day basis, but at least I had quite a few mates back home.

'Are _you_ glad you came up here from Farnborough then Tim?' he asked.....'seeing as though it sounds like you were doing okay back there'

Well that was a laugh. I'd obviously overdone it and what I should have said was..... 'Actually, Malcolm I'm a bloody liar.....I've hitherto 'enjoyed' pretty much the same amount of girly action as you and probably only have more mates because of the exclusively male environment I've been privileged to occupy for the last few years'

But that was never going to be my reply for despite the wrong impression I'd managed to give Malcolm I knew why I'd come up to London and it was working. I was beginning to feel a new-found confidence and sense of optimism. There was only one possible answer.....

'Oh yes' I said...'without a doubt...definitely'....and _really, really_ meant it.

*

We'd been watching T.V for around an hour when who should come in but Pete. He flopped down in an armchair looking pretty miserable.

Malcolm and I looked at each other both probably thinking the same thing.....'Are _you_ going to ask or am I?'

After a short pause I grasped the nettle.....

'Date didn't go too well then?'

Pete looked as if this was a massive understatement.

'No it didn't' was all he ventured.

Another pause ensued before I directed another question Pete's way.

'What happened then Pete...didn't she turn up?'

'Oh yes, she turned up all right...you know I'll never believe anyone's description of themselves _ever again_ '

We looked at him with 'tell us more' expressions.

'God' he said....'I can't believe how ugly she was.....a pig would have been an improvement'

'Are you sure it was her?' I said, remembering what Pete had said about recognising her as the only booted and bereted woman standing outside Kensal Green station.

'Course it was....I drove past several times....she probably suspected it was me but there was no way I was going to risk going up to her and asking if she was Jill'

'So she's probably still standing there, then' said Malcolm....

obviously putting himself in jilted Jill's place.

'Possibly' replied an unrepentant Pete.

'She might be asked if she's looking for business if she hang's around too long' I suggested.

Pete laughed 'Bloody hell, you'd have to be hard up....or maybe fed up'

'Remember what Laurie said about a fiver's worth' I said.....'maybe that _was_ a better option after all'

'Yeah' said Malcolm....'at least you get to see the girl first'

'Mmmm' said Pete, contemplating the logic of this.

He seemed glum. I felt a positive note ought to be sounded.

'Still' I said.....'don't worry.....you've got another five Dateline possibilities yet, haven't you?'

'Oh God, yes' he said.

It hadn't worked. The thought of five more blind dates obviously wasn't a happy one.

There seemed like only one thing for it.

'Sod it, let's go out and get a beer' I said.

'Best idea I've heard all night' said Malcolm.

Pete visibly brightened up.

'Well I suppose at least I didn't waste any money having to buy drinks or food' he said.

'Exactly' I said....'more money to spend with us.....'

Pete nodded.

.....and you never know who we'll meet in the pub'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Later that same Saturday night.

The Pig and Whistle, not too far away, was our chosen venue. It was pretty busy when we went in and we had to fight our way to the bar (not literally....it wasn't some sort of Wild West-London Saloon). I could hear the Stone's _Honky Tonk Women_ playing over the general hubbub. Maybe we'd meet some genuine honky-tonk women....I felt there were likely to be a few 'gin-soaked bar-room queens' about....but they might not all be women. Having got pissed only recently I decided that I would try to moderate my intake and not have any more than three pints. In fact two and a half seemed about right....sort of like mummy beer, daddy beer and itsy bitsy baby beer.

Anyhow, all silliness aside, we scanned pub for any faces we either knew or might possibly _want_ to know....and guess what....Pete saw two straight away (in the 'knew' category). Over in the corner sat Tanya and her fellow hostel cleaner Christine.

'Have you seen who's sitting over there?' said Pete, nodding in their direction.

Malcolm and I looked....and then _did_ see.

'Oh bloody hell!' I thought....'just my luck....Tanya and her loudmouth, lairy, lard-arse friend Christine.....of all the pubs in all the world....'

I had the feeling that embarrassment was but a few short steps away.

'Let's go over and say hello.....might be a laugh' suggested Malcolm.

Pete nodded 'Yeah, good idea.....don't much fancy yours though, ha ha.....what do you say Tim?'

'What...er, no....I don't think we should bother them' I said....'they, um.... might want to be on their own'

Both guys looked at me with slightly bemused expressions. I could see them both thinking 'Why doesn't Tim want to speak to these women?'

By now we'd managed to obtain some drinks and were looking for a place to park ourselves.

'There's some seats round their table' said Malcolm, again nodding in the direction of the two women...'why don't we go and ask if they mind us sitting there?'

'Well they're not going to say _No_ are they?.....they're not going to want to appear rude.....but they might still resent the imposition' I said, with a touch too much force (but still managing to come out with dialogue that might have come straight from a Jane Austin novel).

'Resent the _what?_ ' queried Malcolm.

'Imposition' I said...'we could be imposing ourselves'

'Fucking hell' said Malcolm, shaking his head...'I've heard it all now'

Just as this was beginning to look like a potential heated debate Pete spoke up.

'Hey shut up you two, the girls have just spotted us and have waved us over...come on'

So it was decided then. There was no getting out of it. I put on a fixed grin and went over to the corner with the other lads and sat down.

The girls seemed perfectly happy that we'd joined them and were positively overflowing with conviviality.

'We saw you boys come in' said Christine...'I said to Tanya _It's those boys from the hostel_ didn't I?' And looked at Tanya for confirmation.

Tanya said 'Yeah' whilst looking directly at me and smiling....it was a bit unnerving.

I don't think it went unnoticed by the other guys either that I seemed to be the focus of Tanya's attention. They were possibly wondering if she knew something they didn't and were further confused when she said...

'Ere Tim, I'm sorry about bursting in on you the other morning.....' And could have done without...

'....I hope I wasn't interrupting anything'

This was bad. I could feel myself getting hotter. Christine was smiling a sort of knowing smile and I began hoping that a hole would just open up in the floor so I could fall into it. Tanya was clearly indicating that she was pretty sure she _had_ interrupted something and her friend was making it fairly obvious that she knew what that something was.

'What _were_ you doing then Tim?' said Pete, looking round at me accusingly.

Both women started laughing.

'Nothing' I replied, in hot-flushed denial.

Both women laughed some more. I must have closely resembled a traffic light on 'Stop' by this time. It was like some kind of _in_ joke that the other two lads weren't party to....they laughed along but didn't really know why.

'What are they laughing at?' Pete whispered in my ear.

'I've no idea...I reckon they've had a couple of drinks too many' I whispered back.

'What are you two saying?' asked Malcolm, probably feeling left out of things (not being party to the laughing or the whispering).

I felt that what was needed was some sort of diversion to all of this....I thought for a few seconds.....then I decided to ask the women something.....anything.....just to divert attention from me and get things onto a different tack.....

'So, um....what's it like working for Mrs T then?' I asked them. Their laughter stopped dead.

Alright it wasn't exactly a searchingly incisive question but it proved to be a stroke of genius. Immediately the mood of merriment (at my expense) ended and an outpouring of scorn ensued....all of it directed towards Mrs T. It was excellent for my purposes..... both entertaining and quite eye-opening. I think us lads all learned something that evening about our good lady housekeeper...and virtually all of it could be lumped under the heading 'Upsets people easily'

Seemingly she wasn't a popular boss.

'Is that why you didn't go to her party then?' I asked (directed at Tanya).

'Yeah we did' said Tanya.....'but I think you'd gone to bed by then..... were you ill?'

'Yes' I said.....'I think it was something I ate'

'Ha.... _drank_ more like' scoffed Pete.

The women laughed some more....it was definitely _Poke fun at Tim_ night.

I wondered what they must have thought of me....something along the lines of 'Wanking Piss-Artist' probably.

I decided to keep quiet and stay out of any future conversation. I would nurse my beer, smile in all the right places and then just go home and lick my wounds. If I _was_ ever beginning to feel more confident around the opposite sex then this evening had just set me back several notches. The strange thing was, though, Tanya still seemed to only have eyes for me. Even though I wasn't talking very much I could still feel the subliminal contact we were making. It was as if the others weren't there. At length Malcolm went for some more drinks and I went to the toilet with Pete. Whilst in there he left me in no doubt that he knew what was happening.

'Tim mate, what the bloody hell have you done to Tanya?' he asked (while weeing).

'Don't know what you mean' I replied (also whilst weeing).

'Well you've bloody well done something' he persisted (or was it pissisted?)....'can't you see how she keeps looking at you?.....'

'No, not really' I said, with an air of innocence.

He continued.

'Well I've noticed and so has Malcolm.....what is it with you, everywhere you go women are throwing themselves at you...but you just can't see it can you?'

'No, you're right I can't' I said while shaking the drips off.

I thought to myself 'Urine the wrong place to discuss this, Tim'

While we were washing our hands (just for a change....in both our cases, I suspect) Pete pointed at the condom machine and gave me some of his worldly, man-to-man, advice.....

'You ought to invest in a packet of those...if you haven't got any already, of course'

'Well, as it happens, I _have_....if you must know' I answered, with as much feigned disgust as I could muster.

Pete obviously wasn't convinced...

'Oh yes.....so how long have you had them then?...did you know what they were when you bought them?.....ha ha, I bet you didn't.....go on admit it, it was the worst chewing gum you ever tasted, wasn't it?'

'Ha bloody ha' I said.

But actually he wasn't far from the truth...as things stood I might just as well have tried eating them for all the use they'd been.

'Come on then' urged Pete, shaking his head.....'let's get back to the others.....LADY KILLER'

'Alright' I said (ignoring the sarcasm).....'but just don't get jealous' Pete just shook his head.

Back at the table I began to feel a bit better and, as the evening went on, even started to enjoy myself. The company, Tanya especially, was good and although I couldn't really talk to her one-to-one I felt that she would have liked me to. It was just a feeling I got. Like she was listening extra carefully to anything I said. I think that sort of reaction is something you always pick up on. I'm sure women (and men) know when they're doing it and it's done for the purpose of sending out a signal to the person they fancy. And yes I did fancy her....she had very expressive eyes and whenever hers and mine met there was definitely something going on.

She was an experienced woman...and a married one to boot.

In fact I think _that_ may well have been her problem....she probably _was_ often booted by her husband. Details weren't gone into but every now and then she alluded to the fact that domestic violence played a sizeable part in her life. It was saddening....and indeed sickening, considering the smallness of her stature. I felt she was a very vulnerable person and needed protecting from the 'ogre' she lived with. But for me there was an obvious drawback (and it was a bigger drawback than a whale's foreskin).....I didn't fancy being the one doing the protecting.

Well don't pull a face.....it's not my fault...cowards _run_ in our family.

The conversation, meanwhile, was on a pretty erudite level.... 'Who does he look like to you?' said Tanya to Christine, while nodding in my direction.

'Oooo I'm not sure' her friend replied.

'Quasimodo?'suggested Pete.

'No, shut up.....I was thinking about a film star' gushed Tanya.

'What about Frankenstein....he's been in a few films?' said Malcolm.

'....or King Kong?' joked Pete.

'No' said a mildly irritated Tanya.....'I think he's a bit like Tom Courtney.....yeah Tom Courtney....'

'I dunno' said Christine....'I think with _his_ nose he's a bit like Ringo.....or maybe General Degaulle'

Not terribly flattering but fairly realistic.

'No shut-up' said Tanya.....'he's much better looking then any of them....no I reckon Tom Courtney.....in _The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner_....I loved that film'

I have to admit that I hadn't seen the movie and suspected that Tanya was bigging me up somewhat. Still if she was _maximising_ me I knew I could rely on my 'friends' to even things up by _minimising_ me....

'Actually, we think Tim's got the sort of face that would be perfect for radio....don't we Malcolm?' said Pete, with a smirk.

Malcolm just added 'Yeah...radio'

'I think they're being horrible to you, Tim' said Tanya....'take no notice of them'

I didn't.

I was lapping up the attention that was coming my way....it made a nice change.

Eleven 'o' clock came around quickly and soon there was no excuse to stay in the pub any longer. It had been an interesting evening and we all parted in high spirits. I got kisses from both Tanya (Yum Yum) and Christine (Yuk), as did we all. It's strange what effect drink can have isn't it?....I mean even Christine had started to look vaguely attractive!

On the way home in the car I noticed that Pete had a big grin on his face.

'I reckon you pulled there Tim' he said.

'What, Christine you mean?' I laughingly replied.

'No, not Christine, you twat.....Tanya.....what do you think Malcolm?'

'Yeah....Tanya definitely' he agreed, disinterestedly.

'Nah' I said....'she's married.....and quite a bit older than me'

'Well you _did_ say you fancied older women.....' said Pete....and continued....

'.....I reckon she really fancies you in spite of the age difference..... in fact the age difference might be what _does_ attract her.....can't imagine what else it could be (laughs).....but take it from me she likes you and I wouldn't be surprised if she tries to see you again after tonight.....you see if I'm right'

'Get outta here' was my chosen reply...and the last word on the subject.

Would it be the last word though?

......... WATCH THIS SPACE

(Actually you'd be better off turning the page)

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sunday 9th August.

My Sunday mornings, as you know by now, were traditionally spent lying back and thinking of England. I tended to rise quite early....but wouldn't dream of getting out of bed (I _know_...the joke's wearing a bit thin now). Usually I would switch on the radio and just bask in the fact that I didn't have anywhere to go or anything to do. I was chilling out, although, of course, I didn't realise it at the time. Chilling out hadn't officially been invented yet.....it was just known as 'dossing' then.

And I was spectacularly good at it.

If you didn't know any better - say you were a visitor from a far off planet - you might think that on their days off Earthling teenagers, being young and in their prime, would leap out of bed some time early in the morning, fresh and eager to make the most of what the day may have in store. In your ignorance you might also imagine that these same kids would be so full of pent-up energy that to stay in bed after about nine 'o' clock would be unthinkable and that the thought of a lie-in would be totally (dare one say) _Alien_ ,...but you, Mr Extra Terrestrial, would be sadly mistaken....they're all TOTALLY LAZY BASTARDS!

And I was no different.

Like, I suspect, most other people my age, I would spend most of my waking hours asleep! Ever since it was decided (by me) that going to Holy Mass was a complete waste of time I hadn't gotten out of bed on the Sabbath before at least noon and mornings were viewed only from a horizontal standpoint (or liepoint). Now I realise that there may be some of you who would see all this as a criminal waste of time...but what I would say to _you_ is this - what else would I have done?

I didn't have a dog...so no walkies. I didn't feel the need for a Sunday newspaper (on the basis that it cost money and was usually full of bad news)...and I most certainly wouldn't have liked to have been seen running through the streets in a tracksuit.

So why would I have wanted to get up before lunchtime?

Honestly if I could have persuaded Mrs T to bring my lunch up to me on a tray it's possible that I wouldn't have got out of bed on a Sunday at all!

So just normal teenage behaviour then really.

This particular Sunday I managed to drag myself out of bed eventually and went downstairs to join the other lads waiting for the dinner gong. Actually there wasn't a gong which was a real pity....I think it would have been a nice touch. I loved all those Rank films that began with the bare-chested guy hitting one. I know it's nothing to do with all this but apparently the film makers were going to have the gong at the end of the film hit four times.....but then someone pointed out that all the films would be a four gong conclusion.

(Leaves a pause for the groans to die down)

Anyhow we've established (painfully) that there was no gong...but I suppose David Black did pretty much qualify as a rank organization. Now where was I.....oh yes, lunch.

Mrs T had excelled herself and we were treated to roast beef with home-made Yorkshire pudding. You could say what you like about our surrogate mother but she could certainly make the most of what she was offered by DB in the way of ingredients. It was manna from heaven.... and we set about it like we were to the manna born (in a manna of speaking).

Talk around the table was lively and seemed to centre around the previous evening and my amazing way with older, married women..... or, at least, one in particular. We'd already agreed not to mention any names what with the fact the main protagonists were well known to Mrs T and we didn't want them embarrassed in any way. The guys who hadn't been with us had been fully briefed, or so it appeared, by Malcolm and Pete but were told not to let identities (or any other titties) come out in front of you know who. It has to be said....Mrs T was a real inhibiting factor when it came to conversation. I mean how are young guys supposed to communicate properly without being able to swear, make rude jokes or infantile remarks, and generally take the piss out of one another? You can appreciate the sort of constraints we were under can't you.....it wasn't easy.

Having listened to our exploits Laurie wanted to know whether we would now consider attending the 'Grab a Granny' nights which were, apparently, held on a regular basis at venues such as the Hammersmith Palais. We were intrigued and, not being familiar with these evenings, wanted to know more. Of course Laurie needed to be a bit careful here what with there being an older person present. I mean Mrs T might not have actually been a granny....but most certainly came into the age group that he was alluding to....

'.....of course I haven't been to any of these evenings myself' he said....'I wouldn't want to be seen dead looking desperate at some dump like Hammersmith Palais'

'Well' I thought....'he wouldn't have would he'

It's like when someone in a chemist's asks for some hemorrhoid cream to treat a bad case of piles it's never for them is it? It's always for someone else.

'These grannies....aren't they a bit old for dancing and that?' asked Malcolm, in all seriousness.

'They're not literally old grannies you idiot!...they're just older women....a lot of them would probably be married' said Laurie, who seemed to be an expert on the subject.

Well I must say that was a relief....that they weren't really old....I mean the thought of a foyer packed solid with zimmer frames wasn't a good image.

'Do you actually have to grab them?' I asked.

It didn't seem very polite.

'I think you lot are taking this all a bit too literally' said an increasingly exasperated Laurie....'it just means that the average age of the women, and the blokes, who go on those nights is.....'

His eyes flicked across the table to where Mrs T was listening intently.....

'.....er, possibly higher than on.....er, other nights'

So that cleared that up then....only it didn't.

'How are these nights advertised then?' said Malcolm....'I've been to Hammy Pally a few times and I can't remember seeing anything about granny-grabbing'

Laurie was, by now, very definitely wishing he'd never mentioned it.

'Look' he said, with a rising tone of voice....'I'm not a bloody expert on the subject....I don't even go to any of them myself...so quit asking me loads of stupid questions will you?'

We all looked at each other. We hadn't seen him as agitated as this before. He was normally Mr Calm and never seemed to get riled by anything. His feathers, much to our amusement, had certainly been ruffled.

Gordon thought he would ease matters a little.

'Don't worry about it mate.....' he said in a reassuring tone.

But couldn't resist adding.....

'.....but it _was_ you who mentioned all this stuff about grabbing grannies in the first place'

We all had to laugh....it was a fair cop.

'Okay, fair enough.....you've all had your laugh so let's talk about something else now' said Laurie with an air of finality.

So we did for a while...until Gordon suddenly said...

'Hey Tim, I've just thought of something.....it wasn't a grab-a-granny night at the Pig and Whistle last night was it?'

'No' I said....'definitely not'

But the thought of grabbing one of the 'grannies' in question was actually quite appealing.

*

Sunday afternoon was progressing slowly the way rainy days do. I tried everything at least once - a bit of T.V, some radio, a twang or two on the guitar - but it was really dragging. I almost wished I was back at work, that's how boring it was. I looked out of my lofty window at the rain-drenched street below and considered my options. Entertainment was a fairly low priority. I'd already leafed through 'Time Out' in search of somewhere to go but rejected everything on offer in favour of apathy and inertia. It was a rainy Sunday and I'd adopted a rainy Sunday attitude to go with it. At around half past four the reverie was interrupted by a knock on my bedroom door.

'There's a phone call for you Tim' shouted Mrs T.

A phone call. Now who was calling me on a Sunday afternoon? I rushed downstairs and grabbed the phone.

'Hello' I said, as you do.

'Hello wanker it's me' said the voice on the other end of the line. Probably not one of my parents then.

'Hello Steve' I said.....'to what do I owe this honour?'

'Hi mate,.....are you doing anything next Saturday night?'

A good question - the possibilities were endless.

'Well' I said.....I haven't really decided yet.....I'm not sure whether to go to Mick Jagger's party or hop on my private jet and go to Monte Carlo for the weekend'

'Fuck off' he said....'be serious....I was looking in Melody Maker yesterday and noticed that Steeleye Span and the Strawbs are playing on the same bill at Watford Town Hall....do you fancy it?

'What.....you mean you're thinking of coming up here....to London?'

This was a strange development.....but he was serious.

'Yeah....I could stay overnight at your place, couldn't I?' he said. To be honest, I doubted it.

'That's a difficult one' I said.....'you know Mrs T's a bit of a stickler and I'm pretty sure that it's against the rules'

I said the last bit in hushed tones as the phone was in a place where you-know-who could clearly hear what was being said (outside her bedroom to be exact) and the need for secrecy was paramount.

'What mate.....did you say _Yes?_ ' said Steve, not appreciating why I was being quiet.

'I can't say at the moment.....can I call you at work tomorrow?' I said, playing for time.

'Yeah okay....have a think about it and let me know, it'll be a good gig.'

'Alright....see you' I said and put the phone down.

This would be a bit of a challenge. I thought about what we would need to do in order to pull it off. Getting Steve in would probably not be too difficult as Mrs T was likely to be in bed when we got back from the gig.....no, it was the getting him out on the Sunday that might prove more tricky. The more I considered it, though, the more I wanted to go for it. The little devil on my shoulder was saying 'Do it - you know you want to' and the more he said it the more I heeded it.

'Sod it' I thought.....'let's do it.'

*

By Sunday evening the rain had stopped and Gordon, who seemed to be the only one around, suggested we went for a drink somewhere we could walk to. This was a good idea and we went to the Castle in Portobello Road. Like most pubs in the area it wasn't thrillingly salubrious (the 'décor' being the usual shade of nicotine brown) but never mind. Gordon asked me how I was getting on with Mr Paul.

'Really well' I said...'he's a good bloke when you get to know him. I must say I didn't think I was going to last five minutes when I first met him but we seem to have got over that and now it's fine'

'Yeah, I know what you mean' he said.....'when I was first sent there I thought _Shit, what have I done to deserve this?_ but after a while I really enjoyed it '

'And now you're a manager'

'Well, yeah, of sorts.....have you seen my shop?'

I had to admit I hadn't.

'You were right about those stairs' he said....'one thing's for sure, I must be a lot fitter than I was a month ago'

'I expect Lorraine's reaping the benefit, isn't she?' I asked with a smile.

'Yeah, well....better not go into that' he said, smiling back. We paused to consider this like-minded thought.

'What are you doing at 25 at the moment?....do you do the bacon yet?' he asked.

'Mmm' I replied....'having become a master of the art of cutting cooked meat I've naturally progressed to helping Clive with the bacon.... it's quite good fun isn't it?'

'Yeah....I suppose it is' he agreed.

It was true.....I never realised before how much fun you could have with a dead pig. They came readily split in half so there were no mucky entrails or blood to worry about. It was brilliant taking the bones out cos you'd get to use a really sharp knife....I wasn't even allowed a penknife when I was a kid. After removing the bones there were all manner of possibilities. Pigs could be shredded into rashers, left as gammon or maybe tied up using a slipknot and then cut into chunks. These were called joints but, although they _could_ be smoked, were nothing to do with drugs.

The good thing was that it was all quite easy. Anyone could become a pig butcher in no time....even if, like me, you were a bit ham-fisted.

Yes, if asked what animal I'd most like to cut up I'd have had no hesitation...it had to be a pig every time.

After a while the conversation had moved on.

'That was funny what you told us about the rats' said Gordon. 'Mice' I corrected.

'Yeah.....stuck to those boards'

Gordon chuckled at the mere thought of the sad, impaled creatures.

'It probably sounded funnier than it was' I said.....it's actually not very nice having to scrape a living mouse off a board into scalding water, pretty much as an act of kindness'

'No, maybe not' he said considering this.

'Anyway most of them seem to have gone now' I said....'good thing too'

'Well you can't blame them for not wanting to stick around can you?' he said, with a grin.

'No' I said, with a sigh (ignoring his joke)....I really had hoped I wouldn't have to discuss mice again for a very long time.

There was another pause for thought while beer was imbibed (not Red Barrel, happily).

'How are you getting on with Clive?' asked Gordon....'I should think you've noticed what a bloody twat he can be if he wants to'

'Yeah I _have_ noticed' I said....'at first I thought he was likely to kill me with his bacon knife if I said anything wrong, but we seem to be getting on a bit better lately.....he seems to be a lot happier now....did you know he's going out with one of the girls from the shop?'

'No....who's that then?'

'Do you know Janet?'

'What, the little Scottish girl... _that_ Janet?'

'Yes the very same'

'Well poor old Janet....I always thought she seemed quite sensible' he said, and sipped some more beer.

It was good chatting to Gordon and we hadn't done that since we shared a room. I think Mrs T had known what she was doing when getting me to start life in London by sharing with someone as friendly as Gordon. He'd made me welcome from the word _Go_ and I would never forget that. Also he was kind after I'd got that somewhat deflating letter from Suzie and got me laughing about it in no time. As the subject of women had been let out of the box Gordon asked me if I'd had any luck in that direction lately.

