Today being 16th August 2017 I thought it apt to post this chapter from 'Taking Candy from a Dog'. Forty years gone, but ELVIS remains the king. TCB.
1977
hasn’t been as hot as 1976. That would have been impossible. The
weather has been tripe, but it hasn’t always been as cold as the
day of the Jubilee party.
Betty,
Mac and Lee have come up for another visit. We’ve done the usual
things; a day out at Seasalter, another at Hythe, visited the skulls
at St Leonard’s church, played an England game v Dad and Mac (drew
2-2 with Scotland), interrogated Jack, that sort of thing. Lee and I
have played some Subbuteo and Sure Shot Hockey, but no Wimbledon.
That was last summer and nowadays punk is more important.
Donna
Summer is at number one with I Feel Love. Lee likes disco and punk in
equal measure. I only like punk now. Lee’s also got a new saying.
He keeps asking me if my wife is a go-er. I haven’t got a clue what
he’s talking about, but he keeps asking me.
Hey,
guess what? The Sex Pistols have a new single out, it’s called
Pretty Vacant. You should hear it, it’s even better than God Save
the Queen. However, I didn’t hear this news from Lee. I heard it at
school from Steve McNeeney. He heard the song on the radio, as it
hasn’t been banned by the BBC, and he told everyone the hot news -
the Sex Pistols have got a new single out.
Except
Steve McNeeney didn’t tell us it was called Pretty Vacant. Oh no.
Steve McNeeney told everyone it was called Shitty Bacon. Shitty
Bacon! When we
found out what it was really called he had lots of egg all over his
face.
Lee
and I are at Nan’s house watching the 10 O’clock News. The
grown-ups have all gone out. We’re waiting for The Man with X-Ray
Eyes to come on, which is a film starring Ray Milland about a man who
can see through things.
“Is
your wife a go-er, eh, squire? Know what I mean? Nudge-nudge.”
I
still haven’t got a clue what he’s going on about.
Lee
reminds me about the programme we saw on rabies a couple of years
ago. It still hasn’t come over here and none of our family has died
yet, but I still don’t trust dogs.
We
also talk about the episode that happened this morning. This is what
happened.
Lee
and I were playing cricket in our garden - TV Celebrities v Rock
Stars. Grandad’s garden is no good for cricket. The concrete bird
bath can be ignored if you’re playing tennis, but not cricket.
Mum
and Dad were laid out on sunbeds at the other end of the lawn. Dad
had a can of Colt 45 and an Alistair MacLean novel on the go. Mum was
in a C & A bikini. Mum moaned every time we hit the tennis ball
too near her. We might play tennis with a shuttlecock, but we play
cricket with a tennis ball.
By
the way, don’t go getting any mad ideas like my mum no longer shops
at Marks & Sparks. It just means that since Chatham got a C&A
she now has two shops in which to buy her clothes.
In
the garden of next-door-but-one can be found Nan and Grandad, Betty
and Mac, Mabel, Kes and Jack.
Grandad
is doing some weeding and sieving soil to remove stones. He is
obsessive about exterminating stones from his soil.
Nan
and Mac are soaking up the sun. Nan, her hair purple rinsed, in navy
blue swimsuit and Mac in his work uniform - the one he wears from
February to November. Mac sells second-hand cars from a gravelled lot
in Portswood, five minutes from their home - Crosswind Motors. On
this car lot he spends his days cleaning, polishing, working under
the bonnet and generally making his cars as good as new. Mac sells a
clean car. Mac sells clean cars dressed in tartan shorts and a pair
of tan shoes whilst smoking a Manikin. That’s it; shorts, shoes,
cigar-leaf tan and a panatella. He puts a shirt on as it gets a bit
chillier, usually around the beginning of November, but it comes off
at the first glimpse of sun in February. Mac would have made a good
Aztec.
Except
the Aztecs didn't have cars.
