‘See Emily Play’ – David Bowie
I’ve got great cheekbones and pouty lips, but my nose is too big and blotchy. I should shave more, because this fluffy stubble just makes me look scruffy. My eyes look sad…
Mushroom clouds burst from the cracked Earth…
Nemesis the Warlock snorts, steamily, in satisfaction…
Six versions of Berwin Groomstool, travelled back from the far future of maybe even 1988, cackle and laugh at me. One is long-headed and fat-chinned, his nose less prominent than the others. Another is just a flimsy silhouette, a ghost, but at least he’s wearing the yrademark pork-pie hat. Another wears something much more cowboy in style, but his eyes are dark and scary, his nose strong and phallic. His mate flicks a pointy tongue through the usual jags and barbs of teeth, but he wears round blue-lensed shades and a Clint Eastwood-style hat. His hair is longer than usual, straight and magnificent. He is by far the coolest, meanest Berwin here. Of the last two, one is also trying the cowboy thing, but his hat is taller and less flattering. His nose curls to a point and his chin juts beautifully below it – but unlike all the Berwins I’ve seen so far, he has no stubble. Spots, yes, stubble, no. The final Berwin looks like an idiot. This is Berwin when no one’s looking.
Pointy nosed and pointy eared men, like punk rock pixies with high hairlines and backcombed ghosts of hair and ear-rings, whistle and spit…
‘Blackout’ – David Bowie
My hair was ultra-shit today, due to yesterday’s rain…
Flash and I were more or less ready to go out at about 11.45am, and we set off for the house of Dodo. When we arrived, Dodo had make-up on. Flash told me – and I didn’t know if it was just in fun – that she had put make-up on because she fancies me. He told me she never puts make-up on for him…
Alas, she won’t be able to make it to Flash’s New Year’s Eve Bash / get-together, as she is going to celebrate with family in Lincoln. Flash was upset, and became thoroughly depressed by the fact, which sent me into a slight depression for no particular reason at all: save the reminder of what awaits me at home and whether I can face it or not…
So… Dodo won’t be there tomorrow night. Just Flash and me. Poor Flash…
As the day progressed, we ended up in a café in Pontefract, and I told Dodo she should try and take Flash out of his depression. And she did. And their young love was nice to see, but I felt increasingly left out and depressed. I felt that I was missing out somewhere. They seemed to have everything worked out, and the future’s bound to be good for ‘em… but mine’ll be a mess…
‘V2-Schneider’ – David Bowie
Anyway, I suggested a visit to the ruins of the castle, for no particular reason. Nostalgia?
Paul used to take Jack and me there on the Sundays he was allowed to see us. I went there with Manda Jones, too, funnily enough. Anyway, we wandered around the ruins, and I found a rocky outcrop, or perhaps an ancient wall, and sat alone to look out over a great portion of Pontefract.
I sat and considered my life, looking out at where my little world began, somewhere in the direction of Western Avenue. I remembered a time when I lived with my father. Memories of beards and hair and sideboards; Yellow Submarine characters painted on my bedroom wall; a toast rack for a Viking longboat; a painting of a blue steam train; a girl who used to take me out in my push-chair; her father’s bath full of live maggots, bright orange; a Red Indian painting set; socks and sandals; a time when I was happy and nothing mattered; before the flying objects impacting into walls; plant-pots exploding their soil across the hall as my mother and father fell apart…
Then I saw Dodo and Flash kissing and in love. And all the hope I ever had for my own future dissipated as I realised that I simply don’t have one. So, I gave them my hope. And I hope they love each other as much as they can. And I hope that love will extend to a greater understanding of themselves and the friendship I have given Flash. And…
Why can’t I cry? Why can I never fully access the emotions I need to access at the time I need them? Why can I never say what I mean? Why do words always fail me?
I hope I make some sense to you out there…
I love this life, but not the problems. But that’s life, isn’t it? No smooth without rough. But I’ve never been any good at the rough. I’m a fair weather human. But I shouldn’t worry, should I?
