A Horseradish
Monday 21st December 2020 12:32am [Edited]
8,475 posts
When we were both in our puffa jackets and on girls' bikes because our parents were both too poor and too sex averse to promote something you could get your legs over, I do recall our fantasies at the time. I. We both wanted to be Rod Stewart singing Maggie May while kicking a football into the gobs of ridiculous fawning women, fainting at the very sight of our long hair and our overall beat-the-world good looks.
2. His bald head was not a consequence of his anxiety condition but because his beardo Dad was screwing birds on boats in the Solent, and his brother was an ape who waved two fingers at everyone else while speeding over Battersea bridge to the revolting plastic pig sounds of Pink Floyd, not to mention Humble Pie. Then he dumped us kiddies at The Aristocrats so that he could spunk up Paul McCartney's secretary at Pizza in the Park. That revealed the money grabbing fascist family upbringing though I tried to steer me pal away into my all round uselessness. He didn't succeed. While illiterate he did end up a millionaire.
And 3. His mother June - like an Elsie Tanner on speed and a terrible influence on my own mother though I loved the woman for her eyes and her bank balance - oh those bleeding visual aggressive flames - feistily imploded in an alcoholic disturbing daze. Who was the only person to turn up to be kind to her? Little 21 year old me. The fantasy there was that I just had to get that woman right with kindness and protect her as everyone else had gone off on one. Again, I didn't succeed. It was so disappointing. She had first taken me and my Nan to the Derby. Had it not been for her, I would never have had a big fetish for gypsies, sweaty, unwashed and mainly horse and heather smelling as they are. Still, they changed my view of water sports.
But whatever, I guess my greatest fantasy as Si's feet touched mine and wriggled from the other end of the bed (he was escaping from his home at the time as they didn't like the carpet covered with his hair) was to be on the radio. I'd shut him up to just listen. I did so that my parents - they didn't like disturbance - could at 40 be aged 125. He said even at that tender age "but you have no idea who be would listen to you". Such a clever 7 year old boy. And as I said to him at the time, I couldn't give a flying monkeys. And I still don't.
Letter on its way.