'Well not a lot to report really' I said...'I seem to meet girls but nothing much comes of it....a bit like with Suzie'

'Mmm, I remember' he said...'but don't worry about it mate, something'll turn up....you see if it doesn't.....and by the way what was all that about you and Tanya in the pub last night?'

'Well, that's a good case in point' I said...'the others reckon she fancies me and that something'll happen, but I don't. I mean she _did_ seem to be taking notice of me but then so what? I can't see anything happening there....she's married for a start'

'But that's all to the good' he said....'she's probably fed up with her old man and a young bloke like you seems like a good thing'

'Do I?' I asked.

'Yeah, of course' he said.....'you mark my words....if you picked up vibes that she was keen on you then you won't be mistaken....that's what women do....that's how it works'

'Right' I said, nodding.

I could see what he was saying. Tanya was obviously having a hard time at home and a young guy....even a very naïve one....was probably quite an appealing prospect.

'Would you _like_ something to happen?' he asked.

'Mmmm' I considered....'I wouldn't say _No_.....I mean if _she_ suggested something.....but I wouldn't go looking for her...or making the first move'

Gordon didn't say anything and was thinking about all this. After a short pause he just looked at me and smiled. It was the sort of smile that suggested he was up to something.

'What are you thinking now, you bugger?' I jokingly asked. 'Nothing' he said innocently....'what _would_ I be thinking?'

I really couldn't imagine.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Monday 10th August.11:15 p.m.

'Hi Gang. We haven't talked for a while so I feel that we should. Right now I'm just going to get into bed after a hard night's telly watching. You know it's a really mindless occupation when you think about isn't it? You just plonk yourself down having switched it on and you're ready to be entertained. Let me ask you this..... What do you think the chances are that a whole night's programmes are all going to be to your taste? In my case the answer is....very, very small.

(I thought I'd add an extra 'very' to emphasise just how small the chance is)

The sad thing is, though, that most of us watch telly in a serial way.... you know just watching one programme after the other like they were all of equal interest. A bit like chain smoking.

It can't be good for you can it?

They say people have lost the art of conversation and you can see why. In our house back home the telly's on every night non-stop whether there's anything on that's of interest or not and it just becomes boring after a while. I've always said that when I have my own house we will do things differently. Maybe put some records on, play a board game, have lively conversation, maybe sing songs round the piano (having learned how to play it first, obviously)....that sort of thing. Will it happen?....who knows....but I'm gonna do my best to try to avoid the telly-on-at-all-times syndrome if at all possible.

Okay then, let me tell you what we serial telly watchers saw tonight and I'll let _you_ be the judge if it was an evening well spent....

First up at 6:45 was _Z-Cars_. Now, of all the stuff we watched, this was probably the best. I don't know much about the workings of the police but _Z-Cars_ always seems as if it's quite real to me. I mean it's got to be a lot more authentic than, say, _Dixon of Dock Green_ where we're asked to believe that a police sergeant who's, patently, way over retirement age, goes around nicking everyone in sight. It's a good job he never has to run after any of the villains that's all I can say....it would probably kill him!

I used to like series like _No Hiding Place_ and _Gideon's Way_ but they never had much built-in realism as far as I could see. I always found myself hoping that the criminals would get away with it (whatever 'it' was)...at least once but, sadly, they never did. Good old Lockhart and Gideon always got their man, damn it. It would be a perfect world if crime really didn't pay but the sad fact is that there are a lot of people making a good living out of it and I don't see why the police should get to have a 100% record just cos they're on telly!

Another thing I've noticed about TV cop shows is that they always seem to cast the same blokes as the crims. There are obviously a few names that the programme makers have as a list of actor 'bad boys' and they use them all the time. No wonder they get caught so much, even we, the viewers, can spot 'em straight away. People like Sam Kydd and Johnny Briggs.You can imagine these guys meeting in the BBC canteen and discussing their latest arrest. It comes to something when your TV appearances amount to a list of previous convictions. I want to see a police series where people get burgled and the cops haven't got a clue who did it. They just come along, dust the place for fingerprints to give the impression that they're interested, fill in the odd form and then tell the householder to claim off their insurance.....now that's what I call realism. It would be good to see the bad guys win at least once every now and then don't you think?

I mentioned _Z-Cars_ just now, didn't I. Now I don't say that it definitely represents an exact picture of the police but it does seem a bit more human in it's approach than some of these other series and I like that. I remember one episode when PC 'Fancy' Smith deliberately threw a full milk bottle at a wall in frustration and it completely shattered.... the bottle rather than the wall, you understand.

And his partner in Z Victor One just shook his head and said 'That wer a childish thing to do, that wer'

....and it wer....I mean was.

But you loved him for doing it cos we've all felt like doing that kind of thing at some point or other. A bit like kicking the cat (apologies to all cat lovers).

Obviously it was a criminal offence and a very bad example but the point is that you wouldn't catch George Dixon doing that sort of thing would you? He's much too squeaky clean.

After _Z-Cars_ we had _Star Trek_ and this, for me, was the real low point of the evening. I was dropping off after about five minutes. I can honestly say that I don't give a stuff where they boldly go. I just wish they'd boldly go there and then boldly stay there!

As far as I'm concerned the whole programme shows very little 'enterprise' and the fact that they manage to 'cling-on' to an audience is always a surprise. As you can gather it's not for me but the other lads seem to quite like it...and I wasn't missing much cos there was only _Coronation Street_ on the other side.

Do _you_ watch this? _Coronation Street?_ I know a lot of people do. I must admit it was a real novelty when it was on first. I think us southerners were fascinated by the griminess of it and also couldn't believe the way they all spoke. They said things like 'Is it eckers-like' when disagreeing and 'There's no smoke wi-out fire' to tell us that if something looks a bit fishy then it normally is. It was northern philosophy and a whole new language. The other thing that was noticeable was that everyone seemed to virtually live in 'tut Rovers'. Half of the 'action' seemed to take place there. We were treated to the sight of elderly women sitting around in the 'snug' wearing hairnets, drinking milk stout and generally slagging off everyone they could think of.

Glamorous it wasn't.

Personally I think we were all duped cos they didn't tell us that the bloody programme was never actually going to end! Now there's others and they're called 'soap operas' like the diabolical _Crossroads_. Seemingly eternal, pointless sagas where characters come and go but nothing much ever really happens. To me they're a celebration of all things dull and boring.

Having said that though I must admit I used to have some laughs watching _Crossroads_. It wasn't meant to be a comedy but somehow managed to be. My sister would be watching it avidly and I'd be there just taking the piss....it was such an easy target. She'd either get really annoyed and start throwing things at me or start laughing as well. Scenery wobbled, actors tripped over their words and, like I said NOTHING EVER HAPPENED! I mean the thought that anything worth watching _could_ happen in a motel is ludicrous isn't it? Okay, all right so there was _Psycho....._ but you know what I'm saying. Unless there's a nutcase on the loose a motel is always going to be boring.

I reckon the novelty of this down-to-earth stuff is fast wearing off now and it's my opinion that people will soon be clamouring to get rid of these kitchen sink type dramas. Let's have more beauty on the telly I say. Gorgeous women like Diana Rigg in the _Avengers_ or Nyree Dawn Porter and Susan Hampshire in _The Forsyte Saga_. I want to see crumpet on TV not fat, ugly, old bags....and I bet I'm not the only one. Surely these soap operas can't go on for much longer.....can they?

Here I'm sorry if I'm going on a bit. I get a bit carried away. Let's stick with the subject in hand.....tonight's telly. At nine we were faced with an exciting choice....either _Panorama_ on BBC1, _Lancer_ on BBC2 or _Whicker's Walkabout_ on ITV. We chose Whicker. He was in Australia, as the title suggests, mixing with all the convicts down there. They're a strange lot aren't they? I suppose if you spend all your life upside down you're bound to go a bit funny. In the past they've been known to get a bit annoyed with us Brits if we happen to do something better than they do....like bowling a cricket ball at their bodies and hitting them on the head.....I mean, how childish can you get?

Anyhow, Whicker seems to find weirdos wherever he goes and tonight was no exception. There was this bloke who pulled these huge, deadly poisonous, snakes out from under people's houses by the tail. That would be pretty good in itself but after that he showed us how, if cracked like a whip, their heads would come flying off!....I kid you not....it was brilliant. One minute the snake was alive, happily lurking under someone's abode waiting for his next victim.....and the next his head's off and heading off up the road.

It was so good that I've made up these words to fit a well-known song....seeing as though the snake obviously _was_ at the dead wood stage...

*

Oh, the dead snake's head is flying off over the hill

It sounds real easy but it takes a whole lot o' skill

Look out snakes, he's coming your way

So, whip crack away, whip crack away, whip crack away

*

.....Catchy eh?

You know, all joking aside, I must say I don't think I could live in any country where there was even the remotest chance of having anything nasty lurking under my house. I suppose if I did buy a house in Australia I'd just have to make sure that it didn't have any room under it for snakes....that might be okay. You'd think the Australians might have thought of that for themselves by now wouldn't you? No space equals no snakes. Anyhow, I suppose that all this beheading may seem a bit cruel but in a way it isn't because I think animals have it coming to them if they deliberately conceal themselves under people's houses with malicious intent. Talking of which I've heard that in 'Straya' they have a spider that hides in toilet pans with a view to biting people in very delicate area.....like Melbourne.

Ha....sorry,I couldn't resist that.

You know, the more I think about this snake bloke, I can't help wondering what makes a person try cracking a snake like a whip in the first place.....well don't _you?_....it's a strange thing to want to do isn't it? I mean has that guy tried doing weird things with any other animals just to see what happens?.....maybe kicking Kangaroos cobblers, whacking Wallabies whatnots or pulling Platypuses privates? You'd have to worry about someone like that. Where _does_ Whicker find these people? I bet if anyone else went to Australia in roving reporter mode, they'd never unearth the sort of people he does.....but then....I suppose....that's.... what he's paid.....to do.

Sorry, I couldn't resist doing a quick impression of the Whicker man.

(It's not often you get an impression in a book is it?)

*

After the News there was an episode of the _Troubleshooters_. This was a load of old poo so after about ten minutes me and Malcolm headed off in the direction of the local off licence for a few cheap cans of Tennants beer. A lovely warm breeze was blowing up the Grove and there seemed to be people everywhere, although it was dark by then. The offy was only about 300 yards away but we were in no hurry....we chatted away as we walked and didn't miss being sat in front of the telly at all. You know you can feel life all around you here and that's what it's all about.

For my money you can stuff the telly up your jaxi.....for the most part it's really just a huge waste of time, like I said earlier.

The evening's entertainment was 'rounded off' by a mixture of the beer and a folky-type group called The Spinners. According to the newspaper we looked at, they sing 'Songs you have known all your life and songs you have never heard before'....so that's pretty much _every_ song then really, isn't it? The problem with the Spinners is that they seem to have a real talent for making any song they choose to sing sound boring. No matter what they pick on....folk, reggae, pop, blues.... everything sounds the same.....boring.

I suppose that's why they're chosen to go on late at night....to send people to sleep! I can never see why TV companies give shows to the blandest acts there are around. People like the Black and White Minstrels, Val Doonican, Andy Williams and Cilla Black. I can see that they might want to showcase folk music but if that's the case why not give it to someone more worthy? Instead of having the likes of the Spinners or Julie Felix why not give it to Ralph McTell, Bert Jansch or maybe Al Stewart? If they want a group why not give it to decent musicians like the Pentangle, or possibly Fairport Convention....people with, in my humble estimation, real talent and originality. Why should TV be the preserve of the very average rather than the truly talented? Have the Spinners or Julie Felix, for example, ever come up with any original songs? I don't think so.

Okay then, that's enough ranting and chuntering on about TV for one night.....I'm gonna get some sleep.....like I said earlier it was just a quiet night in.'

As I got into bed I felt something with my feet.....something papery. I reached down and found that it was, indeed, a small sheet of vellum. The note read 'Dear Tim, Meet me tomorrow night in the Pig and Whistle at 9' and was signed (although not really signed as such...more printed) by Tanya. This was, to say the least, a bit of a surprise. I just kept reading the note again and again. On the face of it I was being propositioned by a married woman....but on the other (and far more likely) hand was more likely to be a joke. My immediate thought _was_ that the other lads were probably having a laugh at my expense. I couldn't help thinking back to Gordon's face when we were in the pub the previous evening. I wondered then if he was up to something and I could just imagine him, and the others, putting the note in my bed just to get me going.

I decided this must be the case....after all why would a nice-looking, mature woman like Tanya want to act like a schoolgirl and leave me a silly assignation note?

It didn't really make sense......or did it?

'Maybe Tanya does find me irresistible and can't wait to rip my clothes off' I thought.

Well it _was_ just about possible.

My mind was a whirl......was this for real or not?

'No, it's got to be a joke' I reasoned....' but I'm not going to be taken in....the guys are just having a laugh at my expense.....

.....they can't fool _me_...you wait 'til I see them...

.....but then you know she _did_ seem to be interested........Pete, for one, seemed certain.....

.....what if I go along with it?'

One thing was for certain.....I really _wasn't_ going to get much sleep now.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Tuesday 11th August. Morning.

I didn't really have a chance to see and speak to Gordon at breakfast cos he'd gone by the time I came down to breakfast. There was only Pete to talk to and I couldn't resist trying to see if he knew anything.

'Er, Pete.....um, Gordon didn't say he'd done anything last night... did he?'

I knew straight away that he hadn't a clue what I was on about. There wasn't a flicker of anything on his face that said 'I know something' and, seeing as though I didn't rate his skill at acting, discounted his involvement immediately. Of course that didn't mean that Gordon hadn't planted the note....he may have done it without telling the others.

'What _sort_ of thing might he have done?' Pete asked, not unreasonably.

Now I might have told Pete about the note but with Mrs T there I felt it best to say nothing for the moment. Tanya was, after all, a member of her staff and I didn't want to make things awkward for her or get her the sack.

'Oh I don't know...he's a bit of a lad isn't he?' I said.

Pete and Mrs T looked at each other as if to say 'Tim's gone barmy'.

'He was saying that he enjoyed his drink with you on Sunday night... when he had his breakfast this morning' said Mrs T, as if that might be what I was getting at.

'Oh good......that's nice...I didn't bore him too much then?' I said between mouthfuls of bacon and eggs.

'No, far from it' she said, as if to underline the point.

I felt that there wasn't any good reason to probe any more and so changed the subject.

'Got any gigs lined up then, Pete?' I asked.

'Well I have' he said...'but not with the mobile disco'

'Okay....so what is it then? Don't tell me...you're filling in for John Peel on Sunday cos he's on holiday...am I right?'

'Not exactly'

'Doing the Radio One Club gig on a beach somewhere in darkest Cornwall?'

'No'

'Compering a star-studded concert at the Albert Hall?'

'Sadly not...and it isn't Top of The Pops either'

'Pity...well what is it then?'

'Well it's an audition, actually.....it's at the Castle in Richmond...a big place with more than one dance floor.....they're giving me a try as a deejay.....it's on Friday night and, to be honest, I'm getting bloody nervous already'

This sounded interesting.

'Do you think I could come with you' I asked....'maybe give you a bit of moral support?'

Pete considered this.

'I'll think about it' he said.

But I wasn't going to be put off that easily....

'Good, that's settled then' I said, whilst getting up ready to leave...'let me know what time we're going'

All day at work I was thinking about the note. Was it genuine? If it _was_ I had a decision to make as to whether to turn up or not. It was something of a dilemma because if the lads got to hear about it they would expect me to go and I wasn't sure if I really wanted to. I mean there was a real possibility I could find myself being hunted by a jealous husband.....or, worse still, we could be discovered doing the dirty deed!

Awful thoughts ran through my fevered mind....

'There could be violence....I might end up being beaten up....or even killed! Her husband could be someone whose religion demands him to kill the filthy swine who defiled his wife.....and _I'd_ be the defiler in question!'

I broke into a sweat just thinking about it all. Of course the most likely thing _was_ that Gordon had planted the note and would admit it at some stage. We could all then have a good laugh and no harm would've been done. I wouldn't end up the subject of a marital vendetta and all would be good. If the note proved to be fictitious the worst thing about it would be that I'd have to stay a virgin for a bit (or a lot) longer.....

.....and the best thing would be that I'd get to retain my goolies.

On balance I felt this might be the best outcome (especially as there were very limited job opportunities for palace eunuchs or castrato singers in 1970).

But was it? Because if the note was kosher and I did meet Tanya surely the chances were good that she wouldn't just want to discuss the state of the economy or the price of meat...she'd obviously want me for my perfectly formed young body. We'd make a bit of small talk in the pub, have a drink or two to get in the mood then, most likely, go back to her place for a hot session of rumpy pumpy. My virginity would be a thing of the past.....I'd be a _real_ man and would never again have anything to fear if the conversation turned to sexual conquests.

I'd be able to join in and boast with the best of them.

The more I considered this the more appealing it became.....I started to really _want_ the note to be from Tanya.

Hot sex...way hey hey!

'After all' I thought....'if this _is_ one of Gordon's jokes then it's just going to fall flat if I don't say anything and just sneak off down the pub....I mean if I end up in the pub on my own, well big deal.....I could just have a pint on my own and then go.....I won't have lost anything will I?...particularly my cherry...

On the other hand, if the other lads show up and I've obviously fallen for the joke, so what?.....they'll take the piss for a bit and then we'll have another beer.....it won't be like it's the first time I've looked stupid...Suzie's note.....Mrs T's party.....I'm probably cast in the role of fall guy anyway'

*

Maybe I was being a bit of a drama queen but there was obviously a decision to make. I could ask Gordon if he planted the note or I could go to the pub, without telling anybody, and see what would happen. At length I decided on the latter option.....just turn up and then see if anyone else did One thing for sure was that I was going to be really nervous

.....if either Tanya or the lads _were_ going to appear I wasn't sure which of the two I'd be more pleased to see.

This was a mind in real turmoil.

Whilst having tea that evening I kept on looking at Gordon to see if there were any tell tale signs that he'd perpetrated a practical joke. There weren't. He was in chirpy good spirits and in no way looked like he was waiting for me to say anything about any note I may or may not have found in the vicinity of my bed. Conversation flowed as usual with a bit of joshing here and there but I didn't feel as if everyone's eyes were on me.

It was strange. I really wanted to say 'Does anyone here know anything about a note?' but had already decided I wasn't going to do that. Someone asked me what I was going to do with my evening so I said I was really tired and would probably just listen to some music before going to bed early. Whilst replying my eyes were flicking about, checking the other guys for any possible give away signs of disappointment..... seeing as though I obviously hadn't been taken in by their 'jolly jape'.... but there were none to be seen. This was interesting.....and scary. I found myself getting more and more nervous. Possibility was fast turning into a probability that meant _I really had been propositioned._

'Tim, mate' I thought.....'this could be your lucky night'

I could hardly eat a thing.

Later, at around eight fifteen, I quietly slipped out of the hostel without anyone seeing me. I went via the backstairs and therefore didn't have a clue whether the others were in or out. This was the only way to find out the truth and I reckoned I hadn't a lot to lose either way (other than you know what). The pub was a fair distance away on foot and I'd only been there before by car so it was hard to know how long it would take to get there. This being the case I thought I'd start out well before nine. It was a nervous walk and thoughts of an angry, possibly psychopathic, husband didn't help. Also there was this business of sex. If I got the chance would I be useless at it? How easy was it to make a cock up when trying to get your cock up?

I kept thinking about Dustin Hoffman in 'The Graduate'. There was the distinct possibility of Tanya turning out to be my own equivalent of Mrs Robinson. You know, the older woman who makes all the moves. I'd seen the film and kept thinking about the scene when young Benjamin has to book a hotel room.

'Bloody hell' I thought.....'he must have been quite a good bit older than I am now and he was scared stiff.....where does that leave me?'

Actually, being scared _stiff_ wouldn't have been a bad thing.....I was just hoping I wouldn't be scared floppy.....if you see what I mean...that _really_ would've been bad.

It just seemed that there was so much that could go wrong. She might, for example, insist that I put on a johnny.....I know I was a bit 'holier-than-thou' with Steve but, in truth, the idea of this was panicinducing.....all that fumbling and nervousness.....I could just imagine Tanya drumming her fingers on the bedside table while I tried in vain to coax a slimy, pink layer of latex, over my ever-decreasing knob. Don't get me wrong I did have a practice with one out of the packet of three soon after purchase (I don't suppose you could really call it a dry run) but that was quite a while before this. And, of course, it wasn't really the same, seeing as though there was no pressure to succeed.

The remaining two condoms were with me now but I was sincerely hoping I didn't have to use them and that Tanya would take care of all that sort of thing. I know Spike Milligan has been quoted as saying 'Contraception should be used on every conceivable occasion' but I wasn't so sure.

I couldn't believe that Tanya would look forward to having sex if condoms were involved anyhow.....

'Surely, a mature woman would anticipate sex with a condom in much the same way as a gourmet would look forward to eating in a Wimpy Bar' I thought.

I figured that if she just wanted rubbery sex then she might be better off with a dildo....

'She'd be more likely to orgasm using one of them rather than me, anyhow' I thought.

I mean who's ever heard of a dildo not being able to achieve an erection through nerves.....it doesn't happen does it?

They never have to say ' _This has never happened to me before',_ do they?

Other things that bothered me about the rubbery things were my ingrained feelings of (lapsed) Catholic guilt. The church had banned them long ago and the current attitude was still pretty uncompromising..... they were the work of the Devil and to use one was to risk eternal damnation.

In fact the Pope, in a recent speech, had come out quite strongly against the use of prophylactics.....

'They're terrible' he'd said (in an Italian accent)...'the last time I had a shag with one I could hardly feel a thing!'

Alright so I'm joking but I ask you 'What bloke would choose to have sex with his knob encased in rubber?'.....okay, well maybe rubber fetishists.....but no-one else.

It isn't natural is it?.....it's not called a barrier method for nothing.... it's a barrier against enjoying yourself too much!

I decided that, if possible, I would go for most men's favourite method of contraception...NOTHING.

Let's face it, all we blokes want is to do the deed and then let the _woman_ worry about the consequences.....I mean it's not as if WE are going to get pregnant is it?

I was getting ever nearer the pub when another worrying thought found it's way into my increasingly 'heat-oppressed brain'.

And it was this....

'What if my milk-of-human-kindness (how's that for a euphemism?) flows a bit too quick?'

'What if, in the words of Shirley Bassey, I _Pop my cork too soon?_..... would Tanya be really let down and disappointed?.....would she tell anyone.....like Christine?....I bet she would?'

Or maybe she wouldn't.....seeing as though she was married and therefore less likely to go around talking about her infidelity (or maybe attempted infidelity). All things considered I felt that if we did do the naughty deed it would probably just remain our secret.

The more I thought about it the more I convinced myself that I was definitely not going last more than a few seconds before I blew my stack. It was going to be unavoidable. The excitement was bound to get to me and the show would be over quite quickly.

I decided that it would be all Tanya's fault....after all she _was_ picking on a virgin....whether she knew it or not.

'I mean how long would _any_ teenager last?' I thought....'even if I try and concentrate on something horrible while doing it....like pulling out chicken's insides....natural urges are bound to take over aren't they?

And what makes premature ejaculation so 'premature' anyway? surely it just comes out when it does, doesn't it?

How 'mature' does it have to be for chrissake?

Whatever happens I can't see what I'm supposed to do about it I mean, I can't make the wriggly things stay down in my vas deferens indefinitely can I?

They've got to come out sooner or later...

I just bet it's sooner'

Soon the pub came into view and I didn't know if it was the walk or just nerves but my heart was beating so hard I could practically hear it.

I needed to steady down and try to enter the pub in a cool, calm and collected manner....but felt like I'd just run all the way. I was almost breathless and had to pause about fifty yards from my destination to take stock.

Every voice in my head was saying 'Turn back, go home'

But I didn't want to.

I had to somehow boost my confidence.....but how?

Then I thought of some of the great rallying speeches....Nelson's 'England expects every man to do his duty' (although that was 'said'

with flags)...Alf Ramsey's 'Look, they're more tired than you are'1966

World Cup Final, end of normal time, gee up....

and Churchill's 'We'll fight on the beaches' rallying cry.

This was good but something else was needed.

Then I thought of Steve....he'd had a shag recently and I was blowed if I was going to be outdone...

'Right Tim' I said.....'don't be a stupid bastard......you can do this......

chances are that if she turns up she'll be as nervous as you (although not if she really _was_ like Mrs Robinson, of course)...now get a grip of yourself and march into the pub like you're a man-of-the-world.....not a nervous, pathetic, quivering young boy of eighteen.....

Alright, you've got your breath back now so go in there and be ready for whatever the night brings'

That was exactly what was needed....

I felt buoyed up and suddenly confident....

