Mickey Penguin & Tim Wells – Finsbury Park
Sometime last year I was in Camden for Tim Well’s book launch for his book; ‘Crown and Anchor’, which is available from Spinners publishing.
The ‘Crown and Anchor’ book contains a dozen short ghost stories, each story revolves around an everyday item or object. This sounds mad, and it is, but the stories work.
The rear of the cover states:
‘Tales of unease; a portmanteau of haunted car boot sale items’.
So there you go…
As I was at the launch, I mentioned to Tim and to Raoul (from Spinners publishing) that I once had a dream that concerned a DJ who could only hear the song ‘No Faith’ by the Suburban Studs so every record he put on the turntable, he could only hear ‘No Faith’, and nothing else, whatever the record was on the turntable.
Raoul was interested in this dream, and asked me if I was interested in writing something for a future issue of the Spinners book. I have never ever written any fiction before, so I was hesitant at first, unsure of my ability but with Raoul’s encouragement, I warmed to the idea of writing my short story of an everyday item (a record) being in some way haunted (or whatever), and my story would have fitted in well with the concept of Tim’s book ‘Crown and Anchor’!
The first thing that happened when I eventually tried to write the story was I got a complete mental block and I couldn’t write anything. I then had an idea of basing the main character on someone I knew so I could focus more; the person I thought would be the perfect fit was Tim Wells himself. I spoke to him about this and he was completely okay with my ideas and left me to it.
I have known Tim, then known as ‘Bilko’, since the mid / latter years of the eighties, a year or two before he joined the Blaggers, so I know him pretty well throughout the last decades passed. Tim remembers me when I had bleached crimped hair, shaved at the sides adorned with jangly bangles, and that was a long long time ago!
Tim lives in Stoke Newington. He goes to the local car boot sales. He gets DJ gigs, and up to a couple of years ago, he has a long standing residency in the DJ booth at the nearby Mascara Bar (the M Bar) run by Irish Maggie who in real life is a bit of a nutter. He has DJ’d on the floor of the Sir George Robey in Finsbury Park during those ska / skinhead festivals in the latter-eighties and early-nineties. He has all the records that matter in punk, new wave, mod, 2-Tone, reggae and ska, he even owns Dennis Waterman’s ‘I Could Be So Good For You’ which he has ‘played out’ before – a perfect record collection, all killer no filler! He puts his records onto his Dansette record player at home. He is generally immaculately dressed, and the attention to detail, and knowledge of the clothing that he wears is encyclopaedic. He owns a tan Harrington jacket (so do I actually). He knows Hoxton Tom from the 4-Skins (Tom from Hoxton in the story). He saw gigs down the Hope and Anchor around 1979 (but not 1977 that bit is fictional). He owns a bottle of Brut.
And lastly he was in the band Anti Social Workers in 1982, (his voice over a dub reggae punky beat in the story).
These details about Tim’s real life and history are laid out in my story!
Tim is named ‘GRID’ in the story.
Myself?
Apart from actually writing the story, I was known as Grid in my secondary modern comprehensive school, for exactly the reasons mentioned in the story. I did have a girlfriend called Sara Hunt who I had met at a gig (not at a Ruts gig though!). I had a short residency (two Sundays a month for two months) spinning reggae records in the DJ booth at the Swan pub in Tottenham in the mid-nineties. I owned a black Harrington jacket in 1979, the only black Harrington jacket that I ever owned.
Those memories are all mine.
It was so much easier to write a short story with someone to base the character on, and Tim brings the ‘Grid’ character to bring to life wonderfully.
When I had finished the story both Tim and Raoul liked it, which was a relief. If they did not like it, especially Tim (that was important to get the story passed Tim first) I would have not wanted the story to be published.
Anyway the details.
My story is in Spinners issue 10 if you want to get a physical copy the book is available for a small donation and for postage costs.
There are plenty of other poets and writers in all Spinners books including Tim Wells himself.
Tim’s book ‘Crown and Anchor’ is also available for a tenner.
If anyone is interested in some great books then please cut and paste the link HERE
Should I write about the Suburban Studs now?
Nah can’t be arsed!
My short story is written out below.
Tim Wells – Stoke Newington
Mickey Penguin – Stoke Newington
It might be helpful to play this YouTube video while reading the story below.