Betty
and Mabel shield themselves from the sun under a large umbrella
propped behind their chairs. Betty wears white sandals, white slip
dress with navy polka dots. Mabel wears an identical pair of sandals,
navy slacks and white blouse with smaller navy dots. Both are white
haired. Betty is smoking a Senior Service and Mabel is de-stringing
and slicing a bowl of runner beans.
Jack
rides his milk float in Womble t-shirt and pale blue shorts. Kes,
wearing just her red knickers with hair in bunches, pushes Yoshi Toko
& Luke the Sock Monkey around in a pram.
All
is quiet as I bowl at Lee, save for my cricket commentary and the
distant hum of Mr Hewitt’s lawn mower.
“In
comes John Noakes, off of his long run up, looking for his third
wicket of the match. He bowls to Jean Jacques Burnell, who pulls it
over mid wicket into Eric’s fence for four.”
It’s
hot, not like the furnace of last year, but hot enough. In this
idyllic setting butterflies are welcomed, bees tolerated and jaspers
forbidden.
The
first we know of any commotion is when we hear Mum scream, “Mac,
you BASTARD!”
She
was at first baffled, then twigged that the water falling on her
could only have come from one source - and it wasn’t the clouds.
She knows it’s not the kids, she knows it’s not me or Lee.
Mac
laughed, peering over Grandad’s fence, water pistol in hand.
Exactly the reaction he wanted. Dad puts down his book, goes into the
kitchen and returns with a saucepan full of water. There is a way of
sneaking into Eric Porter’s garden, if you’re stealthy, without
being seen. Dad edged closer to the fence. Only Mum, Lee and I could
see what he was doing. She carried on calling Mac a bastard and other
worse things, Mac carried on laughing that is until Dad crept up and
got him with the saucepan of ice cold water. A little water can go a
long way. Everyone laughed. Mac said, "Right, you’ve done it
now. This is war!"
And
things escalated.
Things
got out of hand.
Mum
fed Dad our hosepipe through the wire mesh that separates the gardens
of number 23 and 21. Mac knew what was coming and unravelled the hose
that Grandad keeps coiled by the back door of number 25.
Dad
and Mac stood face to face across Grandad’s garden fence, each
firing a hose pipe at full blast into the other’s face. Two
stubborn men, each unable to breathe from the force of the water
pounding into their chops, laughing and spluttering. Two men are now
being told to stop. Everyone has had their fun. Two men are ignoring
all the others. Neither will be the first to give in.
They
stopped eventually. Of course they stopped, they wouldn’t still be
at it at nightfall, would they? Besides, they’ve all now gone out
to the Berni Inn for a meal probably telling Penny and Dave all about
it at this very moment.
It
was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen; funnier than the Benny Hill
Show. Lee and I are still laughing about it now. Lee asks if I saw
the water squelching out of Mac’s tan shoes?
Yes,
I did.
The
news is nearly finished. Lee has opened a new bottle of Coke in
anticipation of the film, and poured us a glass each. He lights a new
cigarette. He smokes fags that are called Kent. They don’t smell
quite as bad as some do. Lee says we should listen to the next bit.
They always have a funny story at the end of the news like a
skateboarding alligator, a talking gerbil or Evel Knievel jumping
over a line of OAPs.
Except
tonight Reggie Bosanquet has a different story to finish and it’s
not a funny one. He says that, “We have very sad news coming in to
us that Elvis Presley, the pop singer, has died at his home in
Memphis.”
What?
We look at each
other in stunned silence. Did he say what I think he said, squire?
Then
Reggie picks up the phone that he has on his desk. It’s the first
time I’ve ever seen a newsreader use their phone. Five seconds
later he replaces the handset and says that the reports concerning
the possible death of Presley are as yet unconfirmed. And then he
says goodnight.
So
he might not be dead after all?
The
film is good, really good, but I’m still thinking about Elvis.
What
if he is really dead? I don’t know how I’m meant to feel. Two
years ago he was my favourite singer and now it’s Johnny Rotten.
I’m a punk and punks aren’t allowed to like Elvis, but I do.
He’s
the King, for Pete’s sake.