I strode up to the pub with attitude.....

'I REALLY CAN DO THIS' I thought.

.....then pushed open the door and went inside.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The same evening.9 P.M.

'Well here I am then. I've been sitting in the same corner that we were all in the other night for about fifteen minutes now and no-one's showed up. I must say it feels really strange going into a pub on your own....I've never done it before. Women say they feel awkward if they have to do it but I think it's the same for anyone.....it just doesn't seem right. I went in and made for the bar but hadn't really thought about what I might want to order....the barman looked at me when I dithered a bit as though he was trying to make his mind up whether he ought to serve me or not.... he was probably wondering if I'd ever ordered alcohol before. Talking about booze, I've got to be a bit careful....don't want any chance of my 'performance' being ruined by alcohol....if I _get_ a chance to perform that is. I can see the pub door from here and every time someone comes in I have a heart palpitation. You know I must look quite furtive....I _feel_ furtive....the whole thing's furtive! I've decided that I'm gonna give it to 9.30 and if no-one's turned up by then I'm going. I'm nursing my pint of beer and I'll make it last until then.....but that's my deadline'

*

9:15

'As you can see I'm still alone. I must say one thing though.....it's good to be able to report that there's no sign of the other lads. If they'd had any hand in setting this whole thing up as a practical joke then I'm sure they would have been in here taking the piss by now. So that means that if they didn't set me up then the note was probably genuine....if that's the case then I would've thought that Tanya would have made an appearance by now. She can't have got cold feet can she? The funny thing is my nerves seemed to have calmed down now.....I think if Tanya _had_ turned up at around nine I'd have really bottled it but as it is I feel a lot calmer.....maybe the beer's working it's magic.

The pub's not particularly busy yet.....just a few people here and there. There's a guy at the bar smoking a big cigar.....I can smell it from here.....it's funny but although I've never wanted to smoke I really like the smell of cigars.....maybe they remind me of Christmas. You know I don't think Tanya's going to turn up.....I can hear the Beatles _Hey Jude_ on the jukebox but maybe it should be Sandie Shaw singing _Girl don't come_...'

*

9:25

'Well the deadline's nearly here and Tanya isn't. My carefully nurtured beer is nearly all gone and I can't think of a good reason for staying here much longer. Look's like the joke's on me but at least there isn't anyone actually here laughing.

Oh well here goes the last swig of beer.....Mmm, nice pint that..... certainly better than Red Barrel.....hang on, someone's just come into pub.....it's a woman...bloody hell it's her.....it's Tanya.....she's looking around, I suppose I should wave or something.....she's spotted me.....shit, I think I'm in business'

The pub door had opened and there she was....Tanya. She looked around quickly, scanning the pub clientele for a face she recognised..... _my_ face in this case. She smiled a nervous smile and then came over to where I was sitting. She looked flustered and hot like she'd run all the way from her home to the pub. She looked a lot less calm and collected than Anne Bancroft's Mrs Robinson which, immediately, made me feel a whole heap better. She sat down and launched into what sounded like an embarrassed apology for the whole situation in between quick intakes of breath.....

'Tim, I'm sorry for dragging you here like this.....making you wait around.....sending a note like a bleedin' schoolgirl......what must you think of me?'

I felt reassurance was in order. I was pleased on two counts :

a) She'd turned up which meant that I wasn't the hapless victim of a practical joke, and

b) She looked and sounded human so I didn't feel overawed.

'Don't worry' I said....'I was glad to get your note...and I'm very glad that you've come.....would you like a drink?'

She seemed pleased with my response and asked for a gin and tonic.

I got her this and ordered another beer for myself. The barman was starting to look at me with new eyes. He must have noticed Tanya and I could almost see him thinking 'Christ, half an hour ago I was thinking of asking this bloke his age!'

I brought the drinks over to the table and sat down. While walking back to the table I looked over at Tanya and couldn't help thinking that she hadn't really dressed up for a date....she just had ordinary jeans on and a tee shirt.

Interesting.

'Sorry I was late' she said, as I sat down.....'but my 'usband took ages to get himself off to work.....he works nights on the railways.....I thought he'd be gone well before nine but he was late.....do you mind if I smoke?.....'

I shook my head (normally if someone says 'Do you mind if I smoke?' it makes me feel like saying 'Certainly...do you mind if I fart?' but these were exceptional circumstances).

'.....I thought that even if you had turned up you might have been gone by the time I got here.....I don't know why I chose this place..... we shouldn't really 'ang around in here, someone might see us.....my 'usband knows loads of people round here.....let's drink up and go soon, if that's alright'

This was doubly interesting. For one thing it was evidently worth risking some dire outcome if her husband got to hear about our meeting and for another we would be going somewhere else.....maybe back to her abode.....maybe even back to her bed! I figured I'd better not think about this possibility too much or I might not be able to stand up properly when the time came to leave.

Seeing as though she had mentioned him I asked her was she worried about the possibility of her husband finding out she'd been seen with me.

'Well, to be honest with you I might as well be guilty of somefing' she said....'he's always finking I'm getting up to fings behind his back so I reckon I might as well....I've got nuffing to lose really have I?'

'Only, maybe, an arm or a leg' I thought.

'The jealous type is he?' I said, 'Not 'arf ' she replied and went into a diatribe about how he would hit her for no apparent reason.

'...I've had quite a few black eyes' she said.

'Not more than two at any one time, though, surely?' I said, in an attempt to lighten the mood a little.

She smiled a little but a certain amount of pain was evident. I thought back to when I'd noticed she'd had a black eye not too long ago. To me it was shocking that anyone could treat a lovely-looking woman so badly. It wasn't as if she was all that big....quite the reverse. I decided that her husband was obviously a coward.....don't you just hate people like that? I pictured myself beating him up and figured he would deserve anything that came his way.

Mind you the feeling soon passed. You know I've always hated the sight of blood.....particularly if it's mine.

We finished our drinks and Tanya asked me if I'd like to go back to her place. She didn't use any euphemisms like 'Come back for coffee' or anything like that so I knew I was on to a good thing. She had chosen me for a night of sex - no more and no less - and I have to say that I was flattered. I don't know what had qualified me other than the fact that she'd had evidence that I had a healthy(ish) interest in such things!

I didn't care and certainly wasn't going to ask. We hurriedly finished our drinks and as we left the pub the unreality of the situation began to hit me.

'This is unbelievable' I thought.....'I really have bagged a lead role in The Graduate!'

*

And here's to you Mrs Robinson

Jesus loves you more than you will know

*

Tanya lived in a flat that was about five minutes walk from the Pig and Whistle. It was in a bit of a run down area with graffiti on the walls and the Westway booming away overhead. She looked around a bit as we went in as if her neighbours might see us and maybe tell her old man what she'd been up to. For my part the fact that she'd told me what he was like (i.e a bully) took away any guilt that I may have been harbouring about my part in Tanya's adultery. As far as I could see he didn't deserve a woman as good as Tanya and if they ended up getting a divorce then she would be well rid of him. All the same, as I've mentioned, I felt that if the whole thing could remain a secret then that would be ideal....so I kept my voice down and tried to keep a low profile.

'Do you fancy a drink' said Tanya, as soon as we were safely ensconced inside.

'What have you got?' I asked.

'Well there's gin, rum, vodka or whisky' she said.

It certainly wasn't going to be _whisky_ , was it?

Having decided on vodka I got poured a generous measure which was made only slightly less potent by the smidgen of tonic in it. As I said earlier I was a bit worried about the effect that alcohol would have but on the other hand I knew it would help to banish any nerves so I took a large gulp. It travelled all over my body in no time and I was beginning to really get in the mood for 'lurve'. Tanya seemed as though she was going through a fairly familiar routine - as well as drinks I noticed that table lamps were lit and soft music was emanating from a large radiogram. You could have been forgiven for thinking that she was quite used to 'entertaining'. I was beginning to wonder whether I was going to be asked for money when Tanya sat down beside me on her large settee.

She looked me straight in the eye (both eyes actually) and said 'Tim, I hope you don't fink I make a habit of doing this sort of thing'

What could I say.

'No....of course not' I said, with as much sincerity as I could manage.

With that she took my glass from me, put it down on the coffee table and pulled me towards her. From there on things were a blur. Frantic kissing gave way to clothing being discarded at a furious rate of knots. I had meant to ask whether she wanted me to use any protection but that just totally went by the board. In some ways it was a pity cos slowing the whole thing down might have been a good idea.....as it turned out it was all over (bar the panting) before you could say 'Jack (or Mrs) Robinson'.

A totally predictable outcome.

The record that was playing was probably only halfway through the first side (okay, I'll be honest....the first _track_ )....and the deed had been done.

Anyhow Tanya didn't seem too worried and I had the distinct feeling that the action hadn't stopped but had merely paused. This first overquick coupling was just the overture and I reckoned the main opera was about to begin.

'Did you enjoy that?' said Tanya, looking as grinningly seductive as possible.

'Yes' I said....'it was fantastic'

'Was it your first time?' she said.

' _That_ obvious, was it?' I answered, looking a bit embarrassed.

'You did just fine' she said, and in doing so boosted my confidence a hundredfold.

If I could have chosen someone to break my duck with then I could have done a whole lot worse....as I suspected, though, things had only just started.....we finished our drinks and then Tanya motioned me to the bedroom with a flick of her head.

'Are you ready for some more fun?' she said with a twinkle in her eye (both eyes actually).

'Absolutely' I replied.

And with that she took me by the hand and led me in a bedroomwards direction.

Whilst walking back to the hostel at around two in the morning my mind was a positive whirl. I could see what Al Stewart meant in his 'Love Chronicles' song when, after having sex for the first time, he sang.....

*

I missed the bus and walked twelve miles home

And It really didn't seem far

*

The combination of near-neat vodka and experienced, sexy woman had totally blown my mind. It's moments like this that make life worth living isn't it?

As I walked along I couldn't help feeling that this was as good as life was ever going to get. I figured that in the future I may have all sorts of good things happen but they wouldn't be quite _as good_....in the same sort of way. Never again would I go through so many emotions in one night. It was like I'd gone through some kind of initiation ceremony. I know it's a cliché but I really felt different. I'd shed a metaphorical skin and...

(Cue a large roll of drums)

I was now...A MAN

(Crash of cymbals).

As I put more distance between myself and Tanya's flat the elation started to die down and a few down-to-earth thoughts started filtering in amongst all the headier ones. The night had been fantastic but I felt it was, maybe, wise not to count on a re-run. Much as I'd enjoyed the evening I realised that if Tanya asked me if I'd like to do the same again I would have to think very seriously before saying 'Yes'. There were plenty of considerations. For one thing I didn't particularly want to get involved with a married woman. I could see there were some very big downsides to this....not being able to go anywhere for fear of being recognised, for one. For another there was the, ever-worrying fear of husbandly retribution. All this wouldn't really make for a very 'cosy' relationship. I could see that there would be nowhere for our relationship to go unless she got a divorce.....and I didn't want her to do that on my account. I was honest enough to admit to myself that I'd only wanted her for sex (mutual, no doubt) and realised if she was free there would need to be more to it than just that. I would want a partner I could relate to in other ways. The sex had been great but I would have to be strong if Tanya wanted to set up another tryst and ignore any advances she might make.

By the time I neared the Hostel I'd made up my mind and knew I wouldn't be seeing Tanya anymore. If she asked me again (or wrote any more notes) I would have to say 'No'. It had been great but there would be no repeat performance.

It was going to have to remain strictly a one night stand.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Wednesday 12th August. 2 pm in the afternoon. My bedroom.

'Does everyone feel the same when they've recently leapt the perceived chasm between virgin and non virgin do you think? I mean, speaking personally, I just want the whole world to know...although I know it probably doesn't care.

I've walked around since the happenings of last night convinced that people should be able to detect some sort of difference in me but know that, in reality, there's nothing to see.....I'm still me and, to everyone else, exactly the same as I was 24 hours ago.

The main thing is, of course, that _I_ know what's happened and really _do_ feel as though something momentous has occurred. Time seems to have gone so fast since last night. I only had to do a half day today at work and kept wanting to tell someone...anyone.....but thought better of it. I mean, how could I broach the subject so it wouldn't seem like I was just wanting to brag?.....and anyway, it's not as though I went around telling everyone I was a virgin.....it was my guilty secret.

So if the world at large hasn't managed to guess and isn't particularly interested then my initiation's not going to be much of a revelation is it?

I did consider bending Clive's ear with the sordid details but thought better of it.....there wasn't really a time when we were together that was appropriate, so I decided to leave it for another day. He did say, at one stage, that I seemed happy.....but then followed it up by going into a long spiel about how pissed off he was with his landlord. Apparently he'd asked for the noise to be kept down in Clive's flat, after midnight....a totally unreasonable request as far as Clive's concerned. He maintains that, as a rent-payer, he should be entitled to make as much noise as he pleases.....and, as it happens, it pleases him to make _lots_ of noise. Like me, he owns an electric guitar and doesn't feel he should be under any constraints when the musical muse takes him.

In a lot of ways I sympathise with him.....and said so.....

'You ought to be able to play as loudly as you like, whenever you want to' I said.

Of course it's easy for me to say seeing as I don't live anywhere near him!

I think I might well have sided with the landlord if I did.

While we were talking....or to be more exact, _he_ was talking, I kept on trying to think of ways of mentioning what had happened the previous evening.....but couldn't think of a way of slipping it seamlessly into the conversation.....shame, really, cos I slipped it in pretty seamlessly the night before!

As I said earlier you can't really share a piece of news such as mine with just anyone.....it has to be someone who knows you pretty well. For my news to carry any weight the person I tell has to:

a) Think I'm still a virgin.

b) Be someone who probably isn't going to take the piss that I've only just done it, and...

c) Be Steve.

He's the obvious choice isn't he?

On point a), he must be pretty certain that I've never done it because if I had I'd have been only too pleased to tell him.....especially when he told me about _his_ 'conquest'.....and, on point b), he won't take the piss because he knows that I know that he's only done it once.....well, on one occasion anyway.....I mean it's possible they did do it more than once...sod it, you know what I mean.

The other thing is that I know he only had _his_ first time recently as well so point b) about doing it yonks ago obviously can't apply.

So that's it then....I'll tell Steve about my little escapade last night when I see him on Saturday. The others, here, don't have any idea what happened and I think it's possibly best, for all concerned, that they don't. Hopefully Mrs T will never get wind of it and Tanya won't have to worry about being fired for consorting with young trainee management like me.....yes I _am_ still a trainee manager.....I know it's hard to believe but DB are still looking on me as someone who might end up running one of their stores. It may be a while off yet but Mr Paul seems to think I've made amazing progress!

What he probably means, in reality, is that when he first clapped eyes on me he couldn't see me becoming a manager as long as he had a hole in his arse.....but he can now.

Just about.

Maybe his rectum _is_ closing up....who knows?...I'm just happy if someone in a position of authority thinks I'm doing a reasonable job.

It's probably a first!

Right then, let's see, what am I doing this afternoon? Ah yes....two things, actually. Firstly, I'm having another driving lesson. Yes world be afraid....be _very_ afraid. There's an imminent threat of me appearing on a road near you in a four-wheel deathtrap!

God knows, I was pretty bloody scary on just _two_ wheels.....but take heart.....or any other internal organ you fancy.....cos my driving instructor, the redoubtable Jim, doesn't seem to be in any doubt about my driving prowess and keeps saying I'm a 'natural'.

And I don't think he means a natural disaster.

After my driving lesson I'm going to head for the secondhand record shop in nearby Golbourne Road and see what treasures I can find. Prices in there are dead cheap so I should be able to pick up a bargain or two. This will be good cos I'm still playing Pete and Gordon's records....and , of course, the bloody 'Great White Wonder'.

You know I've just realised what I said just then....I'm living with Peter and Gordon....like the ones who used to sing...

*

I don't care what they say, I won't stay

In a world without love

*

I can see what they were saying.....I don't think any of us would want to stay in a world without love would we?

The problem is where _would_ we go as an alternative?....Mars? Jupiter? Saturn? Your anus - ha ha, sorry I couldn't resist pronouncing it like that I mean it's not like there's any love on any of those planets either is there? There's no bugger on any of them as far as I know.

When you think about it, it says a lot about us as a species that we're willing to spend millions on getting to a planet like the Moon, where we're pretty sure there's nothing at all, rather than use the money for the real good of our fellow man doesn't it?

We must spend obscene amounts of money on stuff that doesn't really benefit us at all in any tangible way.....weapons, bombs, that sort of thing.....and I suppose the space race is pretty much in that category.

It's not as if it would pay us to colonise somewhere like the Moon. Someone could build a really brilliant pub, for example, but it wouldn't be worth going to cos it wouldn't have any atmosphere!

Mmmm.....well, all bad jokes aside, the truth is that if there's no love here on Earth then we're all pretty much stuffed aren't we....cos there certainly isn't any anywhere else. Maybe the human race.....and that's all of us.....ought to start thinking about this instead of starting wars and picking fights with each other. Is that too much to hope for do you think?

Perhaps we should be thinking globally and try getting to get to know each other better.....people are just people when all's said and done aren't they?

(Goes over to the window)

I mean just look out there in Ladbroke Grove....there are people of all different races and colours.... from all over the world.....and they're here among us, not all confined to their own countries.....living and working with us British.

A lot of them _are_ British.

Everybody's everywhere nowadays....so in that sense there _are_ no real boundaries....it isn't them and us.....it's us and us. You know I really think if we all started thinking like this the world would be a better place to live.

The Beatles were right...All we need is love.

(Pause for contemplation)

Hey, how did I get started on all this? Oh yeah, it was Peter and Gordon wasn't it. Blame them. You know if I was Peter Asher I'd have been really annoyed when my sister broke up with Paul McCartney..... talk about a bad career move.....I'd have been urging her to take him back. I mean what's it matter about the odd groupie or two?

I'd have known, had I been him, that no more free songs would pretty much equal no more being a pop star.....and it did.

I don't know....sisters, ay.....what would you do with them? (Makes cursory attempt at combing hair....gives up)

Okay, I'm going now.....don't want to be late for my driving......... bye.'

*

The driving lesson went really well. It's a great feeling when you start to really get the hang of something. I pottered around the streets of the locality whilst listening to Jim giving me a blow by blow account of his latest row with 'er indoors'. He really must have believed I was competent because he scarcely paused to tell me anything about driving. It was all, 'And then she has the bloody cheek to tell me that I drink too much...take the next left' or, 'Do I seem like an unreasonable person to you?...don't forget to check your mirror'

I have to say I never really took a full and active part in these conversations. All my concentration was channeled into the task of making sure that my Ford Anglia never came into forceful contact with any other road user. I would tend to just make it sound like I was following what he was saying but, in truth, if he'd asked me questions later I don't think I'd have scored very highly. It was really a case of just trying to make all the right noises. Looking back I reckon that Jim may well have got more out of the lessons than I did in some ways. I mean they say it's good to talk (BT used to anyway) and if that's the case then every lesson must have done Jim a power of good seeing as though he never stopped!

By and by, after I'd passed my driving test and was allowed to drive a car on my own, it seemed very strange not to have Jim sitting next to me whittering on about his latest problems. It was much too quiet and I missed the presence of another person. I suppose that's why 'in-car entertainment' is considered such a necessity nowadays. A radio can fill the car with the sound of human voices and all of a sudden you're not alone on your journey. This is good but, to be honest, I don't think it'll ever be quite as entertaining as having someone like Jim sitting next to you gabbling away. Maybe that accounts for Terry Wogan being so popular.

It's a theory.

After the driving I felt that a spot of retail therapy would go down well. As I mentioned earlier this meant a visit to the second hand record shop. Now my idea of heaven, certainly in those days, would have been to have owned one of these. I'd have been like a proverbial kid in a candy store - loads of lovely records and all day to play them. How fantastic would that have been? Anyhow, even though I didn't own one I'd still enjoy spending as much time as I could in a vinyl emporium pondering over what records to buy. Call me sad but it was my idea of a good time.

In my defence I think record shops were far more interesting in years gone by. There was something about the look and feel of real cardboard album sleeves that can't be replicated by the small plastic cases compact discs come in now. A lot of those old covers were genuine works of art and will go down in history as such. I can't think of any CD's that will be remembered for their covers in the same way as, for example, the Beatles 'Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band' or Cream's 'Disraeli Gears' will. Both of them are icons of design and, as such, symbolise an age.....much the same as Art Deco did in the early part of the twentieth century.

Consider the fact that in the sixties and seventies groups and artistes would routinely spend small fortunes on the packaging that protected their record albums.

Well rich ones would anyway!

Cover artwork began to get competitive and, certainly if you were a big player, it seemed like it was no longer enough to have just a photograph on your record if you wanted to impress people. Some releases were held up for quite some time because the cover took ages to produce.....I'm thinking, here, about albums like the Rolling Stones 'Sticky Fingers' (it features a pair of jeans which have a real zip) and 'Led Zeppelin 3' (which has an inner wheel with pictures that match up with holes in the sleeve). Now don't ask me why the groups in question wanted these things....they could have sold their records in brown paper bags and still shifted millions. I suppose it just illustrated that they had style and were big enough to get their own way. For me it certainly added to their image and made them larger than life. They were doing what the rest of us wannabes could only dream about. Private jets, unlimited drink and drugs, orgies...Mars bars.

At the end of the day it was all just rock'n roll and I liked it.

These may be extreme examples but I think the point is made that CDs will never be looked upon in the same way as twelve inch cardboard record sleeves as an art form. In those days people would buy a record just because they liked the cover. Of course when I say 'people' what I really mean is..... _I_ would buy records just cos I liked the cover. Friend Steve used to accuse me of this and I'd deny it.....but it was true.

Some record covers were virtually irresistible.

I've never done that with a CD, though....I can't imagine that anyone has. Record buying is completely different nowadays. People buy through the internet (or supermarkets) and a lot of the time just download the tracks they want rather than buy hard copy. Because of this there are very few record shops left and they're getting fewer all the time.

I think today's record buyers are definitely missing out on one of the great joys of life.....you can't beat wummaging through wacks of wecord sleeves (sorry I've just turned into Jonathan Ross) while listening to brilliant music in a proper, bona fide, olde worlde, plastic-purveying record shop.

It was heaven.

Later on, at around half past six, I was playing my newly-bought, pre-owned, delights ('Running down the Road' by Arlo Guthrie and 'The Family that Plays Together' by Spirit) when there was a knock on the door and a head popped around it.

'Can I come in' asked Gordon.

'Yeah, of course' I said.

I was intrigued. Gordon had never done this before.....what could he want?

He came and sat down on the end of the bed (there being no chairs).

'Did you see Tanya last night then, Tim old chap?' he asked.

Not 'Where did _you_ get to last night?'....or some-such, speculative, query.....No, a specific question needing a specific answer.

'What makes you think I might have done?' I asked.

'Well' he said.....'we know that you went out on your own after eight 'o'clock and I heard you come back well after midnight...come on, out with it....where the fuck were you?'

I couldn't resist making him wait for a straight answer.

'What's with all this interrogation then?.....been checking up on me have you?' I said in mock-indignation.

Gordon began to look worried that he might've upset me.

'No mate.....we wouldn't do things like that' he said, in as sincere a tone as possible.

There was a pause. I couldn't keep up any pretence of being annoyed....my grinning face was beginning to betray me.

'You bastard....you bloody well did go and see Tanya last night didn't you?.....' he said, by now certain that he was right.

'...I said to the other blokes that's where you'd gone and they didn't believe me.....they reckoned you'd gone to the cinema or somewhere like that....ha ha, I knew I was right'

'Well ten out of ten, Sherlock' I said, with sarcasm.

Gordon didn't care, he was still congratulating himself for getting it right. We were both smiling now.

'Good was it?' he asked.

'Excellent' I replied.

He obviously did know a lot more than he was telling me. There was a short pause and I started thinking about our chat in the pub and how I thought then that he might be up to something. I looked him in the eye and asked him direct....

'Answer me truthfully....did you have a positive part in all of this?' He feigned a puzzled look.

'Look' I said.....'you're not fooling me....you've had more to do with this than you've told me so far haven't you?'

He thought for a few seconds, no doubt wondering whether to admit it or not.

'Well....I might have' he said, a mite grudgingly.

I _was_ right.

'Come on then, out with it....what have you done?' I said, through smiling lips.

Gordon looked as though he couldn't wait to tell me, actually.

'Right' he said.....'I'll tell you what I did.....don't get angry or anything...but yes I did have a word in Tanya's ear that you were quite keen on her. I saw her on Monday cos I had to come back here after I forgot some stuff I needed for the shop. We got chatting and I happened to say you'd been talking about her when we were in the pub on Sunday'

'And told her I fancied her?'

'Well.....yes.....I suppose I did'

'Okay, go on' I said, by now intrigued.

'Well, that's it really' he said....'I didn't know if anything would come of it.....I just put in a good word for you'

I could've hugged him. That 'word' had obviously given Tanya the idea of leaving me a note and led to my night of passion.

