‘What Is Love?’ – Howard Jones
I awoke at my Dad's to discover that my Granddad Winterfood had brought my bag of records down to take to the Mighty Flash’s house/mansion/temple/synagogue. Intrepid as ever, I equipped myself with my belongings and storm-attacked Pontefract!
I went straight to Flash’s. We did various childish things, like listening to records; then we went out to grab a bite to eat.
We’ve both got this craze on whip-wielding German women in leather Nazi outfits, so we decided to see if we could find any while we were at it. Ideally, they would look like Susanne or Claudia from Propaganda...
Alack, we could not locate a single one, so, after a brief stop at Aunty Vi’s (for a whiss-whiss), we decided to call for old pal o’ mine, Birdy! Bleedin’ wimp.
Birdy was wearing a trendy outfit. So trendy that Flash and I felt ashamed to own clothes.
Birdy’s gangly, fat-bummed frame sported the usual shitty Beatles haircut that it had settled on some time before 1983. His shitty white pumps were pre-1980. He had the same flare-collared short-sleeved shirt he’d worn since 1978. His flared jeans were pre-1976. His brother’s brown socks were pre-1969. The bean-juice that caked his top lip and ruddy cheeks was pre-tea time, 29th May 1985. He looked like such a hippy leftover that he might as well have worn a badge (on his green body warmer) that said: ‘I LOVE NEIL’.
Get the jist? Yeah, a hippy bastard!
Jimmy Nail, resplendent in full broken nose and split chin…
JIMMY NAIL: Love don’t live here any more … Aw, bollocks, man!
Ritcherd Winterfood, resplendent in zit smattering and New Order haircut…
RITCHERD: Bird’s a tird!
Birdy came out and we went for Pickle.
Pickle came out and we bought some “porno” mags from the Kiosk – one for me, one for Pickle. We forced Flash to go in and get them.
Afterwards, Flash, Pickle and I got the lift up to the top floor of the flats behind the Kiosk and dropped Quatro cans at Birdy who stood innocently below. We shouted down for him to bring them back up. When he did, we sent him back down and did it all over again.
We then went on a jungle expedition over Mill Hill and ended up in the now barbarically shaven Valley Gardens, where Birdy, Pickle and I used to play in 1982 and ‘83. We reminisced about things like the fully dramatised Star Wars tapes (based on the Marvel Treasury Edition) we made at The Bell and about when we used to play on the slag heaps at the Prince of Wales colliery.
Eventually, Flash and I came in for tea and I was given permission to stay the night.
After tea, we wandered the streets of Ponty, but got bored so we came in and chatted till about 11.30pm. Then we came to bed and read our porno mags.
Flash and I seem to be turning ‘bi-sexual’ as we both ‘like’ (that’s toned down) certain men and are fascinated by gay sex.
I guess I’m very curious, given some of the situations I once found myself in (with a particular boy who shall remain nameless), but that didn’t prepare me for what Flash just said in bed. He told me he fancied me, and asked me to make love to him. He’s never got off with a boy before, but wants to with me. I told him I really like him, but that I definitely prefer girls. I felt intrigued by the idea, and I really do like him a lot - you might almost say I’ve fallen in love with him - but, still, I turned him down. I want something more with Flash. Something truly special.
OLD DIARY ENTRIES…
This time 2 years ago:
‘I went to hospital with Mum and George to see Jack. Afterwards we went to Gran Pritchard’s.’
[Text Copyright: Elton Townend Jones, 2010 / Images subject to control of Copyright Holder / While based on true life events and designed as a study of parochial British cultural and emotional life in the 1980s, this blog is a work of fiction. Cultural icons excluded, all characters and incidents featured are entirely fictional / All video clips used for illustrative purposes and no copyright infringement is intended.]
I awoke at my Dad's to discover that my Granddad Winterfood had brought my bag of records down to take to the Mighty Flash’s house/mansion/temple/synagogue. Intrepid as ever, I equipped myself with my belongings and storm-attacked Pontefract!
I went straight to Flash’s. We did various childish things, like listening to records; then we went out to grab a bite to eat.
We’ve both got this craze on whip-wielding German women in leather Nazi outfits, so we decided to see if we could find any while we were at it. Ideally, they would look like Susanne or Claudia from Propaganda...
Alack, we could not locate a single one, so, after a brief stop at Aunty Vi’s (for a whiss-whiss), we decided to call for old pal o’ mine, Birdy! Bleedin’ wimp.
Birdy was wearing a trendy outfit. So trendy that Flash and I felt ashamed to own clothes.
Birdy’s gangly, fat-bummed frame sported the usual shitty Beatles haircut that it had settled on some time before 1983. His shitty white pumps were pre-1980. He had the same flare-collared short-sleeved shirt he’d worn since 1978. His flared jeans were pre-1976. His brother’s brown socks were pre-1969. The bean-juice that caked his top lip and ruddy cheeks was pre-tea time, 29th May 1985. He looked like such a hippy leftover that he might as well have worn a badge (on his green body warmer) that said: ‘I LOVE NEIL’.
Get the jist? Yeah, a hippy bastard!
Jimmy Nail, resplendent in full broken nose and split chin…
JIMMY NAIL: Love don’t live here any more … Aw, bollocks, man!
Ritcherd Winterfood, resplendent in zit smattering and New Order haircut…
RITCHERD: Bird’s a tird!
Birdy came out and we went for Pickle.
Pickle came out and we bought some “porno” mags from the Kiosk – one for me, one for Pickle. We forced Flash to go in and get them.
Afterwards, Flash, Pickle and I got the lift up to the top floor of the flats behind the Kiosk and dropped Quatro cans at Birdy who stood innocently below. We shouted down for him to bring them back up. When he did, we sent him back down and did it all over again.
We then went on a jungle expedition over Mill Hill and ended up in the now barbarically shaven Valley Gardens, where Birdy, Pickle and I used to play in 1982 and ‘83. We reminisced about things like the fully dramatised Star Wars tapes (based on the Marvel Treasury Edition) we made at The Bell and about when we used to play on the slag heaps at the Prince of Wales colliery.
Eventually, Flash and I came in for tea and I was given permission to stay the night.
After tea, we wandered the streets of Ponty, but got bored so we came in and chatted till about 11.30pm. Then we came to bed and read our porno mags.
Flash and I seem to be turning ‘bi-sexual’ as we both ‘like’ (that’s toned down) certain men and are fascinated by gay sex.
I guess I’m very curious, given some of the situations I once found myself in (with a particular boy who shall remain nameless), but that didn’t prepare me for what Flash just said in bed. He told me he fancied me, and asked me to make love to him. He’s never got off with a boy before, but wants to with me. I told him I really like him, but that I definitely prefer girls. I felt intrigued by the idea, and I really do like him a lot - you might almost say I’ve fallen in love with him - but, still, I turned him down. I want something more with Flash. Something truly special.
OLD DIARY ENTRIES…
This time 2 years ago:
‘I went to hospital with Mum and George to see Jack. Afterwards we went to Gran Pritchard’s.’
[Text Copyright: Elton Townend Jones, 2010 / Images subject to control of Copyright Holder / While based on true life events and designed as a study of parochial British cultural and emotional life in the 1980s, this blog is a work of fiction. Cultural icons excluded, all characters and incidents featured are entirely fictional / All video clips used for illustrative purposes and no copyright infringement is intended.]
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