You won’t kill yourself will you, Ritcherd?
Who cares? Who ever cared?
REJECTION! That’s all I get! But it’s my own fault. I lose people through my stupidity.
My parents have rejected me. Betty has no time for me. It’s always Freddie. I’m never going to receive a penny from my parents again, so they tell me. No support. REJECTION!
And a baby in May. A new member of the family. That’s nice for them, but it’s another to care for. Another to compete with, just like Jack was, and they’ll push me out of the way!
Why don’t I miss Jenny any more?
Why do I bother?
I hope the future is well for Layne and Gordon. I love you both with my deep heart.
In my confused state, I think I could offer Alison so much love. But she was right about my moods. I can’t let her suffer. And I don’t want her to stop loving me, ever… And I don’t know why!
‘My Death’ – David Bowie
It’s been a good year for music hasn’t it, WINTERBOY?
Things, on the whole, have been a lot more interesting since August, thank god!
And I’m now wearing clothes that suit my moods (black!), and I’m starting to appear as differently outwardly as I have always felt on the inside. It took a lot of shopping, and I’m still not quite done. There’s room for more! But it happened. Thank god.
A hectic year, really, and there’s only a day of it left. Only a day. And my life has an almost all-new ‘cast’…
How can it be that we never suspect our destiny?
Was the year regrettable? Well, it was often sweet in places, but very often it tasted bitter. I seemed to live in hope of love and affection, something which my parents had stopped giving me. I had to seek it from my people, my friends, and that’s where I will continue to seek it.
I hope that one day I’ll be truly happy. One day, when I’ve found out who I really am and what I want and why I do the things I do. That will be a great day, even if the truths are hard to face. But it may never happen. Who knows? My time may be cut short before the true Ritcherd Winterfood is revealed. There are many layers of untruth that have to be peeled away, and that will take time. But do I have time to take?
Will I just feel so overwhelmed that I simply end it all?
Confusion is a horrible thing. The 1980 Kicks Show has proved that. And as it all fades around me, I wonder if any of it really happened? Perhaps I’ll wake up on my Grandma Pritchard’s settee on October 1st 1983, mere hours before the move from Pontefract to Wisbech…
I doubt it. The truth must be faced. This is my reality, and I will have to meet my real self sooner or later. And when I do, I will have to discard this frivolous character, so full of confusion and inner turmoil.
This is not ‘fancy writing’. This is the heart of Ritcherd Winterfood.
To the future!
Whether there is one or not…
To Dodo and Flash:
I send you all the happiness in the world. May your love eat the cynicism of all those fools
I offer my repentance. I render all my services to your kind heart. You were great. It was
only my stupidity that was wrong!
I send all my affection – if that is what you require. Love me back, and with as much
enthusiasm, you gorgeous girl. Or let me go.
Why can’t it be like before?
I just wanted to be up on your pedestal. Please help me.
They all said, ‘Why can’t I be like Winterfood? It’s all okay for him! Yeah, he lets all his problems breeze past. He’s cool and together and funny…’
I don’t want turmoil. I want to scream. Or die. Or both…
[Images subject to control of individual Copyright Holders including works originated by Elton Townend Jones, but excluding any images or design attributed to ‘The Situation’ which are copyright of The Situation (see specific acknowledgements in the ‘Thanks to…’ section below) / Based on true events and designed as a study of parochial British cultural and emotional life in the late 20th century, this blog is a work of fiction. Cultural icons excluded, all characters and incidents featured are entirely fictional / This blog is non-profit; all video clips are used for illustrative purposes and always come from YouTube / No copyright infringement is intended – just trying to get things into context. Never forget: no man is an island. If you think anything I’ve used is damaging you in any way, please comment and immediate action will be taken to minimise offence / This notice was amended on 13 July 2011 and is intended to cover this and all posts on www.25yearstoolate.blogspot.com that precede it]
NEXT TIME: ‘The 1980 Kicks Show…’