'Well thanks' I said...'I suppose you've probably guessed it was my first time....'

Gordon just nodded and grinned.....he _had indeed_ guessed.

'.....actually' I said, smiling....'it was more like my first THREE times'

'Ha ha...that's brilliant' he went.

.....and we both had a _really_ good laugh.

*

End of chapter joke:

Man, to pretty girl: Do you know what virgin's dream of?

Girl: No, I don't.

Man: Mmmm....just as I thought.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Thursday 13th August. Morning.

Next day at work I managed to incur the wrath of one or two of our Irish checkout ladies. It wasn't that I really meant to annoy them. I was sitting innocently near them upstairs in our staff room when one of them (Maggie) happened to say (to Jean) that she never swore. Now this would have been true if you don't see the word 'Feckin' as a swear word. She would say this regularly and it's fairly obvious that it's pretty close to a naughty word we all recognise.

It wasn't like I was determined to set her straight on this but she turned to me and said 'You've not heard me swear have you Tim?' If I hadn't been asked I would have been only too happy to keep my thoughts to myself but I _had_ been asked and was therefore duty bound to enter into the 'Feckin' debate.

'Well' I said.....'strictly speaking, I would say that by saying 'feckin' you aren't really exempt from coming into the category of swearing.... after all we all know what you mean and by the removal and substitution of one vowel I fail to see that it totally absolves you from the meaning of the word in it's true sense.....if you see what I mean'

The Irish girls looked puzzled.

'Is he trying to say that I _do_ swear?' said Maggie to her somewhat blank-looking co-worker.

'I tink he is' replied her friend Jean.

'Well what a feckin' cheek' said Maggie....'oi never swear, as God is my witness, so I don't'

I couldn't just drop it though.....I was like Magnus Magnusson, I'd started so I'd finish

'So you don't think that when you say 'feckin' you're really saying 'fucking'?.....you say that that's not what you're saying at all?' I _was_ tempted to say 'At all, At all' but didn't.

'Feckin' is NOT swearing' shouted Maggie in an agitated tone....'and you are a dirty rotten liar if you tell people that oi swear....oi wouldn't dream of using dat word you just said'

'What.....'Fucking" I said.....'can't say that I can see any real difference...so if 'Feck' doesn't mean 'Fuck', what does it mean?'

With that Maggie grabbed her handbag and headed for the door.

Just as she was about to go out of the room she underlined her disgust by turning back and yelling 'I DO NOT FECKIN' SWEAR' at me, at the top of her voice.

*

Clive thought that it was all hilarious when he found out.

'What's this I hear about you stirring up the Irish girls then, Addams?' he says.

I naturally pointed out that they'd asked me what I thought....and I'd merely given them an honest answer. Maybe a bit _too_ honest.

'Maggie's going around telling everyone that _you_ say she swears' he said (while laughing).....'now why did you want to go and say that, you dumb-ass?.....we'll probably never hear the last of it...you know that don't you?'

Just then Mr Paul came over to where me and Clive were standing. 'What's this I hear about you upsetting Maggie?' he asked, looking directly at me.

I told him what had happened.

'Bloody 'ell' he said.....'you don't want to get involved with stuff like that.....those girls are very religious and if they think that 'Feck' isn't the same as 'fuck' then let them fucking well think it. Next time if they ask just tell them what you think they bloody well want to hear and we'll all have a quiet life.....okay?'

I said that I would.

Mr Paul stomped off.....I could see his point.....there's no real percentage in stirring people up if you don't have to.

But I still felt the principle was right....if you mean something it doesn't really matter exactly how you say it. Substituting the odd letter doesn't make it okay.

And as far as I was concerned 'Feck' meant 'Fuck'.

*

7:30 P.M

By now, if you've been paying attention, you'll know what happened every Thursday night at around half past seven. That's right, it was Top of the Pops night and we were all gathered around the telly in excited anticipation (gross exaggeration).

Traditionally it would turn into a free-for-all of ritual abuse with most of the acts coming in for liberal amounts of richly-deserved criticism. The critiques ranged from the considered....'This was definitely better by the original artiste'/'I reckon a guitar solo in the middle was what it needed'/'The trouble is he keeps doing the same sort of song'

\- to the slightly less considered.....'Oh God is this still at number one'/'Who buys this sort of crap'/'I wouldn't play this record even if someone gave it to me'

\- to the downright nasty....'Why don't they fuck off back to America?'/'It wouldn't be so bad if he could sing'/'This is total shite'. You get the picture.

This particular evening the acts placed before our gaze were.... Georgie Fame (Fire and Rain), Hank Marvin with Trash (Break Another Dawn), Chicago (25 or 6 to 4), Elvis Presley (The Wonder of You), Hotlegs (Neanderthal Man), Jackson 5 (The Love You Save), Johnny Johnson and the Bandwagon (Sweet Inspiration), Marmalade (Rainbow), Matthews Southern Comfort (Woodstock), Smokey Robinson and the Miracles (Tears of a Clown), 3 Dog Night (Mama Told Me Not To Come) and Stevie Wonder (Signed, Sealed, Delivered I'm Yours).

Now I invite you, good reader, to try matching the above remarks to the groups and artistes that were present.

It's fun isn't it?

Whilst watching this episode some of us mentioned people and records that we really hated with a vengeance....let's catch some of that conversation...

Gordon: I hate all football records.....that last bloody world cup record....what was it called?

Tim: _Back Home_

G: Yeah....now why is it that all football records have to be total and utter rubbish?

Laurie: Well, they let footballers sing on them.....that's bad for a start.

T : You mean 'for a kick off'.

G: Yeah.....footballers should be banned from going anywhere near recording studios....it's not like it works the other way round....you don't see Cliff Richard kicking a ball around do you?

T: No....I've heard he plays tennis.

G: Tennis?.....I don't know about tennis, but I do know he makes a racket, ha ha.

(Mass groaning breaks out)

Pete: If there has to be football records why not just substitute the footballers with proper singers?

T: What, make them sit on a bench while the actual singing is done? G: Sounds about right....I mean they can't sing can they?

L: Since when has not being able to sing stopped anyone from being a pop star? Most of these people (points at the tv) can't sing a note.... it's all studio trickery.

(Mass yeahing and nodding breaks out)

T: Okay, it's a fair point but the idea is to all think of a couple of records we really hate.....I've got one.....how about _The Clapping Song_ (by Shirley Ellis).....

M: I know the one you mean....someone wouldn't buy her a rubber dolly.

T: Yeah...it went (sings) 'My Auntie told her, I kissed a soldier, now she won't buy me, a rubber dolly'

P: We used to sing 'rubber johnny'.

T: Yeah so did we.....and I ask you what does a woman who's old enough to kiss a soldier want with a rubber dolly?.....rubber johnny actually makes a lot more sense....it fits a lot better....don't you reckon?

G: Well, I've never had a problem with the fit.

(Laughs all round)

T: Yeah well, moving swiftly on.....I'll tell you another song I couldn't stand... _My Boy Lollipop_ by Millie....I used to turn the radio off if that one came on...'You make my heart go giddy-up'...what sort of a line is that?

P: (Sings) 'I neeju I neeju I neeju so....'

T: Shut up.....that's worse than the record.....which is saying something.

Malcolm: I used to like that.....not Pete's version obviously....it was quite catchy.

T: Well each to his own....but as far as I'm concerned they both stink.

G: What _didn't_ you like then Malcolm?

(Malcolm thinks for a minute)

M: I know....I used to hate _Where do you go to my lovely?_ (Peter Sarstedt).

T: Yeah, I'm with you on that.....too French-sounding for my liking..... Hee haw, hee haw.....and that poxy accordion.

L: And what sort of girl wants to be called 'My Lovely'?.....come here my lovely.

T: Sounds like the sort of thing Fagin might say.

L: Or some sad pervert.

G: Right....and what about all that shit about swimsuits that never got wet.

T: No, it wasn't the swimsuit that never got wet.....in the song the girl wore a 'carefully designed' topless swimsuit and sipped her Napoleon Brandy but never got her _lips_ wet.

M: Is that right Tim?

T: I think so.

(Short pause for consideration - soon broken)

G: How can a topless swimsuit be carefully designed?

T: Dunno....I hadn't thought of that.....you'd have thought a topless swimsuit was just a pair of pants, wouldn't you?

P: It was the _song_ that was pants if you ask me.

L: To be 'carefully designed' I reckon it would have to be topless....

but not show her nipples....don't you think?

(We all paused again.....trying to picture this)

T: Or carefully designed so that it _does_ show her nipples.

G: I don't think Sarstedt knew what he was on about.

M: Anyway the point is that it was a bloody awful record.

T: (adopts silly French accent) Eet certainly werz and I 'ated it wiz a passion.

L: And it stayed at number one too bloody long...don't you just hate it when that happens and you keep hearing the same song over and over again?

P: Yeah, like _In the Summertime_.....I'll go mad if I hear that record any more.

G: Yeah, and _The fucking Wonder of You_.

T: Elvis should you done it with that title.....it's a real improvement.

(Malcolm was beginning to warm to the subject of shitty records...I hadn't seen him so enthusiastic about anything before.....it was a revelation!)

M: I'll tell you what else I used to hate...that record that was around a while ago about little arrows (Leapy Lee).

G: What's he on about?

P: I know that one...it went....(sings) 'Little arrows in your clothing, little arrows in your hair, when you're in love you'll find those little arrows everywhere'....you must know it.

(He looked a bit embarrassed...we were all staring at him)

L: Yes, well....even if we hadn't hated it before I'm sure we all do now.

M: Thanks for that Pete.....it was probably at least as good as the original.....but I still hate it.

G: So come on then Laurie mate....tell us _your_ worst records. (Laurie thinks)

L: I'll tell you the sort of thing I hate the most.....it's people like Englebert Humperdink....I mean what about _Please Release M_ e?....I can tell you I wouldn't have released him or his crap record.....they both could have bloody well stayed locked up as far as I was concerned.

T: His record wasn't released...it escaped!

G: So, basically, you're saying you hate anyone who sings slow, boring ballads....

T:.....especially if they happen to have huge rubbery lips and a name that's pinched from a classical composer.....is that right?

L: Yep

T: Okay...can't fault you there, then.

(General agreement is signalled)

L: Good...another thing I hate are novelty records....stuff like _Gimme Dat Ding_ (Pipkins). G: Or Eurovision Song Contest songs like _Boom Bang a Bang_.

M:.....or _Puppet on a string._

T: Yeah.....or so-called comedy records....like Peter Sellars 'hilarious'

version of the Beatles _Hard Days Night..._

G:...and anything by cartoon characters like The Archies.

P:....or puppets.....like Pinky and Perky.....

T: All their songs are just speeded-up records, basically.....

P: I know.....and they had their own TV show.....how was that possible?

T: Maybe someone pulled some strings for them.

(More groans)

L: Okay then, just Pete to go....let's have it then Pete....who would you send to a desert island with only their own records for company?

(Pete thinks)

P: Well, I used to really hate _Those were the Days_ by Mary Hopkin....

for similar reasons to _Where do you go to_....you start out thinking a record's not bad but by the time you've heard it a few hundred times on the radio you want to scream whenever you hear it.....that's what happened with Mary Hopkin.

T: (sings) 'That was her song my friend, it seemed to never end'

P: (turning to me with a smile) Okay mate that's enough of that.

Me: Fair enough.....but don't you think it's the radio that's really to blame....I mean if they played a bigger selection of stuff then you wouldn't have to listen to the same records over and over again, would you?

P: Very true.

L: So, aside from Mary, is there anything else you can't stand?

P: Well I'm with Tim when it comes to reggae.....I bloody hate it....

T: I wouldn't call _My Boy Lollipop,_ reggae.

P: What is it then?

T: I dunno.....ska.....bluebeat....

G: From gee-may-car.

P: Well whatever it is, I'm not keen on it.....I mean stuff like _Israelites_ (Desmond Dekkar).....doesn't do anything for me at all.....I can usually listen to most types of music but not that.

G: I actually like reggae.....it's good to dance-to.

L: Well you would...you're a skinhead.

G: Ha bloody ha.

T: I saw the words to _Israelites_ in a magazine a while ago when it was out.....there's some really stupid lines....how about (sings in West Indian accent) 'Shirts them I tear up trousers are gone, I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde'

G: (sings) 'Ahhh ah, me ears-are-alight'

(Everyone laughs)

L: (Turns to Gordon) Well, we've all managed to come up with at least two records or people we don't like so you get to choose one more.

(Gordon thinks for a minute)

G: Alright.....well this is going to sound stupid, cos he doesn't make records any more.....

L: Come on....don't be shy.....who is it?

G: Adam Faith.

P: You're right he hasn't made any records for years.....so how did he come to offend you, then?

G: Alright, I was getting to that....my mum's got a whole album by him and plays it all the time when I'm at home....and it's all shit.....the worst thing on it by far is _Lonely Pup in a frigging Christmas Shop._

T: Not _Someone Else's frigging Baby_ then?

G: No...it's not even as though he can sing is it?....he's like Buddy Holly on a bad day.

T: Yeah he'd go (sings) 'Someone else's buy-bee'

P: Or.....(sings) 'Wish you wanted my love buy-bee'

G: (To me and Pete) God....you two are even worse than he is....I wish I hadn't mentioned him now.

(Me and Pete carry on singing anything we can remember by Adam Faith for a while just to be annoying.....Gordon throws a cushion, so we stop)

G: And what's a bloody 'Christmas Shop' when it's around any-way?

P: A shop that's only open around Christmas, maybe.

T: Yeah....and sells puppies....I suppose once they sold that last lonely pup the next person who wanted one would have been pissed off, having been pipped at the post for the pathetic pup.

P:....and all that was left were the pathetic pipped pup's poops.

T: The pipped pup could have been a Peke...

P:...or a Poodle.

T:...or even a Pomeranian.

L: Alright you two....that's enough about pups and poops....seems we're all in agreement.....Adam Faith was complete and utter shite...

just as well, then, that he seems to have given up singing.

P: Yeah....he's a pretty good actor now.

G: Hope for us all yet then I reckon.....keep practicing that guitar Tim, mate.

T: Thanks....I will.

(And they say the art of conversation's dead, don't they?)

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY

Friday 14th August. Early evening.

'I'm just getting ready to go with Pete to the gig at The Castle in Richmond. Let's not underestimate this....for Pete this is a very big deal. He really wants to be a deejay and the try-out tonight could be the start of a whole new career if it goes well. I'm tagging along for moral support and, of course, to see what the standard of crumpet's like. Now that I've broken my duck I feel like I could get lucky any time and, judging by what's happened to me so far in a short space of time, I reckon that I must be a whole lot more attractive to the opposite sex than I ever dared imagine. With that in mind, as usual, I'm throwing on a liberal amount of Brut. Henry Cooper says 'Splash it all over' and, if an obvious babe magnet like him thinks it's a good idea, well that's good enough for me.

I'm not certain if splashing it _all over_ is a good idea, though....it's strong stuff and certain delicate areas of the body.....you know the ones I mean....may not be able to withstand the stinging effect.

I think I'll just stick to facial-type areas.....just to be on the safe side. You know I always think it's a bit strange....this thing about men putting on perfume.....I mean you can call it what you like....'Au de Cologne', After Shave or whatever.....but it's PERFUME, that's what it is!

I've no doubt that's the reason why they pick someone butch, like a boxer, to advertise it. The subliminal message we're being asked to embrace is that it's not at all unmanly for guys to use perfume cos some hairy-arse fighter says it's okay.....so I'm using it.....I bloody well hate the smell of it, though...do girls really like it, do you think?

Shit!...I just remembered what happened the last time I used this stuff....it was the night of Mrs T's party and you know what happened then...oh well, too late, I've done it now.

........I suppose at least I'll be able to fart without anyone noticing.

I have to say I'm quite pleased that this is one deejay gig where I won't have to lug disco equipment in and out of cars and, possibly, up and down stairs. Anyone who thinks this mobile deejaying is easy money should have a go at it some time. It's okay when you're playing the records - that's the easy bit - it's the loading and unloading bit that's a bugger. Tonight, though, as I say, all I have to do is carry a box of records into the gig and that's my lot.....I can feel free to do what I like....and the only disc I'll be at risk of slipping is a black plastic one..... into Pete's hand.

Steve phoned me at work today and we've worked out a plan of action for tomorrow night's gig. It's like a military operation....precise, methodical and calls for perfect timing. The only problem _is_ that anything involving me and Steve has a history of going horribly wrong and that's got to be a worry. For a start he wants me to meet him at Baker Street tube station at around 6:30 on the Central Line platform. It's like some sort of spy film isn't it? Perhaps he'll refuse to acknowledge me unless I wear a carnation and say something like 'I hear the Archbishop of Canterbury's got a ferret called Jeremy'.

As long as we _do_ manage to rendezvous successfully we'll head out on a marathon journey to the wilds of Watford, see the show, and then repeat the trek back the other way. We're going to have to take note of the time of the last tube back and make sure we don't miss it.....I don't want a repeat of the Al Stewart gig at Reading University about a year ago when we missed the last train and ended up walking most of the way back to Farnborough.

I said 'Let's get a taxi, my Dad'll pay' but he says 'No, we can hitch hike'.....ONE LIFT, that's all we got.....and that was only for a few miles. It took nearly all night to get home and I had to go to work at the Post Office the next day!

I don't even wanna think about it.

You know, with all this and the fact the Steve wants to stay overnight at the Hostel, we could be looking at a recipe for disaster.....and guess who, out of the two of us, has the most to lose?

I don't know why I agreed to do it.....Mrs T's not going to be pleased if she finds she's had a non-paying guest. Still, I suppose if the worst happens and Steve gets discovered I can always deny that I know him.....she might think that he's just some tramp who's managed to get in somehow.....he certainly looks like one most of the time!

Well I'd better be off.....I don't know when Pete's due to perform but I do know he was told to get there early, at around eight, so we'd best be going.....and I'll wish him luck from you'

*

The Castle in Richmond was a large pub cum club standing on the bank of the Thames. Pete felt that getting a regular spot there would be a first rung on the ladder to success in the world of deejaying and was becoming noticeably more nervous as we got nearer the venue. On entering Richmond itself, chat, already at a minimum, was non-existent and I feared that the pressure to perform was weighing heavily on my friend. He knew he was going to have to create a good impression in a very short space of time and that's not an easy thing to do. It's probably the sort of situation most of us dread inasmuch as we want to be given a chance to do the thing we've been dreaming about for a long time, but don't want to blow it. Pete knew this was an audition and was, as such, make or break.....the pomme-frittes were definitely down.

As I've said, on arrival Pete's nerves were palpably kicking in but he was in luck.....he had _me_ with him (Well I thought it was luck anyway).

My role was clear.....I had to get Pete through his ordeal-by-recorddecks any way I could and help him come out of it with a job. To this end he was going to have to hit the ground running and nervousness would somehow have to be banished.....how could this be achieved?

'I know' I said.....'let's go and find the bar'

It never fails.

Having had a quick whisky and ginger (followed by another quick whisky and ginger) Pete appeared ready for anything the night could throw at him. His resolve had stiffened (in line with the stiffness of the drinks) and he went off in search of the guy who was going to watch him perform. For my part I decided to have a scout around and see what the place had to offer. As you may recall, dance halls of any description weren't really my cup of tea but I figured I'd got in for free by tagging along with Pete so anything good that presented itself would be a bonus. Pint in hand I wandered from one room to the next exploring. There didn't seem to be a King of this particular Castle but I thought I might have spotted one or two Queens here and there.....they probably thought I was one as well, what with all the Brut I'd put on!

I wandered into quite a large room that had a stage at one end with a deejay playing records. It was early in the evening and there weren't too many people on the dance floor. 'This is most probably where Pete'll have to have to do his audition' I thought.

It wasn't overly inspiring. I couldn't help wondering how my mate would be able to impress anyone seeing as though punters were quite thin on the ground (not obese like they'd probably be now). I mean it wasn't my problem, as such, but I really wanted Pete to do well. I knew how passionate he was about deejaying and I also knew he didn't want to work as a butcher for the rest of his life. I was pondering on all this when, as if by magic, Pete suddenly appeared.

'The manager says he'll give me twenty minutes on the decks at around ten' he said, whilst managing to look a bit excited and a lot worried both at the same time.

'Sounds good to me' I said.....'there ought to be lot more people in here by then'

'Do you think so?' he said, taking in a big gulp of air.....'God, all this waiting around is really starting to give me the shits'

My upbeat statement had provoked a downbeat reaction. For the first time my friend was admitting how intimidated he was by the occasion. It was a mini crisis and there was only one thing for it.....

More drinks.

By around 9:45 things were beginning to get busier and the main dance floor now had a few more bodies on it. Pete had already been on stage in order to familiarise himself with the equipment and was suitably impressed.

'You should see it' he said.....'it's brilliant'

I could only agree.....but probably for different reasons. For me the most brilliant thing about this particular equipment was that I hadn't had to lift it in or out of a car, carry it up any stairs, or help put it together!

In that respect it was perfect.

I asked Pete what music he was going to play.

'Well' he said.....'I thought I'd stick to just soul music.....I've only got twenty minutes so there's only time for about six records.....not a lot really'

'Mmm' I said.....'in that case why not just put on _This is Soul_.....you could just lift the needle after each track, introduce the next one and then drop the needle back down'

This unleashed a wave of sarcasm....

'Oh yeah, that would be _really_ impressive, wouldn't it' he said....'I'm bound to get a job doing that aren't I'

Oops...not really the intended reaction.

'Alright, I _was_ only joking' I said...'me, friend...remember?' 'Okay, sorry mate' said Pete, realising I _was_ actually on his side...'I know you're only trying to help'

'That's right' I said.....'I am trying.....' _very trying_ I should think' 'Well you said it' he said.

And smiled for the first time that evening.

We listened to the deejay who was on for a while. He played a selection of pop, soul and Tamla Motown which seemed to be keeping the dancers happy. His patter wasn't great but then what _can_ a dance hall deejay say that isn't mostly trite and unnecessary?

'That was/this is'.....just about summed it up.

I decided this was as good a moment as any to ask Pete a question I'd been wanting to ask all night.....

'Can I come up on stage with you and be your assistant, like I normally do?' I pleaded.....'I won't get in your way.....honestly'

I accompanied this request with my best wide-eyed look (think Bambi), almost daring him to say 'No'.

In no way was I after a bit of the limelight.

'Yeah, no problem' he replied, mind obviously miles away. 'Alright.....so what exactly are we going to play then?' I asked - using the royal 'we'.

Up until this moment Pete hadn't thought to actually get out the records he was going to play and showtime was fast approaching.

'Bollocks' he shouted.....'now you tell me'

Intense rummaging in the record box ensued.

'Shit....where's the Otis Redding.....God, where's the fucking Percy Sledge....Tim have you seen....etc etc'

After a fraught five or so minutes we managed to come up with half a dozen classic soul singles....our play list read:

*

_Knock on Wood_ by Eddie Floyd

_I Can't Turn You Loose_ by Otis Redding

_Soul Man_ by Sam and Dave

*

These were our 'get 'em up and dancing' selection followed by our 'get 'em dancing slow and up close' selection which was.....

_I Say a Little Prayer_ by Aretha Franklin

_When a Man Loves a Woman_ by Percy Sledge

*

And, for a big finish.....

*

_Land of a Thousand Dances_ by Wilson Pickett

*

....all irresistible, I think you'll agree.

*

Ten pm duly arrived and Pete was given the nod to get up and perform. The deejay who was currently deckmeistering made the announcement and we were away.

The first thing we noticed, with mounting dismay, was that quite a few people started to wander off after Pete was introduced...it was like the guy had said 'Just go off and get yourself a drink now' or something.

Not an auspicious start.

Undaunted, Pete put on the Eddie Floyd and said 'Hi, I'm Pete and it's Soul Time.'

Reaction - mass indifference.

Dance floor - largely empty.

The Otis Redding elicited a similar response with Pete only managing a pathetic 'Come on up and dance, folks' whilst putting it on.

The good people of Richmond (the few that had stayed) seemed totally underwhelmed.

_Soul Man_ went the way of the two previous records.....little dancetype response and not a lot of intro. I could see Pete's ballroom-deejaying career starting and ending right before my very eyes....but what could I do?

Yes, you've guessed.....I could get involved... _that's_ what I could do.

I figured that what seemed to work well in a mobile deejay set up could work here. It was a risk but there are times when risks are worth taking and I stepped up behind the decks with Pete.

'Alright' I said, into the mike.....'anyone caught not dancing to this next record is guilty of having no soul....'

Pete looked slightly taken aback but was quick to appreciate the lifeline.

'Yeah' he said...'and what do we do with people who won't dance, then Tim?'

He started _Say a little prayer_....

'We make them dance with US' I replied.

