OK, so I haven’t written anything for a while. According to my statistics counter my audience is entirely made up of readers looking for information on ‘How not to fall asleep at your desk’ so I suppose I needn’t have written any of the others. Not to worry, I am quite happy to talk to myself.
I’ve just got back from a trip to London which was centered around a book launch for Pete Silverton’s wonderful new book ‘Filthy English’ which you can find on Amazon Books. I haven’t seen Pete since I worked at Spotlight Publications (in 1976 I think) which published ‘Sounds’ music paper where Pete Silverton was a writer. I wasn’t a writer, I was just sitting stupidly in reception. Letting all sorts of dodgy characters through the door who were very often coming to see Pete. I took a friend from Iran whom I haven’t seen since around the same time.
I tried opening up a conversation on the train with some plasterers who I had joined in sitting on the floor (it was a busy train, I wasn’t just being strange) by announcing that I was reading a book about swearing but they just looked at me and said ‘And…?” which shut me up.
When I got back to Harrogate I went straight to ASDA to buy fresh greens for the 70 guinea pigs in case my feeder servant hadn’t been generous enough with the rations. I had just sat on a bench in order to organise my purchases and stuff them into my purple lizard print suitcase on wheels, when I received an offer of marriage. I would say ‘an unexpected offer of marriage’ but this seems to be happening on an almost daily basis lately. There are variants of this phenomena but this was obviously one of the ‘I want to fuck you and I am not even going to bother to take you out to dinner’ type. My suitor didn’t get very far though because he rather ill advisedly told me his name. I said ‘I know who you are’. He said ‘Ah well, you will have heard of me, most people have’. ‘No’ I said, hoping that I would sound mysterious, compassionate, forgiving and menacing.’What I mean is, unfortunately you have already ‘had’ me. You locked me in a cellar in 1975′. He, somewhat predictably, said ‘No I didn’t’. I countered with ‘You have a tattoo of a dagger on your arm’ and rolled up his sleeve to show him, in case he had forgotten. I gave the poor old chap a hug to make him feel better and then I went home to feed the guinea pigs.
All my animals were quite happy although 8 of the guinea pigs had been partially digested by their compatriots so I think I had better be a little more specific about their dietary requirements next time I put someone in charge whilst I go gallivanting off down south. Incidentally, and a typical Harrogate occurrence, so hardly worth comment, the dagger tattoo man turned out to be friends with my animal feeder servant (who is also a tattooist though not responsible for the dagger).
So, in the past month I have met up with three people I once knew around 1975 – 1977. I am curious to know who else may be lurking round the corner.
Postscript: Someone in Miami Beach just posted a pic of a guy who filled me with drugs circa 1973 and did pretty much the same as the cellar bloke only I was practically comatose. There is definitely a theme going on here.