Bravingdon Road

January 27, 2009

Spa’s character was that of a well educated Rhodesian whose disaffection with war and killing had driven him into abstract Hippydom, contrasting with his real frontiersman entrepreneur-ship, Vortrecker Wart Man self reliant gift.
There were larni larny relatives “aat” in Godalming.
Meanwhile we dashed the wrong way down Queensway on our bicycles.
Occasionally, I was hospitalised through overdosing.
A driver stopping on Harrow Road was shot dead. Over in Kentish Town one knifed to death in the chippa Q.
A ladder half way up the stairs led to a small roof for sunbathing in this balmy hot summer.
Gaby’s acceptance into the squat was on the premise that she had cancer and did not have long to live. If God had made anyone bad, perhaps accidentally, it may have been her. Or maybe it was revolting female normality.
Spa had another flame called Liz, a half-caste who he ostensibly called his girlfriend but she was effectively a prostitute and lived in the curved flats of Charing Cross Road now demolished. When in the flat Liz got all territorial. I hated this repugnant colonisation of food and kitchen’s which would inexorably lead on to them owning the whole house and locking you out when it suited them. I absolutely despised Liz and her fat sister, but she had a point when she ticked me off for sitting on the sawn off round table. I had it in my mind the sofas were crawling.
We were passing around Cashmere Twist or a Tai Stick and minds were, say, drifting.
“Excuse Me, do you mind!” said a voice from Liz’s revolting Dylan perm. I guessed it was Liz’s obtuse way of objecting about my sitting on the holy hippie communal table.
“No I baby-sit, actually”, but less than convincingly and with a self parodying simper accompanied by a side glance whilst my mouth hovered over the glass. My mind used to go a bit. Tai Sticks are dipped in Opium and left to distil . Cashmere Twist is left buried in the hot sun for a year.
“Do you mind not sitting on our table”. I believe Liz lives down Charing X Road.
“Sorry Liz, I did not know you lived here”
“I don’t,” she said without adding an additional qualifying argument.
Spa winced and glanced away. He knew we were rough.


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