'Right.....so who's not dancing?' he said.....'let's see who we can spot'

We scanned the room and noticed there were two girls standing at the back in true wallflower position. They looked quite nice.

'You two at the back' I said, whilst pointing in their direction 'you had your chance to dance....now we're coming to get you'

They both quickly looked around and at each other, obviously thinking we couldn't be meaning _them....._ but we did.

'Come on, let's go' I said to Pete, and at that we both abandoned the decks, jumped down off the stage and went after our quarry.

Before they knew it both hapless girls were taken by the hand, coaxed out onto the floor and duly danced-with. We could tell this was having an impact. You could see people smiling and nudging one-another. Hopefully they were thinking 'Who are these two crazy guys?'

As the record finished we shouted our thanks to the girls (who seemed, by now, quite pleased to have been the 'chosen ones') and made our way back to the decks.

'That was great...but what's next Peter, old chap' I asked in my best fake posh accent. Pete picked up on it straight away and started the intro to _When a Man Loves a Woman_...

'Well Tim, old fellow, let's take things a bit slower and go for a bit of Percy Sledge'

'P.C Sludge did you say?.....is he a Policeman?' I asked.

We heard a few laughs here and there.

As the slow, smoochy hit got under way we decided to dance with each other behind the decks. People were definitely laughing. We hoped this was a good sign.

After a short while Pete turned down the sound a bit and said 'Quite frankly, you know Tim, I preferred the girls'

'Thank God for that' I went, and wiped my brow.

Another good laugh.

This was good.

The floor was filling up fast and I felt we were beginning to win the people over. It was almost time to vacate the decks and we had one more record left to make an impression.

We needn't have worried. This was always a sure-fire.....

*

One, two, three (blast of horns)

One, two, three (blast of horns)

Got to know how to pony, like bonie moronie

Mashed patata, do the alligator

*

By now the dance floor was full. People seemed to be appearing from every corner of the place. It was fantastic.....

*

Na na na na na, na na na na na na na na na na, na na na na

Need somebody to help me say it one time

And they all did.....everyone was shouting the repeated line.

We were dancing around the stage....we couldn't believe the reaction we were getting.

The 'Na na na na's' went down a storm and the next time they came around Pete turned the music right down and the crowd were just singing it on their own. We just let them carry on and then shouted.... 'Thanks very much....see you all again'

We then turned the music up and left the stage. Someone else could take the record off. We'd go back for it later.

Everyone seemed to be applauding us as we left.....we couldn't believe it.

We'd gone down well and succeeded in creating something a little bit different. I hadn't meant to steal any of Pete's thunder but I felt that his chances of getting a job were dwindling fast and couldn't help the timely intervention. If I was at all worried about his reaction, though, I was soon reassured....

'That was really great' he said (with a huge smile) as soon as we had chance to speak. And added 'Thanks Tim....I was just frozen with nerves.....thanks for getting in there and helping....it was fantastic'

This made me feel good. I didn't know whether Pete would get a job out of all this but at least he hadn't died on his arse.....a case of 'Better to have deejayed and lost than never deejayed at all' I reckoned.

'Do you think the manager will have liked what we did?' asked Pete, still a bit breathless.

'I've no idea at all' I said, looking around...'you don't suppose those two girls we danced with are still here, do you?'

Pete seemed to be on a bit of a performance high and thereby not as interested as he might have otherwise been in seeking out our two erstwhile dance partners.

'Shall we go and look for the manager, now?' he asked, earnestly....'you know, strike while the iron is hot.....I just hope he was watching....... did _you_ see him at all?'

'Nah' I said.....'I wouldn't have recognised him anyway.....you went to see him without me, remember?'

'Oh yeah' he said.

We seemed to have different priorities.

His was.....'Do I get the job?'

Mine was...'Can I get a beer and then find those girls? (or similar girls).

I suppose I wasn't really bothered cos I wasn't thinking in terms of getting a job out of all this. As far as I was concerned my work was done....I'd merely been lending my friend a hand.

Just then (as if by magic) the manager suddenly appeared. He seemed pleased.

'You two were an absolute knock out' he said, and went on.....

'I don't think I've ever seen anything like it.....you had me fooled at first though...'

Turning to Pete.

'...when you started on your own I thought _Oh my God_.....but then when the both of you got together it was fantastic.....dancing with them girls.....brilliant!'

We tried to look suitably modest...without succeeding.

'It was nothing unusual...' said Pete.

'Yeah.....happens most times when we play' I said, nodding.

'Okay' said the manager....'we need to talk'

The gushing praise over, he was getting down to business....

'Now look, we weren't thinking you two were going to do a double act...but since you did would you be willing to do the same once a week on a Friday.....we'd pay well?'

This seemed like good news so we nodded and signalled agreement as fast as we could. The question was _how well_ would they pay?

Pete broached the subject.

'Well' said the manager.....'let's see...how does £10 each to do two hours on a Friday night sound?'

It sounded pretty good to me but Pete was a good negotiator.

'Well I normally charge £25 a night for my mobile disco' he lied...

'and I'll probably have to turn down gigs to do this....'

'Okay we'll make it £15 each' said the manager.

We both looked at each other.

'Sounds fine' said Pete.

I just grinned inanely.

'I can't believe it' I thought.....'he's just doubled my weekly wage at a stroke.....for doing just another two hours work...and no heavy lifting.....

Yabba dabba doo!'

After all this we both floated to the bar on a cloud of ecstasy (no tablets involved though) and when we got there a thought struck me....

'I can't believe _you'_ I said, to Pete...'we get an offer of work and you immediately start haggling over the money'

'I know' he said.....'I can't believe I did that'

We looked at each other....and then both burst out laughing.

'IT BLOODY WELL WORKED, THOUGH,....DIDN'T IT' shouted Pete.

'Keep your voice down' I replied, looking around...'we don't want the manager to hear.....he might want to rethink his offer' 'True' said Pete, more calmly.....'best not to appear too excited'

'Right' I said...'that's better... _now_ shall we go and look for those girls?'

'Yeah' said Pete....'let's....I feel lucky tonight'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Saturday 15th August.

Saturday didn't start too well. Clive was in a bad mood and there weren't many people around who could _do_ bad moods better than him. You could almost see the black cloud over his head and any attempt to make conversation with him was pointless. I suspected that all was not well between him and the good Janet, but wasn't going to ask. A policy of 'Just get on with the job and keep conversation to a minimum' seemed sensible. An air of tension filled the preparation room and even Kim, the Saturday boy, kept looking at me as if to say 'Is it okay to speak?'. The shop had been open about an hour when Janet appeared downstairs and stood around looking somewhat embarrassed. Clive, though aware of her presence, seemed determined to ignore her.

'What can we do for you Janet?' I asked, helpfully.

'We need more bacon' she replied, looking in Clive's direction. Clive carried on cutting the bacon and resolutely stared at his machine. I wasn't going to get involved.

Janet continued to stand around making 'huffing' noises until, finally, Clive cracked.

'Look I'm doing it as fast as I can' he said, to no-one in particular..... then added 'No patience, some people'

'Well we've run out' insisted Janet, and, as if to annoy him some more, added......'can I just take what you've done so far, then?'

Clive was starting to have steam coming out of his ears. I felt an explosion wasn't far away. He'd got about two thirds of a tray done when Janet just came up and grabbed it.

Clive was beside himself with annoyance.

'You might have fucking waited for the rest' he shouted as Janet made off with her part-load.

Me and Kim just looked at each other and smiled...there was something about the sight of a seriously pissed-off Clive that was satisfyingly comical.

If the course of true love was not running too smooth for him then, in complete contrast, for me things were improving fast. Marlene was in and proving to be the focus of my attention. She came downstairs at every opportunity asking me for more corned beef, more spam, more ham...I _was_ hoping she'd ask me for some tongue.....nudge nudge.

But seriously, as they say, she seemed very keen to attract my attention and I felt it was only a matter of time before I'd get to speak to her about something other than cooked meat.

But, having said that, time wasn't something I had a lot of. I'd been promised an early finish at around one past meridian so wasn't able to wait around all day for something to happen. It was a case of get in now or wait at least another week.

At around 10:30 I went for my mid-morning cup of tea in the market with George. Now not a lot escaped him and, sure enough, he'd spotted that I was more than a little attracted to young (some would say _too_ young) Marlene.

'You like that little girl who serves on the cooked meat counter don't you' he said, broaching the subject.

'Well.....yes' I said, feeling a bit embarrassed.....I hadn't thought it was that obvious.

'I thought so' said George...then, leaning forward added... 'don't let that Clive put you off...I fell for a girl of her age once and now, nearly forty years later, we're still together....if you like her, ask her out.....don't take any notice of what Clive thinks'

He was right, of course.

'Even if she is a bit younger than me, well so what' I thought.....'I mean it's not like I'd try and take advantage of her or anything'

It was true. If we went out I knew it wouldn't bear any relation to my date with Tanya. We would talk and get to know each other... we'd take things slowly and _if_ sex ever came into the equation it would be as a result of getting to the stage where we were both comfortable with the idea.

'I've seen the way she looks at you' said George....'take it from me she'd say _yes_ if you asked her out'

I changed the subject as fast as I could but kept returning to what he'd said. The words went round and round in my head.....'She'd say _yes_ if you asked her out'.

'You've got to ask her today' I thought.

As George discussed with Eddie the possibilities of Arsenal winning something in the forthcoming football season all I could think of was how to get Marlene alone sometime in the next two, or so, hours. 'Alone' meaning nowhere near Clive, of course.

As the day progressed, relations seemed to be improving between Clive and Janet. So much so that, by late morning, Clive was a bit more like his usual happy, smiling, piss-taking self. The gloom had subsided and normality reigned supreme. The Gods were in their heaven and all was well.....except for the fact that I still hadn't got to speak one-on-one, mano-a-mano, face-to-face, man-to-woman, teenager-to-even-youngerteenager (etc, etc) with Marlene yet....and time was fast running out. She disappeared at around twelve for lunch and, before I knew it, one 'o' clock was fast approaching. I wouldn't have any excuse to hang around much longer so decided it was now or never.

I'd have to go and see if I could find her.

She wasn't in the shop so I went upstairs to check out the staff room. I poked my head round the door and saw Maggie and Jean.

'Er....have you seen Marlene at all?' I asked them.

'No I haven't seen her.....have you Maggie?' Said Jean.

I half expected Maggie to tell me to sod off (or maybe _feck off)_....but she was in a good mood.

'Oi tink she's due back anytime now.....she went to lunch at 12' she said.

This was good and I beat it quick before they could ask any questions.

When I got back downstairs I found she'd returned from lunch but was in situ and serving someone.

'Blast' I thought (or words to that effect).

The bacon/cooked meat counter was near the back of the shop and I paused in the open doorway looking in the direction of where Marlene and Janet were working. After about a minute or two of posing like this I was beginning to feel like a bit of a twat. The girls saw me and both looked at me as if to say 'What are you waiting there for?'

This wasn't good.....my every instinct was saying 'GO'.

Tick tock, Tick tock.

Every second seemed like an eternity.

Marlene was serving a little old lady but kept flicking her eyes my way so I decided I must bite the bullet and motioned her to come over to where I was standing.

'Looks like that young man wants a word with you' said the lady, pointing in my direction.

Marlene looked a bit embarrassed as she looked towards me and then back to her customer.

'Do you mind?' she asked.

'No don't you worry about me.....go and see what he wants' insisted the old dear.

Marlene came over.

'Yes' she said.....'did you want me?'

I certainly did.

'Look, I've got to go soon' I said, trying to keep composed.....'I just thought I'd say goodbye, er seeing as though I probably won't see you until next week.....you only working Saturdays an all'

A little smile was playing about her lips but she frowned, slightly....

as if to hint at a little bit of disappointment.

'Actually I won't be in next week' she said.....'we're going on holiday next Saturday.....Butlins again'

This was bad news...her going away, I mean.....not the fact that she was going to Butlins (there's no truth in the rumour that the fences around their camps are to keep people _in,_ rather than out).

'I, um, don't suppose.....you'd, er, fancy doing something one night next week....er, if you're free that is?' I blurted. (As you can tell, my one night of passion with Tanya hadn't exactly turned me into James Bond)

She studied me for a few moments (which seemed like a lifetime)

before breaking into a grin.

'Yes, okay' she said.....'if my parents agree'

'Blimey.....Parents!' I thought.....that's a worry.

I hadn't had to consider this with Tanya...only the possibility that I might have been caught by her husband!

'What do you think they'll say?' I asked, tentatively.

'Well I've never been out on a date with a boy before.....so I don't really know' she said.

This was serious stuff.....maybe she needed a bit of reassurance and I heard myself say.....

'I can come and meet them if you like'

'That would be nice' she said.....'I'm sure they'd like you'

Well so was I.....I mean what was there _not_ to like?

'Write your phone number down' I said.....'and I'll call you next week...is that alright?'

She smiled and nodded....so I guessed that it was alright.

She then went back to the counter, grabbed an empty bag and hastily wrote the number down on it.

'Here you are' she said.....'call me when you get home from work on Monday'

'Alright' I said, backing away towards the door...'um, I'd better not hold you up any more....can't keep the customers waiting can we?.....'

The little old lady was smiling a knowing smile as if to say 'Well done young man'.

'er...okay' I continued.....'bye for now'

And exited.

So that was it then....I'd done it.

I now needed to go home and lie down in a darkened room.

This business of asking girls out was a trauma.

I felt knackered.

*

Later....back at the hostel.

As there was no time for eating any of Mrs T's fantastic 'cordon-bleu' food before going out to the gig I decided to scrape around in the kitchen and see what sort of culinary delicacy I could put together myself. This would be a challenge because I was still at the stage of my life when me and a kitchen were almost total strangers. Having rummaged around in cupboards and larders I figured that something like beans on toast would be a reasonable effort, given my level of cookery knowledge (nil). Before long I was doing pretty well. I'd opened the tin without cutting any of my fingers off and lit the gas without causing an explosion. Two slices of toast were then put under the grill and the aforementioned beans deposited in the saucepan ready to heat up.

'Who says us blokes can't cook?' I was thinking.....'I mean, is there no end to my talent.....skilled meat cutter, guitar player, 'natural' car driver, deejay, ladykiller....and now chef'.....the list was seemingly endless.

I had things going nicely when Laurie came in.

'Hi Tim....what are you cooking?'

'It's my best French recipe.....I call it toast a la beans'

'Not beans sur toast then?'

'Er, well....maybe'

Like Sam Cooke I didn't know much about the French I took.

'Are you sure you feel qualified to do such complicated stuff?' asked Laurie..

I ignored this and carried on stirring the beans...reckoning that sarcasm (or possibly Arthur Askey) was the lowest form of wit. Laurie started sniffing.

'I reckon your toast could be burning' he said.

I looked and it was.

'Shit!' I said, and made a grab at the grill pan. The trouble was that the handle had become quite hot.

'Shit!' I shouted as I was forced to drop it and the toast on the floor. We both jumped back out of it's way.

Laurie thought this was quite funny.

I didn't. My hand was throbbing so I quickly stuck it under the tap and ran some cold water on it.

Sadly I'd left the beans simmering away in the saucepan on quite a high heat and they were now starting to boil.

'You might want to take those beans off' said Laurie...'I'm sure they must be hot enough by now'.

He was right so I whipped them off the stove as fast as I could. They didn't look too good.

'I think they're burnt' said Laurie.

I had to agree but put them to one side for the time being.

We managed to find an oven glove so I picked up the grill pan and bread up from the floor. Aside from being somewhat dark on one side the bread looked okay to me so I turned it over and put it back under the grill.

'Well the floor looks pretty clean to me' I said.

Laurie just smiled.....my cooking was more 'Sacre bleu! than cordon bleu.

We both then returned to the beans. It was obvious that they'd been severely mistreated. A lot of them had fused together and stuck to the bottom of the pan. I'd managed to stick them to a non-stick saucepan.

'I don't think Mrs T's going to be happy with that' observed Laurie, adding.....'she's a stickler for keeping things clean'

I managed to take the two bits of toast out of the grill without further mishap and scraped off the black sides until they resembled something other than charcoal. Butter was then applied liberally and the burnt beans coaxed out of the pan.

Laurie was still watching.....and, of course had to laugh.

'You know Tim I have to give it to you' he said.....'that was brilliant.....in a small space in time you managed to make pretty much every mistake possible....ha ha....and you were only trying to make beans on toast.....promise me if you ever attempt to cook anything else you'll come and get me....I wouldn't want to miss out on the free entertainment'

'Okay then go ahead and laugh' I said (he was)...'we can't all be Fanny Craddocks you know'

'I don't know about Craddock.....but you've definitely fannied around' he said.

I chose to ignore this and began consuming my nosh.

Alas the smell of smoke had, by now, reached Mrs T's sensitive nasal orifice and she burst into the kitchen sniffing repeatedly.

'Whatever's happened in here?' she said with accusing looks. 'Tim, here, has been cooking' answered Laurie, helpfully.

'God.....whatever have you been making?' said Mrs T looking daggers at me.

'Just beans on toast' I replied, with as much boyish innocence as I could muster.

'Smells like you've tried to burn the place down...and look at the state of this saucepan' she snapped.

Call me perceptive but I could tell she wasn't happy.

'I'll clean it up...don't worry' I said, trying to sound reassuring. 'Yes you _will_ ' she said....putting as much accent on the 'will' as possible.

Innocence and reassurance didn't appear to be working particularly well. It was just as well she hadn't noticed the dent and small burn mark I'd made on the floor when I dropped the grill pan.

'As from now Tim you're banned from cooking anything in this kitchen...you're a menace' she said, and stomped off upstairs. 'Bloody hell' said Laurie, shaking his head.....'you've really upset her now.....maybe you should ask Clive if he's got room in his flat for one more when you see him next'

'Well at least I'd be able to afford the rent' I said, and proceeded to tell him about my new extra job.

'Blimey....you jammy sod' he said.....'what do _you_ know about deejaying?'

'About the same as I know about cookery' I answered, quite truthfully.

'Jesus...some people have all the luck' was all he'd say.

*

Footnote

Back in the sixties Fanny Craddock used to appear regularly on T.V with her husband Johnny trying to teach us all how to cook. Folklore has it that in one episode Fanny was demonstrating how to cook doughnuts and Johnny is supposed to have said 'If you follow these instructions _your_ doughnuts will look just like Fanny's'

.....I'd love to think that he actually _did_ say it.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Saturday night.

Saturday night began according to plan and I met the good Steve at Baker Street. I spotted him straight away. People were giving him a wide berth and ladies seemed to draw their handbags closer to their bodies as they went past. He was a picture of sartorial elegance as usual and would've got the job of scarecrow easily if he'd wanted to apply. He greeted me with the customary 'Hello tosser' and we duly boarded the tube out to the sticks....otherwise known as Watford (near Pinner.... where they make their own wine - Pinner Grigio).

Steve was a bit subdued so I felt it was my duty to get to the bottom of things and root out the reason for this.....after all he _was_ going to see two of his favourite bands.....there had to be a reason.

'You're a bit quiet' I ventured....'no problems are there?'

He looked like he was deciding whether to tell me or not.

'Well' he said, sort of dragging the word out into several syllables.....'it's like this.....you know that bird I.....'

'You shagged, yes...what about her?'

'Well, she reckons she's pregnant'

This wasn't good. Scoring with your first shot is okay for footballers but in this case was far from ideal.

'So will you be marrying her then and doing the 'decent' thing?' 'No.....now you come to mention it....not if I can fucking help it' 'So, if she says to you ' _I'm pregnant, what steps are you going to take?'_ you'll say ' _Bloody great big ones'_ will you?'

'Probably'

I figured that this may not be the best time to mention that I had broken my duck (although, God knows, I was dying to).

'Has she actually told you that she's definitely carrying your little scouser then?' I asked.

'No, not exactly' he said...'but she told my sister that she's late..... if you see what I mean'

I did.

'How late are we talking.....it could be crucial, I mean it strikes me that she could have suspected she was pregnant before offering herself to you.....it's possible she may have done it with you just so she could blame you.....have you considered that?'

Steve considered it.

'You don't think she was just bowled over by my animal charm and magnetism then?' he asked with a smile.

'There's an outside chance' I said....'but only a slim one'

This was more like the banter of old.

I gave Steve my man to man advice.....a priceless gem of wisdom that, frankly, money couldn't buy.

'I reckon, if it comes to it, you should just DENY EVERYTHING, mate.....no-one can prove anything.....just say it never happened.....I mean, I'm probably the only one you've told, right?'

Wrong.

'Well.....actually I have mentioned it to one or two others' he said, sheepishly.

'How many exactly?' I asked.

'Nimmm.....let's see' he said.

I could see him mentally totting up the number of people he'd told about his nocturnal escapade....finally he came up with a figure.....

'About twenty six' he said.

I was surprised....and said so....

'What did you do....report it in the Farnborough Chronicle?.....I mean 26 would be about the weekly readership, wouldn't it?'

Who said the art of repartee is dead?

'We do get one or two more readers than that, mate' said Steve...

..'but these were people I chose to tell....not just all and sundry'

'Well let's hope they can all keep a secret then' was all I could say.

We were somewhere around Harrow-on-the-Hill when I decided that I'd had enough of discussing sex-related subjects and introduced the exciting world of showbiz into the mix.

'Did I tell you that I'm a deejay now?' I asked (knowing that I _hadn't_ , of course).

Steve looked surprised.

'YOU.....A DEEJAY' he said with rather a loud tone.....loud enough to make several people on the train turn and look around.

I told him a brief version of how this had come about.

'Fuckin' hell' he said....'you've been in London for five minutes and now you're a deejay.....are they paying you for this?'

I told him they _were_....and how much.

He was impressed.

'So let's get this straight.....you'll be getting as much money for doing two hours work on a Friday night as you are for doing the whole of the rest of the week'

When he put it like that it _did_ seem kind of unfeasibly fantastic. 'That's what it amounts to' I said.

'I'd give up the day job then, if I were you' was Steve's best advice. 'Well I might, eventually.....but if I do that now I'll have nowhere to stay' I said, not unreasonably.

Steve was considering the possibilities of all this.

'You might end up on the radio' he said.....'imagine _you_ following Tony Blackburn in the morning'

'Well' I said.....'I couldn't be worse than that wanker Jimmy Young.....if he's not giving out recipes then he's trying to sing.....have you heard his singing?.....it's bloody awful!.....if the BBC are trying to get young people, like us, to tune in to radio one why do they want someone like him taking up airspace?'

'Yeah.....he's more like Jimmy Old than Jimmy Young if you ask me' said Steve, wittily.

I decided to hold forth on the strange selection policy of 'Auntie' Beeb.....

'It's amazing isn't it that after the, government enforced, demise of the 'Pirate' Stations the BBC recruit all the young pirate deejays for Radio one, which is fair enough....this is, after all, supposed to be their version of Radio Caroline or whatever. So what I'm asking is this..... where does some old codger like Young come in.....I mean what's _radio 2_ for if it isn't for old bastards like him?'

Steve was nodding agreement but felt compelled to say....

'You're right mate but keep your voice down....I'm not sure that everyone in the carriage wants to hear'

*

Digression begins:

He was right of course.....but I had a bit of a thing about the way the 'pirate' stations had been got rid of by the somewhat craven means of the, hastily-concocted, Marine Offences Bill(1967). At the time you couldn't just start up a radio station and begin broadcasting to the nation whilst on British soil but there was nothing to stop anyone doing it from a boat. All you had to do was drop anchor a couple of miles off the British coast and you were in business.....so quite a few did. It was brilliant. Young people like me could listen to the sort of music they liked all day every day. Of course the fun couldn't last. Big brother in the form of the British government saw to that. They brought in the MOB and made 'Pirate' radio illegal by just adding the seas around Britain to the places you couldn't broadcast from. The loophole was closed much to the discontent of the collected youth of the country. I expect the government had probably worked out that a high proportion of the people they were likely to upset were non-voters so 'what the hell'.

So far so bad then, but all was not lost because the pirates were soon replaced by something we might never have had without them - Radio One.

If it hadn't of been for the 'pirate' stations there's not much doubt that the BBC bigwigs would have ignored youth culture for a lot longer and their radio waves would have remained largely unsullied by the, predominantly teenage, phenomenon that was 'pop' music. The 'pirates' were the precursor of today's commercial radio stations using, as they did, advertising revenue to keep (literally) afloat. They were miles ahead of their time and caught the government of the day off-guard with their popularity and bare-faced cheek. I loved them for what they did and believe the sixties wouldn't have been the same without them.

Digression over.

*

'Why does Jimmy Young have to sing anyway?...why not just play records all the time?' asked Steve.

A lot of people had probably asked that very question over the previous three years considering:

a) JY hadn't had any hits since the fifties, and

b) He couldn't sing!

'I think it's due to something called _needle time_ ' I said.....'I've been told that they're only allowed to play a certain number of records and the rest of the time it has to be live music.....something to do with the musician's union apparently'

'It certainly needles _you_ mate' observed Steve, adding.....

'When you say it's live music do you mean that it's got to be played there and then or can it be recorded?....only if it's pre-recorded, on tape, then it's not _live_ as such anyway is it?...I mean you might as well play a record'

'I don't know mate' I said with a shrug.....'all I know is that the 'pirates' never had to worry about stuff like that.....they just played records.....and Radio 1 is a poor substitute as far as I'm concerned' Having effectively ended this line of conversation we moved on to other things like the upcoming Isle of Wight festival. Attractions included, Free, the Moody Blues, Jethro Tull, and Sir Jimi. Steve, lucky sod, was planning to go....and the lack of a ticket didn't appear to be a drawback.

'There's a hill right next to the site and you can hear everything from up there' he said, sounding as though he'd been before (which he hadn't).

He continued.....

'And in any case they probably won't have much of a fence, like at Woodstock....I'll probably get in for free with any luck'

I put forward a case for the musicians needing to be paid and that if everyone got in for nothing then promoters couldn't afford to put on festivals and it would all be self-defeating but Steve wasn't really interested. He subscribed to the hippy 'music-should-be-free' ideal which was quite popular with people who didn't happen to be musicians themselves. I pointed out that shops weren't giving LP's away for free and that, bad though the record industry may be, commercialism has to have it's place.

Steve just pulled a non-committal face.

'Where are we anyway?' he asked, no doubt figuring he was on the losing end of the argument.

'Croxley' I said (unscripted).....'next stop and we're there'

It'd been a long way, for a tube journey, but Watford, and the end of the line, wasn't far away. Regaling Steve with _my_ , as opposed to _his,_ sexual exploits would have to wait for another time. Maybe the long trek homewards. Actually it would give me something to look forwardto. I'd laid my deejaying on Stevie and now I would have the pleasure of telling him all about my conquest...or maybe Tanya's conquest.

Whatever.

Watford Town Hall was not exactly packed for the Strawbs/Steeleye gig but in a way that was all to the good. When groups or singers become really popular either you can't get tickets to their shows or the prices go up to exorbitant levels. I always enjoy those moments at concerts when you're sat down waiting for the first act to appear and there's a real atmosphere in the hall. I like to think of it as a sort of PMT (pre-minstrel tension).

Steeleye were pretty good but not the sort of thing I would have gone out and bought on record at the time. They sang excellently and even threw in the odd acapella number to break things up a bit. All in all they were enjoyable but somewhat over-insistent on putting over their olde-Englishe, rustic, finger-in-the-ear, hey-nonny-no, traditional, down-home, dyed-in-the-wool, oo-ar oo-ar, tales-of-yore....brand of folk music \- albeit with electric guitars (no drummer, though). The Strawbs were also from a folk-type background but had recruited Rick Wakeman on keyboards and, in doing so, seemed to have moved their music on a little. Their stage act was quite jokey and there was some nice interplay with good old Rick being the natural butt of the humour. The songs were good with things like _The Man who Called Himself Jesus_. I can't remember whether the bloke who called himself Jesus _was_ actually Jesus or not.....I mean if he _was_ the real Jesus then fair enough but you shouldn't go around calling yourself Jesus if you're not should you?

Talking of Jesus (I know, more digression)....was 'Christ' his actual surname?

.....would he have filled his name in on a form as 'Jesus Christ' and signed 'J.Christ' at the bottom? I don't suppose 'of Nazareth' would have been particularly acceptable would it? Does the bible mention what Mary and Joseph's surname was? If it doesn't maybe that's why they couldn't get a room at the inn.....lack of identification.

I suppose the Bethlehem Hilton was probably quite right to refuse entry in the circumstances.

Also, while we're on this kind of subject I've got some more questions...we know that the time before Jesus died was B.C (Before Christ) but when did the present calendar (A.D) start?.....not straight away after he popped off I'll bet. So why was it decided to start time over again in the name of someone who'd been publicly executed?

How come everyone on Earth all agreed that time should start all over again?...considering we can't agree which side of the road we should all drive on!

And what year did they think it was before deciding to re-start time?

There are certainly more questions than answers aren't there?

Time is strange.....you think you're living in a year like 2010 but you're not cos the earth has been around for millions (or billions, or trillions) of years! Dinosaurs must surely have thought they were here to stay and I'm sure we do as well. But will we?

When did time begin and when will it end? Where is infinity? Mere mortals like us can't get our heads round things like this can we?

John Lennon sang ' _Nothing is real'_ and I'm pretty sure he was right...we don't really know where we are in the overall scheme of things.

Is it possible, for example, that Earth is the only inhabited planet? Are there little green men out there somewhere flying around in saucers and (from time to time) hinting at their presence by making geometric patterns in our crops?

We don't know do we.

There could be other universes and other planets just like ours, couldn't there?

Maybe they've still got Dinosaurs.

Anyhow, getting back to the gig, the prize for 'Best Lyrics of the Evening' went to the Strawbs with _Fingertips._ It was about sex. Dave Cousins had excelled himself with this sort of imagery...

*

Her legs the spreading branches of the tree of life

The willow wand will bend before the woodman's knife

The tangled thicket parts before the forest fire

Her warm desire, is at my fingertips

*

I wasn't sure whether his knob was the willow wand or the woodman's knife but either way there was no doubt that he was talking rumpy-pumpy. At one stage in the song he even sang ' _I feel her nipples, at my fingertips'_. Now be honest, have you ever heard any other songs about feeling nipples?.....of course not.

All in all then a pretty good gig.

We managed to catch the last train back to civilisation without too much problem and even had a few seconds to spare. As the train pulled away, and before we got bogged down with another subject, this was my chance to mention that I'd had a sexual experience (at least one that involved another person) and I wasn't going to miss out.

'Er Steve, mate' I began...'did I happen to tell you that I slipped into the canal last week?'

A concerned look registered on Steve's visage....I had his attention.... now I hit him with the punch line.

'...luckily for me it was the birth canal'

He looked a bit puzzled (can you blame him?) then it slowly registered what I was saying and, of course, an explanation was required. I told Steve the whole truth.....which was that an older woman had found me totally irresistible and couldn't have rested until she'd had her evil way with me (well that was _my_ reading of the situation anyway). I mentioned the note which was left in my bed and then gave him a blow by blow account of the night that my cherry was consigned, forever more, to be spoken-of in the past tense. It must have been impressive cos we were still talking about it by the time we reached Finchley Road. It was great. I was now on a par with Steve....possibly even ahead....after all I didn't remember him telling me that he'd done it more than once on the night in question.....I'd equalised and then gone on to score a hat trick!

'Are you going to see her again?' asked Steve.

'No' I said......'I think she's a bit too old for me...and a bit too married'

'Good point' he said.

A couple of silent minutes passed. Steve was considering the whole thing. There had to be a downside to what I'd told him (a much embellished version, obviously) and it turned out to be the same question I'd asked him.

'Did _you_ use any johnnies.....and we seem to be talking a whole packet?' he asked.

I had to admit I hadn't and that my antique packet of two was still available for future use.

'Well so much for you telling me what I should have done then' he said, with an air of triumph...'what makes you think that your..... what was her name again?'

'Tanya'

.....'Yes Tanya, won't either be pregnant or have given you some nasty disease that will make your knob shrivel up and drop off?..... answer me that then'

I had to admit that I wasn't certain that either of those things couldn't happen.

'Is that what happens if you get the clap....to your knob?' I asked, with a concerned tone.

'It's always possible' said Steve.

I pondered this for a while. Pondering is always good I find.

Finally (all pondered out) I was satisfied that I had an answer to both of Steve's questions.....

'If she's pregnant she can always tell her husband it's his and, on the nasty disease front, I haven't noticed anything different since it happened so I think I've probably got away with it'

This was said convincingly....but Steve was in a sceptical mood. 'How do you know that her husband isn't black?' he asked.

I hadn't thought of that.

'She didn't say he _was'_ I answered.

'Well he could be.....and he might come looking for you if his baby turns out to be white'

This wasn't a happy thought. We'd both now succeeded in, metaphorically, pissing on each other's fire, 'You don't think that's going to happen do you?' I said, visualising myself turning into a fugitive.

'You'd better hope not, mate' was all he would say.

It was around half eleven and we were nearing our change of trains at Baker Street. I'd estimated that if we arrived at the hostel at around midnight there was a reasonable chance that Mrs T would be in bed and I could safely install Steve in the empty bedroom next to mine without any problem. I would go in first and see if 'herself' was still up and about - if not I would usher Steve in and show him to his temporary quarters. It was a cunning plan (well cunning lingers around me) but there was always the nagging thought that disaster may strike and we'd be found out.

Can you stand the excitement?

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sunday 16th August

Everything was going to plan. I'd managed to sneak Steve into the hostel without any problems at all and he was safely installed in his temporary accommodation with only a brief warning from me to leave the sheets in the state that he found them (ie not brittle).

We were going to have to get up pretty early to get away with this flagrant breach of the rules cos Mrs T was a very early riser herself. The thought _was_ that she may be about even though it was a Sunday and therefore not a working day. On a Sunday we would be expected to make breakfast for ourselves if we wanted any.....not that _I_ usually did. If I was out of bed before noon on a Sunday it was usually only for a wee.

This morning would have to be different, though. I'd had to set my alarm for six and make bloody certain I didn't just ignore it. I would put on some clothes (including the quietest slippers known to man) and pad around downstairs sussing out whether it would be safe for Steve to break cover. If all looked good I would usher him out of the building by going in front to make sure the coast was still clear. When Steve had gone I would then go back to bed and no-one would be any the wiser. It wasn't exactly on a par with an escape from Colditz but it was making my heart thump like a big bass drum and I would be glad when it was done.

Me and Steve scrutinised watches. Maybe we should have synchronised them, I mean they were both were quite cheap and, quite frankly, didn't bear too much scrutiny. They both told us it was much too early for getting out of bed but we had to disregard their advice and make a move. I got up and, moving stealthier than a Sloth wearing moccasins, padded around on the middle landing listening for signs of life. Having heard none I ventured downstairs and all was quiet. So far so good. I padded back upstairs whilst at all times keeping more silent than the 'p' in swimming pool (Who hasn't had a silent pee in a swimming pool?).

We made our move. Our dash for it. Steve's break for freedom (I hope you're excited cos this is as thrilling as the book gets). My friend had chosen his footwear wisely (roughly 3 years previously, as it happens) and was able to follow me without drawing any undue attention. It appeared that desert boots had their uses (but never add another 's' or you may have to eat them for pudding).

We passed the middle landing....we went downstairs.....we went through the kitchen.....and then we went down the last flights of stairs.....we reached the front door and opened it.....we'd done it. As Fred Flintstone would have put it 'Yabba-dabba-do'.

Steve departed and I sighed a big sigh of relief.

I'd gotten away with it.

Beaten the rules.

It was a good feeling.

Lunch was fairly uneventful. Pete was quizzed as to what he'd been doing the previous evening and was forced to admit (with a certain amount of satisfaction) that he'd been out with one of the girls on his dateline list. He was also able to report that she'd turned out to be really nice so it was definitely a case of 'ya boo sucks' to anyone who may have put it to him that this computer dating lark was a waste of money and that only girls who resembled a Warthog-in-make-up would go in for it.

We'd _all_ said it, actually.

Pete assured us that Andrea was not only lovely looking but also a joy to talk to and a pleasure to be with. The computer, bless it's little spools and valves, (no microchips in those days) had thrown them together. It had earned it's fee and any doubts about it's effectiveness had surely been firmly put to one side. Clearly this was the future of men/women relationships. I could see how it all made perfect sense. I mean what was the point in hanging around in pubs and, frankly ridiculous, dancehalls like Hammersmith Palais in the vain hope of meeting a soul mate when you could, for a mere fiver, have that person's details given to you? It was a bargain at the price and represented a huge leap forward. Potentially it was something that could take a lot of the 'hit or miss' out of the, hitherto imperfect, business of finding true love. A scientific solution to the age-old problem of finding a perfect partner....and Pete was living proof that it could really work. Well, for one date anyway.

I wondered if, maybe, the electronic beast with the heart of gold might give us mere humans a foolproof way of finding true love and, armed with the knowledge that our spouse had been chosen for maximum suitability, we would all be able to settle down to future married life confident that we'd been paired with the right person. I imagined living in a world where the divorce rate was virtually non-existent!

All a bit _too_ hopeful, possibly, but put it this way.....when the (micro) chips were down I felt I'd be better off letting a computer find me the love of my life rather than spend time trolling around pubs and clubs searching for female compatibility.

The possibilities were enormous for me. I could have the computer programmed to come up with a gorgeous Leeds United fan who was also favourably disposed towards heavy rock music. She would enjoy a few drinks and have a great sense of humour (roughly translated - get pissed and laugh at my stupid jokes). She would also look up to me and always defer to my judgment, knowing there was only the faintest chance of me ever being wrong about anything.....

Okay....all very unlikely but the computer was clearly going to play a big part in our lives in the future and we were going to have to get used to the idea.

For better or worse.

For richer or poorer.

Lunch was all but over when Mrs T looked across at me in a serious way and said she would like a word with me in her sitting-room. This sounded like bad news. What did she know? It was a worry.....

.....and (as it turned out) I was right to be worried

'You had someone stay with you last night didn't you Tim?' she said, adding 'there's no point in denying it because I saw them leaving this morning.....who was it?'

'Well, er...it was my friend Steve' I said.....'from Farnborough' She was clearly not at all happy with me.

'So not content with nearly setting fire to the kitchen last night you had to have one of your friends stay overnight as well'

'Mmmmm' I replied, trying to look both innocent and contrite at the same time....not easy.

'Well' she said....'I'm going to report this to Head Office and you can explain yourself to them...'

'Er, the thing is.....' I countered.

Mrs T wasn't having any of it.....

'Look' she said.....'I need to go out now so I haven't got time to listen to any excuses....you know the rules about visitors and, from what I can see, have flagrantly disobeyed them.....I'm going to be late if I don't go now...you can explain all this to Mr Hughes tomorrow, goodbye' And was gone.

There seemed to be no doubt about it....

.....I was well and truly in the brown stuff!

*

The other guys showed genuine concern when I told them what had happened and various theories were put forward as to what the outcome would be. The general feeling was that the least that could happen was that I would be summoned to see my old friend Mr Hughes who would tell me what a naughty boy I'd been and send me away with a flea in my ear. Worse case scenario was that I would be banished from the Hostel in the same way as Clive had been and would have to find alternative accommodation. The jury of four was hung (2 for/2 against).....but not necessarily well hung.

Best advice was to admit I'd been a fool and throw myself on Mr Hughes mercy...after all it wasn't like I'd actually _succeeded_ in burning the place down and Steve's presence wasn't really that big a deal. We all mulled over the possibilities and banishment to a remote part of the realm (like Neasden or Harlsden) was certainly one of them. Throughout all the deliberations I couldn't help noticing that Laurie looked strangely thoughtful and I felt that there was something he wanted to say but couldn't. Maybe it was something that he didn't feel he could say in front of the others. At any rate we came to the conclusion that worrying wasn't going to help matters and the afternoon weather was far too good to stay inside. Someone suggested we head for Battersea Funfair....so we did.

Now let's talk about Battersea. For years it was famous for three things:

1. It's Power Station (now disused but still there in shell form).

2. It's permanent Funfair (this _has_ gone).

3. And it's Dog's Home (still there...but should be relocated to Barking, surely?).

A fairly unique combination, I think (although I don't think it's possible to be _fairly_ unique?).

Anyhow, the Funfair turned out to be an interesting choice - not least because, among all the other attractions, there was something called a Crazy House. Now as a rule I wouldn't be drawn towards houses of any sort if they deliberately set out to be crazy....I mean if a house is naturally crazy then fair enough but there's something a bit too contrived about deliberate craziness.....does that make sense?

No, I thought not.

It's like crazy paving.....I can't see anything particularly crazy about it....can you? Surely it's just a load of irregular shaped stones set in cement. There's nothing intrinsically insane about it is there?

Still Gordon convinced me it would be fun so we went inside. It was dark in there and our eyes took a while to get used to the gloom. As we picked our way through we became aware that we were in close proximity to a couple of young girls. They were giggling a bit and didn't seem to be in any hurry to move. Could it be that they were hanging around in the hope of sexual encounters?

Well yes, it would appear that they were.

We didn't mind.....we hadn't a clue what they looked like but before long we certainly found out what they felt like!

'Tim, is that you I'm touching?' said Gordon.

Much giggling.

'Oh yes' I replied...'don't stop....it feels lovely'

More giggling.

This went on for a few minutes. I felt a right tit I can tell you....and a left one.

We may not have got a ride (if you catch the drift) on that particular attraction but let's just say it was well worth the price of admission.

The other guys went through the same house a bit later but, sadly for them, the girls we'd met weren't there. They doubted our word and told us we'd made the whole thing up.

\- But you know me and Gordon knew what had happened.

\- The two girls knew what had happened.

\- And I think the little house knew something as well.

(Apologies to younger readers who probably won't get the last reference - it won't help if I mention Bill and Ben either will it?.....no, I thought not)

*

Later that same night. In bed.

'This has been an interesting weekend. I've asked a girl out and had a positive response. I've been to a good gig and managed to feel a boob or two. People told me that Battersea Funfair has it's knockers before I went there but I didn't know that's what they meant. Talking about keeping abreast of things, I heard Leeds beat Man U 1-0 away at Old Trafford on Saturday so my cup should truly be runnething over. I mean beating one of your main rivals on day one of the season is fantastic.... so why do I not feel like celebrating?

Could it have something to do with fear of being given the boot? Well yes it _has_ actually.

I have the distinct feeling of dread about tomorrow. This weekend may turn out to be my last good memory of staying with the others in Ladbroke Grove.

Let's hope I'm wrong'

*

Monday 17th August

Monday morning found me in a state of some anxiety. The 'incident' had still not been discussed with Mrs T and it was like I was walking around with a black cloud hanging permanently over my head. At work I was on tenterhooks knowing that I'd almost certainly have to make the long journey to Waterloo Road at some stage.

Maybe it would prove to be _my_ Waterloo.

At around Eleven I was proved correct. Mr Paul summoned me to his office and told me I needed to be at Head Office for two in the afternoon for an interview.

What was I going to say?

What excuse would I have?

'Maybe if I put forward a tale of woe I might get away with it' I thought......

'Maybe I could say that Steve missed his last train back to Farnborough and had nowhere to go. I mean what sort of friend would I have been if I'd let him sleep on a park bench?' Okay, I was going to lie through my teeth....but you have to realise that the truth can be very hard to take for some people.

It's heady stuff and needs to be used sparingly.

They say the truth hurts and I genuinely didn't want to hurt anyone....least of all _me._

I figured that if I was as economical with it as possible I might just about get away with my flagrant breach of Hostel rules. If not there was the very real possibility of sleeping on Clive's couch before the week was up....not a happy thought.

A case of sofa not so good.

As I walked down Waterloo Road towards the marbled edifice that was David Black's head office I was thinking about my first day with the company. That was only five short weeks ago. It had been, without doubt, the best five weeks of my life. I thought about all the doubts and fears I'd had when I arrived and all the ups and downs I'd experienced since. London was all I'd hoped it would be and I wanted more. A strange sensation started happening....I was starting to get angry. I resolved that if I was kicked out of the hostel I was going to tell Mr Hughes where he could shove his job.

Guess where? (answers on a postcard)

I would walk out of his office with dignity having refused to be made to feel as though I'd committed some sort of sin.

'After all' I thought....'when all's said and done what have I done wrong anyway?....I've just broken some stupid, petty rule, that's all'

As I got nearer and nearer head office my attitude was hardening fast.

It was one of no compromise.

If David Black wanted the use of my precious services they would have to back down and realise that I was completely right to let my friend stay the night.

It was what anyone would have done.

As I reached the door of Mr Hughes office I felt ready for confrontation.

'Right, Hughes' I thought.....'do your worst.....you're dealing with an Addams now and you'd better be prepared to do some bloody tough talking'

I was so hyped-up I was frightening _myself_.

He'd have no chance.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

'You can go in now' the receptionist said. I took a deep breath and walked in the room. There, sitting behind the desk where Mr Hughes should have been, was Ted.

'Hello Tim, come in and sit down' he said, in a far more welcoming tone than I'd steeled myself to expect.

'Thanks' I replied. Seeing Ted instead of Mr Hughes took any aggression I might have been harbouring completely out of the equation.

'I expect you thought you were seeing Mr Hughes....well he's not here today and I've been asked to see you instead....I hear you've been rather naughty' said Ted, in a businesslike fashion, adding.....'what's your version of events?'

A dilemma then. Ted was a friend....someone I felt I could confide-in....but was it appropriate in this case to come clean and tell him the truth?

No, definitely not.

'Well it was like this' I said....'Steve, who's my best friend from Farnborough, came up to London to see a concert with me and missed his last train home.....what could I do? I couldn't ask him to sleep out in the cold somewhere could I? Not when there's a perfectly good bed he could sleep in.....that wouldn't be acting like a true friend now would it?.....you could see my position, surely?'

Ted nodded all the while.

'Yes I can see that you had to do something for your friend' he said, and started laughing.

'What's so funny?' I asked.

'Well' he said....'at first Mrs T thought your friend might have been someone you'd picked up for the night'

'Really?' I said, eyes widened in surprise.....'bloody hell.....so she thought it might have been some sort of sexual liason'

'Yes...well she said she only caught a glimpse of the person and that she couldn't tell for certain whether it was male or female' Now it was my turn to smile.....

'I'll tell Steve what you all thought'

'Well, no offence intended' said Ted, polite as ever.

I presumed that my explanation had answered all his questions satisfactorily so couldn't really see why I should be delayed any longer.

'So is that all you wanted to know?' I asked, making as if to leave.

'Well not quite' said Ted.....'you might have noticed that I said 'at first' just now when I mentioned Mrs T spotting you leaving. After Steve left she remembered hearing a conversation you had on the phone the other day.....she remembered you talking in a low voice, saying something about her being a stickler and that you were sure it was against the rules....come on Tim you can tell me.....you arranged for Steve to stay overnight in the Hostel didn't you?'

This was a bit more serious....could I feel free to tell the truth?

'Will I be required to leave the hostel if I say _yes_ ' I asked.

'No' said Ted, without explaining why not.

I was puzzled. I'd been summoned all the way over from the other side of London to a meeting with someone who was more like a friend than an inquisitor and, even if I admitted my 'crime', I wasn't going to be given my marching orders...interesting.

'Okay I'll say _yes_ then.....now what happens?'

I was intrigued.

'Well, I've got to officially tell you that what you did was wrong and you must never, ever, do anything similar again or we _will_ be obliged to ask you to leave.....'

His expression then softened considerably.

'...that's the bit I had to say.....now, perhaps we can now have a chat that's, shall we say, off the record?'

We could indeed. Ted was adopting a suitably conspiratorial tone and looked like there was something he was dying to tell me....I couldn't wait to hear it.

'I want to tell you what someone has told me in confidence' he said...'if I do will you promise to keep it to yourself and not go blabbing to everyone in sight?'

'Of course' I said.

'Well, I got a call earlier today from Laurie' he said....'he told me something about Mrs T which makes it virtually impossible to punish someone like you for breaking Hostel rules...it would be hypocritical.....'

'Go on' I said (cos I hated the thought of Hippos being criticised).

'...in short, he told me that he has been sleeping with Mrs T on and off (bad choice of phrase) for the last couple of weeks.....he said that he only told me because he didn't want to see you given the boot in the same way that Clive was.....he said he'd already decided to find alternative accommodation himself even before he knew you were coming here today.....you're very lucky.....I'd say that he's acted very selflessly by telling me, after all he didn't have to'

To say I was stunned would be a massive understatement. It _did_ explain a lot though and I remembered what Gordon had told me on my first day about Laurie and Mrs T being quite close.

'What'll happen about Mrs T.....will she be sacked?' I asked, with real concern (after all, Mrs T _was_ a pretty good cook....no selfish attitude there, then).

'I don't know at this stage' said Ted.....'this is just between me and you. Laurie didn't know that I was going to be doing this interview when he called me, he just thought that I might be able to influence things a bit. I'm going to say that you gave a satisfactory explanation of events over the weekend and that no further action will be taken. I think I may have to visit the hostel and put Laurie's allegation to Mrs T face to face rather than on the phone. I suppose it is possible that _she_ may be the one who's asked to leave in due course'

This was all a strange turn of events. One minute I was in danger and now things had reversed and the accuser had become the accused.

'I don't think she should be sacked' I said....'we all make mistakes..... couldn't you just keep what Laurie said to yourself?'

'I don't know' said Ted, adding.....'I must say you're very forgiving.... considering she was very quick to 'shop' _you_ '

Of course what he said was true but I still felt that any woman alone would have to be tempted by a younger bloke's interest in her.....it could happen to anyone.

'What shall I say when I get back?' I asked, after all Mrs T would expect some kind of action to have resulted from this meeting (like me packing my bags for example).

'Just say that you saw me and that I'll be contacting her in due course, if she asks' he replied.

So that was it.....interrogation over.

The rest of the interview went brilliantly with Ted praising me for the way I'd come through my 'Trial by 25' and outlining a future where he felt it was quite feasible I'd become a shop manager at some stage as long as progress was maintained.

Things were looking good.

He left me with the idea that I was very much wanted by the company.....which was quite a turn-up considering I'd gone to Head Office thinking I might be fired. As the meeting concluded and I made as if to leave we shook hands in the doorway.

'You're a lucky bugger you know, Tim' he said, with a grin.....'I think if you fell into a sewer you'd come out smelling of roses'

I couldn't really disagree could I?

I had to go straight back to work after my interview so I got home at the usual time at around sixish. Mrs T was busy in the kitchen when I arrived so I was pretty much forced to speak to her.

'Hello, Tim' she said, breezily.....'how did it go today at Head Office?....I understand that you saw Ted, is that right?'

This was exactly how I'd imagined she would act from the first moment I met her. My instincts had been right. Stab you in the back and smile to your face.

'Yes I did.....' I said.

I thought I'd lay it on a bit thick and certainly not mention what I was told in confidence.

'.....he was very strict and said he was disappointed in me. He said I was on my last chance and if there was any repetition of Saturday night I'd be asked to leave the hostel'

She seemed satisfied with this. I'd obviously been taken to task. 'Well you can see the company's point of view, can't you?' she said.....'we can't have people coming in here willy nilly.....'

I was pretty sure that Steve did have a willy but decided not to point this out.....

'.....this isn't a guest house.....what if there was a fire, no-one would have know there was an extra person in the building would they?'

I nodded like one of those loose-headed dogs you see in the back of cars.

'.....the rule about guests was put in place for this sort of reason.... not just to spoil your fun'

'Okay, fair enough' I said (hoping to end the conversation).....'I hadn't thought of all that.....I won't do it again'

'Alright' she said (attitude softening a bit).....'I'm sorry I had to get you into trouble....work going okay at the moment is it?'

'Fine' I replied, and we chatted about this and that.

Obviously I'd have loved to reveal what I knew but I'd given Ted my word, as an officer and a gentleman, that I wouldn't.

I really wanted to speak to Laurie first anyway and find out if what he'd told Ted was true. Personally I had great difficulty getting my head round the mental picture of him and Mrs T doing the deed..... especially when he had much younger admirers like Suzie available. Surely he'd made it all up as the truth (if it _was_ true) was too horrible to contemplate.

Now that we were friends again (in theory) Mrs T pointed out that the hostel would be closed the next weekend and wanted to just make sure I was aware of it. This hostel closing lark was beginning to be a nuisance. I was a bit peeved.....after all how was I supposed to become part of the London scene if I had to keep going home all the time?

They hadn't mentioned this when I was interviewed.

'Will you be going back to Farnborough?' she asked.

'Well' I said....'I've heard that The Savoy is fully booked so I suppose I'll have to'

Mrs T was unmoved by this attempt at sarcastic humour.

'So I expect you'll be seeing your friend again, then' she ventured. 'Which friend is that?' I asked.

She turned and looked hard at me

'Tim, I think we both know which friend I'm referring to.....don't we?'

A definite case of 'Don't get smart with _me_ young man'.

'Er....oh that one.....yes, well....probably' I answered, somewhat unnerved.

She turned back to what she was doing.

'Well, when you do, you _will_ tell him not to ask to stay again, won't you?' she said whilst smiling sweetly.

'Yes....okay' I answered, through gritted teeth.

What I really wanted to say was 'I know more than you think Mrs 'Holier-than-thou'and before long _you_ might be the one having to answer some awkward questions'

Me, bitter?.....never.

We left it at that and, after exchanging a few more brief pleasantries, I went off in a roomward direction.

I wanted to do two things later on :

a) Speak to Laurie, and b) Phone Marlene.

.....both would make me nervy but couldn't be put off until another time. First I'd go and have one of my lie downs.....it was proving to be a taxing day.

*

Much later on....

'It's just gone eleven and I'm going to turn the light out soon but I just thought I'd update you on what happened earlier on tonight. I crept upstairs and got on the phone soon after we'd all finished eating. I called Marlene's number and got her mother on the line. She was a real nosy sod and kept asking me questions.....totally unreasonable ones, like 'Who are you? How do you know my daughter?....stuff like that.

After satisfying her that I really _did_ know her daughter (and wasn't just some sort of bad-ass, evil-hearted, virginity-stealing, devil-from-hell, potential heartbreaker) she called for Marlene to come to the phone.

'Hello Tim' she said, a trifle nervously.

'Hi' I said, in a low-ish tone of voice....'is your mum still there?' 'Yes' she said.

'Er, she seems very nice' I said, a bit louder, hoping she (her mum) could hear me.

Marlene laughed like she knew what I was up to and I thought 'This girl's on my wavelength'.

We had a nice little chat which resulted in me being asked over to her house on Wednesday night. She gave me her address and directions so no problem there.....I'm really excited. Don't get me wrong, though, her parents will be there as well. No doubt I'll be put under close scrutiny. I suppose you can't blame them, she is quite young.....I'm gonna have to be charm personified aren't I?

Also, earlier on, I got a chance to speak to Laurie and find out a bit more about the stuff Ted told me about. He said that what he'd told Ted was true and had happened first on the night of Mrs T's party. He told me they'd stayed up late and what with the drink and everything one thing led to another and they'd ended up in bed together. I asked if they'd done it since.....which was a bit cheeky really....and he said they had.

'Bloody hell' I thought.....'rather you than me!'

A touch uncharitable I suppose....but there you go. I mean I'm not being nasty but, quite frankly, there's not enough drink in the world that would induce me to get into bed with Mrs T, and it's not all down to looks.....I've never really felt comfortable with her.....I don't know why, I suppose it's just an instinct....I'm sure you know what I'm saying.

I don't think Laurie really fancies her much either if the truth be told......he obviously can't be that bothered or he wouldn't have told Ted. Naturally I asked him why he _did_ tell Ted....after all he could have just said nothing and waited to see whether I got away with what I'd done. He said he couldn't stand the hypocrisy of someone who could break rules themselves and then shop others who did likewise. I said that Mrs T wasn't going to be happy when she found out that he'd dropped her in it. He said he didn't care and was planning to find himself a flat somewhere as soon as he could and leave the hostel anyway. I asked him to bear me in mind as a possible sharer when he did. I can afford it if the deejaying goes well and I can think of loads of advantages of not living in a firm's hostel.....like being able to have visitors, for example. Laurie said that he _would indeed_ keep me in mind as a potential flatmate. It would be great, wouldn't it?....I'd really feel like I was a proper Londoner then.

While we were chatting, it was a bit cheeky, but I asked him if he'd been seeing Suzie at all....other than at work, obviously....and in the new spirit of honesty he admitted that he _had_ been out with her, but added that nothing much had happened. He reckoned that they both got a bit over-excited when they were snogging in his car but didn't actually do the deed.

I must say I couldn't really understand that. On the one hand he has a shag with a hag....and on the other spurns the chance to do it with someone much younger, like Suzie.

...in this case, of course, it wasn't someone _like_ Suzie....it _was_ Suzie.

He reckoned he didn't have any rubbery things and was worried about getting her pregnant.....well, as you know, you wouldn't catch me or Steve worrying about trivial stuff like that. 'Sow the seed and then pray for crop failure' would be a fair summing-up of our attitude.

Anyhow he said that seed _had_ been spilt but.....like in the bible..... nowhere where it might've come into contact with an egg.

Luckily his upholstery is wipe-clean!

I'm glad that me and Laurie had our chat.....I think that what he did for me was fantastic and showed true friendship. He's now gained a place in my private Hall of Fame along with such notables as Billy Bremner, Jimmy Greaves, All four Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Diana Rigg, Morecombe and Wise, and the brave handful of Englishmen who saw off all those Zulus at Rorkes Drift. Class company I think you'll agree.

Well, I'm going to turn the light out in a minute but, before I do, I'm going to do something that's become a bit of a bedtime ritual.....no, not _that_......how dare you!

What I'm referring to is that most nights, before I go to sleep, I put on the last track from Arlo Guthrie's _Running Down the Road_ album. It's called _Oh in the morning_ and seems to be the perfect record to end the day with.

Listen to the words and you'll see what I mean.

I'll just put it on now. Goodnight'

*

Oh, in the morning

Feel like the sun

Coming up on daytime

Shine on everyone

Coming up on darkness

Warm me in your arms

Let me know another lonely night

Has come and gone

*

O, happy river flowing

Gently unto me

Softly bring me music

Listen to you sing

Swiftly running, river flowing

We'll at last be free

*

Oh, happy waterwheel

Roll gently over me

Oh, in the evening

Feel alone at last

All the things the daytime brings Roll gently in the past

There is nothing left to see

Except the stars and moon

To let me know another lonely day Is coming soon

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Tuesday August 18th. Morning. Prep room at 25.

'You jammy bastard' shouted Clive when I told him that I'd been let off with just a warning the previous day.....'if I ever meet that bloody woman ever again I'll tell her a few things she won't want to hear..... and you're fucking lucky not to be given the boot like me and Dave were'

He went on in similar vein for several minutes.

And this was even without mentioning the bit that Ted had asked me to keep confidential. When Clive calmed down (slightly) I asked him the question I'd asked a while ago without receiving an answer.

'Clive what _were_ you booted out of the hostel for anyway.....what exactly _was_ your crime?'

Clive thought for a minute. Should he own up to whatever heinous offence he'd been guilty of?

After a short pause he'd come to a decision.

'Promise you won't say anything to Janet' he said in hushed tones. 'Of course I won't' I agreed.

'Well, what it was...' Clive broke off and looked around to make sure no-one else was listening.....'we had quite a few porno magazines in our room and somehow Mrs T managed to find out about them. She told us she didn't want anyone in the hostel who looked at that kind of thing..... _we_ didn't get any warnings like you've been given. We were told to find other accommodation and given time off work to go and look for it.....bloody unfair I call it'

You could see his point. I wasn't told about any 'no pornography' rule when I turned up on my first day at the hostel. Having said that I reckoned there was a bit more to it than just a naughty magazine or two 'What sort of pornography was it?...you haven't still got it have you?' I asked, with possibly a shade too much eagerness.

'Yeah, we've still got quite a bit' he said, adding 'it's pretty tame stuff really....no animals involved or anything like that'

'Other than beavers and pussies, I suppose?' I said, with a smirk.

Clive was smiling.....and that didn't happen every day.

'So' I ventured.....'you keep this treasure-trove well hidden when Janet comes to visit then, do you?'

'Yeah...well I don't want her to get the idea that I'm some sort of fucking sex maniac do I?' he said.

'I suppose not' I said.....then a thought occurred.....'you don't think she'd be interested then?'

'Don't know.....I haven't known her all that long have I?' he replied.

We went on to discuss whether women get as turned on as men by graphic images of sex and decided they probably didn't. We came to this sad conclusion due to the weight of evidence which suggests the pornography industry is aimed, almost exclusively, at us blokes.

'Clive' I said...'you don't think that women have their own version of pornography do you.....you know, stuff that turns them on, visually.....magazines?'

'What, with centre folds of naked blokes with huge knobs?...no I don't think so' he said.....'I reckon we'd know about them if they were out there'

'Are we talking about the magazines.....or the blokes with big knobs?' I asked.

'The magazines you twat' he answered.

I couldn't resist stirring him up a bit.

'You sound confident' I said, in jocular tone.....'you haven't tried looking for any I suppose?'

'No, I fuckin haven't' he snapped, in irritated tone.

'Fair enough' I said...'so are there no naked men with huge knobs in any of the magazines _you've_ got, then?'

I was pushing my luck a bit.

'Well there is...but I don't look at _them'_ he said, his voice rising all the while...'I'm looking at the women....I'm not a fuckin queer'

'Okay I believe you....keep your hair on' I said, in placatory mode...'no-one said you were'

'And they'd better not' he said....and disappeared into the bacon fridge.

It seemed like our 'enlightened discussion' had drawn to a close.

Over forty years later there still doesn't seem to be any real photographic pornography, as such, for girls but you notice they're the ones who go to Ann Summers parties and pore over the latest ranges of sex toys. Us guys never seem to be invited.

Could it be that time has stood still for us but moved on apace for womankind?

Their magazines are now full of articles like 'Improve your Orgasm' or 'Get the Sex You Deserve'. Could it be that women have always been a lot more interested in sex than us blokes ever realised?

I can't believe they've suddenly morphed from shrinking violets into rampantly sexual beings. Surely they were the same all along but hitherto inhibited by society's pressure on them to appear (outwardly, at any rate) lady-like.

I don't think women worry too much about how they're perceived these days do they? Time has evened things up and nowadays girls can get as raunchy and 'in yer face' as they like. They go binge drinking, buy dildos at parties (as noted above), have hen nights with male strippers and read sexy novels that are specifically targeted at the female libido.

Us blokes have got to face it, things have changed. Sisters are doing it for themselves and if we're not up to scratch we can be replaced. There's no point asking the question 'Was it good for you?' after sex these days.....girls will make it quite clear if they're not happy.

And the Rampant Rabbit may well be there, ready to take over.

*

Wednesday 19th August. A.M. My bedroom.

It was my morning off and I was enjoying a nice lie in (well you wouldn't have expected anything less would you?). In fact I was just thinking how nice it was to have it off (Ooo Matron) when there was a tap at the door.

'Come in' I said, wondering who could want to disturb me at the ridiculously early time of around ten thirty.

It was Tanya. She seemed a bit embarrassed to have come into my boudoir.

'Sorry to be a nuisance' she said.....'I know I shouldn't come in while you're here but I have something to tell you'

'Omigod!' I thought....' _something to tell me_ '.....the words 'patter'

and 'tiny feet' leapt to mind.

'Of course' I said, fearing the worst.

Tanya sat down on the side of the bed and composed herself.

I could feel myself shaking a little.

'Is there a problem?' I offered.

'No' she said...'I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed being with you last week....I don't blame you if you don't want to see me again.....I know it makes it difficult what with me being married and everyfing....'

She wasn't looking directly at me but I could see there were tears in her eyes.

'...I can't stay very long cos Mrs T told me not to do your room as you were sleeping in.....I just wanted you to know that I'm trying to find somewhere to stay and when I do I'm gonna leave my no-good bastard of an 'usband.....it's not because of you.....it's somfin I've been meaning to do for a long time'

I didn't know what to say.

She continued 'Of course if I leave him I won't be able to do this job any more cos he's bound to come looking for me.....he's very possessive and he has a very bad temper'

'Now she tells me' I thought.

'He doesn't know about us...does he?' I asked....cowardly to the last.

'No, he doesn't suspect anyfing' she said, smiling for the first time. 'Will you be okay....what with having to give up working here?' I asked.

'Oh yeah, this is only part-time and I've got other work that I do' she replied.

'Good' I said.

There didn't seem a lot more I could add, having already made my mind up not to get any further involved.

'I'd better go now' she said....'I might see you around'

'Maybe at the Pig and Whistle' I said.

She nodded, got up and moved towards the door. My feelings were strangely mixed. Part of me thought 'Let her go, she's trouble' but another wanted to put protective arms around her and make her stay.

She opened the door, turned and whispered 'Bye, then'...and was gone.

She did leave the hostel shortly after and I never saw her again.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Wednesday evening.

I arrived at Marlene's house at around eight with nerve endings that must have been practically visible. She met me at the door and I was ushered into the front room of the unassuming terrace house tucked away just round the corner from Queens Park Rangers ground at Loftus Road. I was sat down on a sofa and tea was called for. The room we were sitting in was probably very similar to front parlours in houses all over London but this one differed in one small but highly significant way.... it was decorated with photos and various memorabilia of my beloved Leeds United. I couldn't believe it. There were photos of the team (old and current) and individuals like Billy Bremner, Jack Charlton and John Charles. There were also rosettes, scarves, and a framed 1965 F.A Cup Final programme....someone in the house was a bigtime Leeds fan.

I realised there were two possible outcomes if I mentioned that I too followed Don Revie's men:

1. It could boost my status as a possible suitor.....sharing as I obviously did a family member's passion. Or

2. It could ruin my status as a possible suitor......by making it look as though I was making a pitiful attempt at trying to ingratiate myself.

On balance I deemed it worth the risk seeing as though it seemed like a heaven-sent conversation opener.

I decided that Marlene's Dad was probably the one to address.... all the other members M's family being female. Okay call me a male chauvinist pig if you will, but that's the way I saw it (Actually there doesn't seem to be any such thing as a _female_ chauvinist pig does there?).

'I see someone here likes Leeds United as well' I said, confidently looking in his direction.

Not a flicker.

'You know, the football' I persisted, and glanced towards the Leeds 'collection'.

'Oh I see' he said.....'no, don't look at me....it's 'er over there you wanna talk to about all that', and nodded at his wife.

Marlene's Mum was just entering the room laden with tea and biscuits....

'Ay, ah've followed 'em all my life' she said in a broad Yorkshire accent.

It was funny but I hadn't picked up on it when we spoke on the phone.

'You come from Leeds then, do you Mrs Cooper?' I asked.

'I certainly do' she said....'and you follow 'em as well do you?'

'I certainly do' I said, smiling.

Well, who would have thought it? We had plenty to talk about. It turned out that when Marlene's mum was young her father used to take her to watch football at Elland Road regularly, along with her older brother. She said her first home game was on Boxing Day 1948 v West Ham....

'We lost 3-1 but after that I'd badger me Dad to take me every time he went.....it were funny because I 'ad two brothers and neither of 'em liked football. Dad used to say I were more like a boy than a girl'

She mentioned some of the players who were in the team around this sort of time but I hadn't really heard of any of them.

'I see you've got a photo of John Charles....what was he like?' I asked.

'He were a legend' she replied....'you name it, he could do it. If you wanted goals he could get 'em or if you wanted a brilliant centre 'alf he could do that an' all.....he were fantastic'

'So he would've fitted in well with the current team then, would he?' I asked.

'Too damn right he would' she said...'any sugar Tim?'

I felt things were going well and decided to ask how the two of them had met....her being from Yorkshire and him a Londoner. M's Dad answered.....

'I was in the army doing national service after the war....'

'....aye, Derek were stationed near Leeds and we met at a dance one night.....I suppose the rest, as they say, is history' she said, finishing off his sentence.

It's quite cute when couples do that isn't it....sort of hints at the cosy relationship they have.

'Do you go still go to any games these days, Mrs Cooper?' I asked. 'It's Jean' she said.....'and aye.....when the lads play at Arsenal, Chelsea, West Ham, Spurs.....'

'.....and Queens Park Rangers' I added.

'Well, not so much them' she said.....'they're not usually in our league'

'Ere watch it.....we've got some bloody good local players you know' said Derek, obviously feeling the good name of QPR was being insulted.

'Aha' I thought.....'chance to get on the right side of Dad as well' 'Yeah' I said, by way of back up.....'that Rodney Marsh.....he's brilliant.....ought to play for England'

'Too bloody right' said M's Dad and, turning to his wife,....'this lad knows a good player when he sees one'

I felt like I'd made a decent first impression. It seemed like football was great for getting to know M's family and even her younger sister laughed when I told them all my 'ticket-for-the-wrong-end' story about the 1968 League Cup Final. They asked about my background (which I filled them in on) and then came the inevitable question.....

'What made you want to follow Leeds?' asked Jean.

I attempted to explain.....

'I don't really know exactly what it was that attracted me to them..... maybe it was the fact that they were a young team, mostly English.....I liked the all-white strip, it reminded me of Real Madrid.....I'd really only _just_ got into playing the game myself....I'd have been about twelve.....I loved it when I saw them on 'Match of the Day'.....I suppose some of it was the fact that everyone I knew hated them and the way they played.....maybe it was the rebel in me coming out.....

(Pause for thought)

Anyhow, I was thrilled when they got to the Cup Final in '65 and then really upset when they lost.....what can I say?.....they became my team...and I know they always will be'

It had gone very quiet. They were all listening intently.

M's Mum broke the silence...

'I went to the 1965 Cup Final...and the one _you_ went to in 1968' she said.

'Funny....I can't remember seeing _you_ there' I said

They all looked at each other and then burst out laughing.....it was great. I was starting to feel at home.

I kept shooting glances at Marlene, who hadn't been saying very much. Of course she was listening intently and was, no doubt, learning more about me as the evening unfolded. I don't think she was particularly interested in football but smiled in all the right places. She seemed pleased that I'd been able to have a conversation with her parents even if the subject was not exactly as dear to _her_ heart as it was ours.

After a while Derek asked me what I did and, more pertinently, what did I _want_ to do (not with his daughter, obviously).

It was the old 'What are your prospects, young man?' question.

'Well, I must say I don't really know what my ultimate ambition is' I said....'and seeing as I've only been in London for around six weeks it's hard to tell how things might pan out'

I went on to mention some of the things that had happened to me in the time I'd been living and working in the big city. Naturally I left out stuff like losing my cherry and only talked about things that might boost my status as a potential boyfriend....like how I was doing brilliantly as a trainee manager and, of course, my job as a deejay at The Castle in Richmond. This last bit of information seemed to fire the imagination of Marlene and her sister.

'A deejay did you say?' gasped Marlene, scarcely able to believe what I'd said.

'Yeah.....why don't you come with us on Friday when we do our next gig?' I asked.

Not 'first gig' you notice....'next gig'.

Marlene looked thrilled. I don't suppose she'd ever imagined I was _that_ interesting. She turned to her father with big eyes and the kind of imploring look that's hard to turn down. You know the one.

'Is it alright Dad....can I go?' she asked.

Derek looked at me seriously and I instinctively felt a certain amount of reassurance was being called-for.

'Don't worry, I'll see she's okay.....we won't be back too late' I said, hoping to put his mind at rest.

'She's only just sixteen you know' added Jean.

I _did_ know.

'I don't want her coming in at some ridiculous time....for one thing we're going on holiday on the Saturday.....just how late are we talking?' asked Dad.

'Well we have to do from 9 until about 11:30....so we could bring Marlene back by about 12 ish....if that's okay?' I said.

'Who's _we,_ anyway?' asked Jean.

'Me and my deejay partner, Pete.....it's his car we'll be going in' I replied.

I reckoned that Pete wouldn't mind this as it wasn't out of our way and we wouldn't want to be too late ourselves as we had to go to work the next day. I told them about Pete and I think the fact that there would be a third person involved helped to swing things in my favour. They were being protective of their daughter and I couldn't really blame them.

'Okay then lad, we trust you' said M's mum, smiling....'ah reckon anyone who supports Leeds must be all right'

I just nodded.....it seemed I had a date.

Later when we were alone and saying goodnight on her doorstep Marlene asked me about the gig.

'This castle in Richmond' she asked.....'who lives there...is it anyone famous?'

'No' I said....'it's just a large discotheque'

'Oh....so not an actual castle then?' said M, sounding a touch disappointed.

'No' I said......'there's no moat, no drawbridge and no portcullis...

but you could find that there's a knight in shining armour there who wants to sweep you off your feet'

She looked at me and then burst out laughing.

'That's the corniest thing I've ever heard' she said.

'I thought it sounded quite romantic' I said, affecting a slightly-hurt air....'don't you girls like that sort of thing?'

'Not really' she said....'most of us prefer action to words'

'Okay then...here's some action' I said, pulling her towards me, gently, and kissing her.

(Imagine violins at this point)

We broke apart after what seemed like quite a while and M looked at me a touch quizzically.

'How did you know that _that_ was the sort of action I meant?' she said.

'I just guessed' I replied, looking for signs of approval.

She smiled and pulled me in once more.

'Well' she said....'you're a good guesser then.'

*

When I got in later on the guys were sat round the kitchen table having a late-night cup of coffee (not quite as good as nightly whore- licks). It transpired that Laurie's car was not going too well and urgently needed attention.

'Feeling strong are we Tim?' he asked, looking my way.

'Why...do I need to be then?' I countered.

It would've been a first if I _had_ been.

'It would help' he said....'cos I'm looking for volunteers to take my engine out and bring it in here tomorrow night.....these three said they'd do it'

He pointed to the others, who nodded.

I have to say I didn't like the sound of this. Further enquiries were necessary.

'You say we need to lift your engine out of the car....but engines are really heavy objects aren't they? I asked.

'Not all that heavy' said Laurie....'the four of us ought to be able to manage to do it'

'And when we've got the engine out where's it going after that?' I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

'Well you know that big room at the back on the top floor where Pete stores his disco stuff.....'

'Yes'

'.....up there'

'Omigod!' I thought.

So our task was clear. We would remove the engine from his 1100-size car which was parked round the corner, carry it maybe 70 or 80

yards to the hostel and then lift it three flights of stairs up to the top floor of the building. Laurie would then work on the engine up there until it was fixed and then we would go through the whole procedure in reverse. To me it seemed like the sort of task Hercules might have had second thoughts about.

'You don't think it would be easier just to take it to a garage then?' I asked (more in hope than expectation).

'No' said Laurie....'do you know what garages charge to remove an engine and fix it?'

I had to admit that I didn't....not being a car owner.

Laurie assured me it was considerable (I think 'fucking fortune'

were his exact words).

'So are you fit for tomorrow night then?' he asked, daring me to say 'No'.

My mind searched for excuses why I couldn't. Maybe I could say I had a bad back.

'I'll probably end up with one if I attempt what he's asking' I thought.

'What about Mrs T?' I said...

'She's not going to be doing any lifting' interjected Laurie.

'No, I wasn't going to suggest that' I said.....'surely she can't be happy about all this.....there could be oil and grease everywhere....have you asked her if all this is okay?'

As you can tell I was clutching at any available straw.

Laurie had no doubts.....

'Yeah, she said it's okay.....so it's settled then....we'll do it after tea tomorrow....alright'

'Alright' I said (with a big sigh)....'see you then'.

I left the room resigned to my fate.

All resistance had been broken and a future filled with lumbar distress beckoned.

*

11:30. In bed.

'I just thought I'd have a quick word before turning out the light. Tonight went really well.....I still can't believe that M's Mum turned out to be a Leeds fan. You wouldn't believe it if you read it in a book would you? I'm still chuckling about it now.

I also have to say that I'm really keen on Marlene and the signs are good that the feeling's mutual. Friday's going to be fun I think.

On the debit side....I have to say I'm not looking forward to trying to manhandle this engine tomorrow. Maybe I'll get lucky and someone'll nick Laurie's car between now and then.

No, that's not gonna happen is it?.....I couldn't be that lucky.

I'll be the one whose toe the engine lands on when everyone else drops it. Or maybe I'll be the one left holding it when it falls down the stairs.

Oh God.....I'm not gonna think about it anymore.....I'm going to put the radio on for half an hour....hopefully it'll be John Peel or Pete Drummond.

Wish me luck for tomorrow.

Goodnight'

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Thursday 20th August. Early evening. Under the Westway flyover.

So there we all were...gathered around Laurie's car. The bonnet was up and at any moment we were going to be expected to lift the engine out, without the aid of a crane (or, indeed, any other long-beaked bird). It was like taking part in a sort of automotive heart transplant....one that would leave the car bereft of it's main organ. The only consolation for Laurie would be that, in an area that was rife with car theft, at least no-one would now be able to nick his pride and joy....well, not without the aid of a towing truck, anyway.

We'd already put chains around the engine and these were attached to metal bars which, in turn, were held by us four guys in the lifting party. As it turned out Laurie wasn't one of the nominated four..... strange that. He, of course, maintained that he needed to be free to guide the engine out and was thus exempt from having to do any actual work! I felt this was a touch convenient but, as the others seemed to go along with it, who was I to argue? As it happened Laurie was underneath the car loosening nuts, bolts, and anything else that it was possible to loosen, when a voice of authority made itself heard.

'And what's going on 'ere then?' it said.

We all turned around.

It was a policeman.

He'd tried to sound stern but didn't really have a deep enough voice. He had a toothbrush moustache which wasn't much more than bum fluff and couldn't have been much older than any of us. I don't know what could have made him suspicious.

Surely it was an everyday occurrence to see a bunch of guys removing a car's engine in the street?

And surely we looked far too honest and upright to be attempting to steal a car engine in broad daylight?

He couldn't possibly have thought we were up to no good.....could he? 'I suppose one of you lads _does_ own this vehicle?' he asked, with a serious tone.

'Shit, I told you we'd never get away with it' said Gordon, adding...

.'it was his idea officer'.....whilst pointing at me.

It was just a little joke but I could see it hadn't gone down well with the bluebottle. There was no hint of a smile. Not all that surprising I suppose....as a race they aren't really known for their sense of humour, are they?

Of course this didn't phase me at all.....being naturally quickwitted and able to think on my feet I came up with a particularly smart rejoiner.....

'No it wasn't...it was his' I said, and gestured downwards.

The officer moved closer, bent down to look under the vehicle and caught sight of Laurie's legs poking out.

'Are _you_ the owner of this vehicle sir?' said the P.C, addressing the legs. 'Yes, officer' said Laurie, without moving (maybe the boots/blue trousers had given him a clue as to the occupation of his questioner). 'Can I ask you to tell me the registration number then?' persisted the man in the tall hat.

'Okay it's...er, let me think now...'

Not good so far....Plod's eyebrows were starting to go up.

' _...it's H..T..U....er,...3..4...8...F...I'm sure that's right' answered Laurie._

We held our breath while it was checked.

'Fair enough....but what make of car radio do you have?' our friendly-neighbourhood representative of law and order asked, whilst looking in through the car window.

Laurie seemed more certain of this one.

'It's a Motorola' he said, with confidence.

Our man seemed satisfied with this but was still unable to see why we wanted to take out an engine in a place where there seemed no obvious place for it go.

(Maybe we should have offered him some cash to go away....on the basis that change is as good as arrest)

'Can I ask what you're going to do with the engine when you've removed it?...I suppose you _do_ realise the car won't go without it?' he said, with a note of sarcasm, and began to smile.

We all looked at each other....probably thinking the same thing..... 'BLOODY HELL, HE'S MADE A JOKE!'

The atmosphere lightened noticeably and one or two more jocular remarks were bandied about. It seemed that our policeman friend was maybe not too serious after all and soon made the transition from inquisitor to advisor.....

'My brother's a mechanic' he said....'and he reckons that these 1100- type cars are bad news. The trouble with having the gearbox and engine all in one is that if you have a problem with the gearbox you have to take the engine apart just to get at it....it's poor design that's what it is'

'Tell me about it' said Laurie's voice from under the car....'I think the second gear cog needs replacing here'

The lawman affected a smug 'told-you-so' expression but refrained from actually saying it.

'Mmm' he said....'I'm not surprised the gears have broken, the synchromesh is poor on these.....it's not a patch on Ford's.....'

Gordon looked pleased...being the only Ford owner present.

'...and twin carbs by the look of it, do you have much trouble with _them_?' 'No, not really' was all Laurie would venture.

'Surprising' said Plod, head under the bonnet.....'my brother says they can be a nightmare'

'The standard ones are' said Laurie....'but these are Weber's....I put them in myself and haven't had any problems at all.....and, by the way, the Kestrel's a 1300'

'Fair enough' said P.

He was still in the mood to ask questions....it's in their nature isn't it? 'So you're doing all the work yourself are you?' he asked.

'Yes' said the disembodied voice from under the car.

It was a very strange conversation with the rest of us just looking on with fixed grins. When it was explained to our boy-in-blue exactly where the engine was being taken in order to get the job done he was incredulous...

'Three flights of stairs to the top floor.....with an engine.....blimey!' Then added, with a grin.....

'...well I suppose if you want to get things done it's best to go straight to the top.'

'My God' I thought...'another funny...is there no end to this man's humour?'

(No _beginning_ , more like)

After a while P.C Livingstone (Gerry to us now....he'd decided that seeing as though we seemed to be legitimate he would risk telling us his name) seemed to have decided that he'd used up his, seemingly inexhaustible, supply of wit (not to mention technical expertise) and decided, in police parlance, to move along.

'Well I'd better be off now' he said.....'sorry if I gave you a hard time earlier on.....only doing my job you know'

We half expected a salute, or possibly a Dixon-like 'Goodnight all', but got neither.

Laurie emerged from under the car, just then.....

'Oh there you are....well good luck and hope everything goes to plan' said Gerry and held out his hand.

Laurie shook it warmly.

It wasn't a good idea though. Laurie's hands were covered in oil and there was nice comedy moment as the rozzer looked down at his (somewhat blackened) mitt.

He looked at all of us in turn and we tried not to laugh....

Unsuccessfully.

'Hey, Gerry' said Gordon.....'instead of catching us red-handed it looks like _you've_ been caught black-handed'

'Yeah....can we take your fingerprints?' I asked.

(It was all becoming a bit _Gee Officer Krupke_ )

'Very funny' said the, slightly embarrassed policeman.

Laurie couldn't resist adding.....

'It look's like you're gonna have to remember to use your left hand when picking your nose, for a while'

(A bit non-PC, as remarks go)

To be fair young Gerry was entering into the spirit of all of this....

'I don't know.....some people have no respect for the law' he said, in mock-seriousness.....and departed with a cheery 'See you all again some time, maybe'

'Yeah' said Gordon and, bending both legs, added....'and er, mind how you go'

What a hoot.

*

When he'd gone I turned to the others and said....

'Well he turned out to be okay didn't he?....what a nice bloke'

The guys nodded.

'Yeah....I hope we see him around' said Malcolm.

'Yeah' said Gordon.....'I can't wait...I'll be able to hold out my hand and say _Livingstone I presume_ '

Groans all round.

I'll be honest with you and say I can't remember what difficulties, trials and tribulations we may have had to go through getting the aforesaid engine out of the car, round the corner, and up to the top of the building. They say people's memories are selective and I'm pretty sure that it's true. We only want to remember the good stuff don't we. I expect people who compete in the London Marathon only tend to remember the thrill of getting over the line....and the god-awful other stuff (i.e the previous 26 miles) probably just becomes insignificant background detail. Personally I don't know why they do it. They'll probably end up regretting it in later life when their bodies are in a mess and then they'll come round to my way of thinking.....which is that marathons are a bad idea....in the long run.

I have another good example of forgotten pain.....Childbirth. Mothers quickly tend to forget how arduous this process was when they see the cute little thing (covered in slime and blood) they've produced. Quite a lot even want to go through it again!

Luckily for us blokes when the gas and air wears off they don't readily recall how, during labour, they threatened to geld us with a rusty knife if we ever tried approaching them again in the foreseeable future brandishing a stiffened willy.

Obviously for the future of mankind (not to mention our sex lives) this lapse in memory can only be seen as a good thing.

Anyway, the point being made here (yes there is one) is that any pain we ( _we_ being the four that actually _did_ the lifting) may have had to endure has been forgotten in the mists of time. As far as I know we achieved our objective and the engine was transferred to where Laurie wanted it to go. Just don't ask me to remember exactly how we did it.

The memory has been erased.

*

I was chatting with Pete later on about the next night's gig and needed to ask if he minded Marlene coming

'Pete, about tomorrow....you don't mind if I bring someone else along, do you?'

'And who would this 'someone else' be then?'

'Well, her name's Marlene.....she works in the shop as a Saturday girl.....I told her about the gig and she said she'd like to go.....actually, to be _totally_ honest, I've already told her that she _can_ go'

'Aha, so it's a _fait accomplis_ then is it?'

'Well, as accomplices go she isn't particularly fat.....no seriously I would have asked first but.....um, I didn't think you'd mind.....you don't, do you?'

Pete was smiling.

'No...seeing as my girlfriend's coming as well...her name's Claudine'

'That's okay then....is she the one you met through Dateline?'

'That's right...despite what you lot said....the computer came up trumps and justified my huge financial outlay'

'And you're a perfect match?'

'Well yes...she's a girl and I'm a bloke...what more do you want?'

'I dunno (pauses).....does she, er, have the sort of characteristics that you would have hoped for?'

'What...like really big tits?'

'Well that would be ideal, of course....but I was thinking more of things like....good sense of humour, nice dress sense, pleasant demeanor.....'

'.....and big tits'

'Ha ha, fair enough.....but surely there's more than just size to consider'

'True.....I suppose there are things like....degree of pertness, nipple extension, general firmness....that kind of thing?

'Definitely...and does she possess all you were seeking in these areas?'

'Yes I think so...I mean dateline don't have a 'quality of tits' box to tick on their form...I suppose they take it as read that all the girls on their books will have them....but that's about as far as it goes'

'Well yes.....you can understand that'

'I look at it this way, if there _was_ a part on the form where we could request a girl with large knockers then by the same token girls ought to be able to order the things they want a bloke to have....'

'What like a huge todger?'

'Absolutely'

'Well I'd be okay then'

'Yeah _right_....in your dreams'

We both laughed.

I continued...

'Seriously though, there'd be too much scope for exaggeration wouldn't there?.....you could put whatever measurements you liked on the form and by the time the girl found out the truth it might be too late to pull out'

'Well if it was _that_ small she might not have realised it was in!' 'Actually I meant pull out of the _date_ '

'Oh yeah.....right'

*

We discussed the sort of records we would play at the gig next evening and also what we could do by way of entertainment. Various ideas came to light. We could tell a few jokes....maybe see Gordon first and pinch some of his. He never seemed to be short of them. We could get the girls involved somehow.... possibly dancing with them, that seemed to go down well the previous week. Maybe we could run small competitions - 'spot the intro'- that kind of thing. The possibilities seemed almost endless.

'I tell you what we ought to do' said Pete...'We should get some T-shirts made saying something like - DEEJAYS PETE 'N' TIM - THE CASTLE AT RICHMOND - FRIDAY NIGHTS - and wear them at every possible opportunity'

I thought about this and could see some of the possibilities.

'I tell you what we ought to go on.....Top of the Pops' I said.

Pete wasn't so sure....

'Do you think they'd let us wear 'em in front of the cameras....I mean they don't do advertising of any sort on the Beeb do they?'

'Well I shouldn't think they'd exactly welcome it...but if we wore jackets over the t-shirts we could try and work it so at least one of us was in front of a camera when our jacket 'accidentally' fell open....chances are they wouldn't notice....what do you think?'

'Give the camera a flash you mean'

'Exactly.....it's all recorded and I reckon the Beeb are probably far too mean with their film to go re-shooting bits of the programme if they happened to notice afterwards'

Pete was warming to the idea.....

'Mmm, it could work...do you know how we could get tickets for the show?'

'I don't know.....I would think you'd have to write to the Beeb enclosing a stamped addressed envelope.....I don't think they charge any money'

'I'm beginning to like it.....'

I then had a flash of inspiration regarding the tickets.....

'I tell you what would improve our chances of getting tickets sooner, rather than later'

'What's that?'

'Well, as an avid Top of The Pops watcher, I've noticed there are usually a lot more girls than blokes in the audience....I reckon it would be better if we applied in girls names'

'Mmm' said Pete.....'that's not as stupid as it sounds....send them an application with a girl's name on and ask for two tickets.....I bet we'll get them in no time.....brilliant!'

There _was_ a kind of weird logic about it all. We couldn't lose. We'd get to go on our favourite TV show and the t-shirts (if seen) would help to create some interest. We could even have some extra ones printed and give them away to winners of our Friday night competitions (and the losers for that matter). We'd already ruled out the idea of giving away bra's as booby prizes.

'Okay, let's do it' said Pete.....'what name shall we use when we apply?'

'Hmmm.....' I said, thinking...'what about making up something silly....like _Lindsey Doyle_....very popular with cricketers'

'Yeah.....I like it.....or how about _Melinda Wizard?_ ' added Pete. 'Magic' I said.

This went on for a while. Other names up for consideration were _Bella D Ball, Tamara Nevacomes, Judy Hobbs-Cure, Iris Dew, Sue P Fogg, Henrietta Alder-Pyes, Mavis B Love, Annie Old-Iron, Sarah N Getty, Yootha Clubb, Bertha D Bloos, Yvonne Disrope, Aliesha Turndup, Julia Seezer , Betty Duzz/Duzzent , Anna Nimity_ and _Mary Christmas_.

We also thought of surnames that went well with the title 'Miss'. The tickets then might come back addressed to.....

Miss Creant, Miss Fortune, Miss Take or possibly Miss D.Meanor All this kept us amused for ages but we finally settled for _Isla WhiteFerry_ , feeling it was as good a name as any.

Having decided all this I felt there was just a smidgen of detail that I felt needed tweaking.....

'I think I can see one _small_ improvement to the tee shirt idea' I said. 'And what's that?' said Pete.

'Well don't get annoyed' I said.....'but I reckon TIM 'N' PETE scans a lot better than PETE 'N' TIM.....what do you think?'

Pete's reply was succinct and to the point....only he got the letters in the wrong order.

I mean, if he'd said 'FCUK off 'and we'd used _that_ , we could've been worth a fortune.

~ ~ ~

# CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Friday night at the Castle turned out to be a terrific gig. We played some great records and the two girls got really involved, dancing on the stage and generally beautifying the proceedings. Claudine, Pete's girlfriend, was a stunning black girl who just happened to be a fantastic dancer and the manager was well-impressed. He thought we'd brought a pair of professional dancers with us. We, of course, were happy to let him think it. He was further impressed when we told him our ideas for tee shirts but, fearing overkill, we kept the TOTP's possibilities to ourselves. The very best moment came just after we'd finished our set. We both got paid! For the second time that Friday I received a pay packet with £15 in it (only this time no tax had been deducted as befitted my self-employed status). We were rich. The night seemed young and we were on a postgig high. Thoughts like 'Let's go into the West End and spend some money' leapt to mind but there were two significant drawbacks.....

Firstly, I'd promised Marlene's parents faithfully as a man of the cloth (Burton's), that I would deliver their daughter home as soon after midnight as was humanly possible (given that the transport was an old, beat-up Austin Westminster).

And, secondly, it was already gone midnight and Saturday was a very busy working day for me and Pete.

We decided any thoughts of after-hours revelry would have to be put firmly on hold and settled for a quick beer before heading in a homewards direction. We managed to drop Marlene off at her house at around one-ish which, I thought, wasn't bad. I didn't hang around to see what her parents thought.....just had a quick snog and promised to call her when she came back off holiday. She, for her part, said she'd had a great time and seemed generally impressed with what had transpired during the evening. I couldn't go wrong really could I?

After we drove away Claudine was nice enough to say that she thought that Marlene was 'a lovely kid' and felt we 'looked good together'. I said 'Do you think she's too young for me?'

'Nah' she said.....'she's older than you in a lot of ways'

And she was right.

For their part it seemed that Pete and Claudine had no intention of kissing and parting.... they dropped me off and then continued on to Claudine's Kensal Green flat.

'See you on Monday' Shouted Pete.

'Yeah okay...have fun' I yelled in return, as the car pulled away. I was happy enough but did feel a bit jealous.....they had each other and I was now alone.

The significance of the two girls relative ages couldn't have been made more apparent. Marlene was just a girl and Claudine was a woman...end of story.

*

Saturday 22nd August. 7 a.m.

Saturday morning started strangely. I was the only one at the breakfast table and there was a cut-it-with-a-knife atmosphere of silence as Mrs T did me some bacon and eggs. No jovial chatter or 'So what did you get up to last night then Tim?' It was like she had something to say but didn't want to come out with it. Actually, I didn't want her to come out with it either....for my part I just wanted to just get my morning's worth of work out of the way and then get on the train back to Farnborough without having any hassles.

_Some_ hope.

Mrs T opened the conversation that I really didn't want to have.... 'Tim' she said..'I think you know things about me...I think you know what I mean'

'What sort of _things?'_ I asked innocently.

She looked at me intently and it became difficult to maintain the pretence.

'You _do_ know what I'm saying' she said....I've been talking to Laurie and he says that you know what's been going on between us'

She was forcing me to talk about this when all I wanted to do was eat some food and be gone.

'Well, yes' I said, in an embarrassed fashion....'I do know what's been going on.....but it's not really my business and I didn't ask to be told....I just was'

'You must think I'm quite a hypocrite.....sending you to head office for breaking the rules when I was breaking them myself' she said.

It was hard to know what to say, so I said nothing.

'I'm telling you this because I want...'

There was a longish pause.

'...well I want to say sorry' she said.

There were tears in her eyes and I have to admit that it was hard to stay focused on the task in hand.....eating.

'Well, don't worry' I said, reassuringly....'we all make mistakes'

I have to admit that I was probably thinking more of Laurie when I said this.

'I'm going to have to explain myself to Mr Hughes.....I've got to see him on Monday' she said......'and I may well be asked to resign'

'Surely not' I said, with genuine shock. We'd never got on brilliantly but I didn't want her to have to leave under these circumstances. I've always believed that the devil you know is better than the one you don't...and she _was_ a pretty reasonable cook.

'Well, we'll just have to see how it goes' she said and wiped a few more tears away.

I began to hope that she didn't get the sack. I could imagine her being a lot different if she were allowed to stay....less of the 'Schoolmarm'

attitude with us future captains of industry, hopefully.

'I'm going to see the others when I get back and we'll put something in writing to the effect that we want you to stay' I said.

This brought forth more tears.

'Would you really do that?' she said.

'Absolutely' I replied, with an air of total certainty.....'just let them dare sack you after that'

Mrs T was obviously moved.

'I don't deserve your support after what I did...but thank you' she said.

I nodded. I needed to go or I was going to be late.

'Gosh look at the time' I said, while, theatrically, pointing at my watch....'I'll have to be off'

With that I jumped up, grabbed my case and made for the door.

'See you on Sunday night' I shouted as I was fast departing.

'Tim....' she shouted after me, halting my gallop.

'What?' I said, poking my head back round the door.

Mrs T was smiling through tearful eyes.

'.....thank you again' she said.

I was now starting to feel choked....it was the most genuine-sounding thanks I'd ever had.

'Okay...bye for now' I said.

Well us blokes don't really _do_ emotion do we?

*

Waterloo Station. 2.05. Platform 6.

'Well we've been here before haven't we? I'm sitting in the train just waiting for it to pull away in a Farnborough-wards direction. There's a guy sitting opposite me who I'm sure I've seen before. Maybe he lives in Farnborough. His face is familiar...possibly someone I went to school with...although he doesn't seem to recognise me.

Oh well, it'll possibly come to me where I've seen him before. In the mean time I've got plenty of other thoughts that are swimming around in my head. It's hard to believe all the stuff that's happened to me in the last six weeks. Remember when I arrived in London....I had a confidence rating of zero and a vague hope that I may be able to make something of my life. Since then I've been swept along on a tide that's brought me experiences I wouldn't have had if I'd lived in Farnborough for a hundred years.

Take the deejaying for example.....where would I have met anyone who was into that back home? In London I have done and who knows where it'll lead.

Me and Pete have got all sorts of ideas for getting more gigs....and then there's radio to consider. We reckon radio shows could be vastly improved if there were two deejays rather than just one. A pair of guys can spark off each other and create more of an atmosphere....well that's our theory anyhow.

With any luck David Black won't be able to afford to keep us for much longer. It's as I thought.....here in London all things are possible.

Oh look, it seems we're moving. Now let's have a butcher's at this magazine I've just bought. It's not a 'nudie' mag as such, but I have to admit that among all the articles on fashion, sport, cars and music there seems to be the occasional topless woman thrown in for our delectation. All done in the best possible taste of course....not in any way pornographic.....like Clive's stuff.

Let's have a look....mmm she's not bad, nice boobs.....(turns a few more pages).....good article on Ferraris.....see what I meant, here's another girl...actually she looks a lot like Tanya....hey, I recognise that tattoo....it bloody well _is_ Tanya!

Well I'm buggered.....a topless model.....

Well I suppose she did hint about having other work.

Hey you don't think she might be seen in any of Clive's mags do you? I mean she's just topless here.....makes you wonder if it's possible to buy anything showing more of her maybe, films

Here, you don't think our brief-ish encounter was candidly recorded on celluloid do you?

I could be the unwitting star of some sort of porno film. If I ever find out I'll demand a fee. I couldn't really complain it was hard work though could I?

I could be showing....quite literally...in seedy cinemas all over Soho as we speak.

I suppose they call them seedy because of the deposits the dirty raincoat brigade leave behind.

My 'performance' may be currently available under the counter in all good sex shops....and some bad ones.

And listen you lot, the joke about only having a small part doesn't apply, okay?

Bloody hell, I can't believe this...I can't wait to show Steve this magazine.

I don't suppose he'll believe me, though....I definitely wouldn't believe _him_ if it were the other way round. So, as well as being a deejay I can now also, genuinely, say that I've had sex with a model.....and I've only been in London for just six weeks!

I've gone from zero to hero.

Sod it, I'm going to engage the bloke sat opposite in conversation and find out who he is...it's going to bug me if I don't. I couldn't even care if I haven't met him before in my life. I'm a confident guy and I'm damned well going to do the most un-British thing possible and start talking to a stranger in a railway carriage....if he _is_ a stranger of course. Here goes.......

Scuse me mate...don't mind me asking but are you getting off at Farnborough?

.....you are

.....do you live there then?

......you _do_

....haven't I seen you somewhere before?.....maybe at school?

.....where did you go?.....it wasn't the Salesian College was it?....it _was_

Bloody hell, so did I!

......yeah you're right...it _was_ crap wasn't it?'

THE END

# Dear Reader

Now you've read this book I want your opinion and feedback.

How was it for you? All reviews welcome.

Please write to me at my email address which is: timmyaddams@live.co.uk

Thank you in advance

Tim