GRID: THE CAR BOOT AFFAIR
Five days had passed since Grid had returned from the local Sunday car boot sale in Stoke Newington clutching a mint condition 7” single by the Suburban Studs; ‘No Faith’ with ‘Questions’ on the flip side. Grid had also found and bought a ‘PUNKY REGGAE PARTY’ badge, obviously a badge from the late seventies, not a repro, telling by the slight miscolouring on the design, and a small amount of rust on the pin side. Lastly, he had scored a couple of worn-out paperback horror pulp books from the seventies. A decent shopping day indeed.
Grid was not his real name. Everyone he knew, knew him by that nickname. It was his love of ‘Griddles’, the seventies and early eighties ‘prawn’ or ‘beef’ flavoured corn snack that gave him the moniker that stuck from those school days right up to this present day.
Grid had owned the Suburban Studs 7” single for years, perhaps bought sometime in 1979, a couple of years after that record was released in 1977.
His original copy from all those decades past was scratchy due to the thousands of revolutions the record had spun on his various record players that he had owned over the decades. The paper sleeve was also not in the best condition, many creases, a small tear, and even a name; ‘Sara’ and a phone number, presumably Sara’s, written neatly on the rear of the sleeve. Who was Sara? Perhaps a long-forgotten girlfriend, or perhaps just a one-night stand from well over forty-five years ago. Grid had perhaps met her at one of the many gigs a month that he would have attended back in the latter seventies or the early eighties.
The gigs were plentiful back then, a browse through the weekly music papers would shine a light on the latest tours from great punk, mod, 2-Tone, reggae and new wave bands, and those same bands one off gigs. Also, reggae sound system dances would be advertised if you knew where to look.
Grid remembered seeing the Stranglers downstairs in the cellar at the Hope and Anchor pub in Islington in November 1977. That was fun Grid thought nostalgically, but thinking of that gig several decades later on, with an adult head, and not with the youthful body and reckless mind of the skinhead that Grid was at the time, it must have been insane seeing a band like the Stranglers in such a tiny venue. One small staircase for entrance and for exit to and from the cellar bar.
What if there was a fire? This is why Health and Safety was invented he thought. Absolute madness!
Talking of Madness, Grid had seen Madness at the very same Hope and Anchor, one sweaty night in July 1979. Ditto: Absolute madness!
Grid saw the Suburban Studs 7” record, not on one of the regular record stalls that were set up at the car boot sale every Sunday, at which Grid would barter on the price of any record he was interested in, reducing the price (of the generally overpriced records) to his financial advantage. Rather, he saw the record on a stall that was new to the car boot sale community. At least Grid had never seen it there before.
The stall holder was an old goth, who was short and plump. Grid thought, unfairly, that the plumpness did not make the goth look ‘correct’.
Goths, both men and woman should be thin and gaunt.
The plump guys that Grid knew, and there were many, were mostly old skinheads at reggae dances, a large percentage of scooterists at seaside national scooter weekenders, still dancing to northern soul, some middle-aged punk rockers still colouring and spiking up their hair, or what was left of it. Overweight mods heavy enough to affect their Lammy’s or Vespa’s driving performance. The scooters only struggling to 40 – 45 mph, not the 50 – 55 mph that Grid could sometimes make on his Vespa, if the headwind was favourable.
Nevertheless, despite Grids unfair thoughts and body shaming the old goth, the old goth was certainly a goth, just not a thin gaunt goth.
The stall had healing stones, shark teeth style necklaces, silver bangles and rings, fake skulls, and leather belts. There were pentagram designs, and various goth bands screen printed onto T-shirts, plus all sorts of other trinkets to adorn the best dressed goth, male or female.
Surprisingly, one fresh cardboard box of 7” records was on the table. Grid had made a beeline to the box, automatically knowing that the box contained records, due to his decades of collecting records, and knowing the box style. Grid was slightly annoyed when opening the box and pulling out a handful of records, to find out the contents of the box were the same record; The Suburban Studs; ‘No Faith / Questions’. Without counting Grid guessed there was probably twenty or maybe twenty-five copies in that box.
When Grid opened the record box originally, he was hoping for a mixture of punk, reggae, mod or glam 7” singles being in the box. Never mind. These Suburban Studs 7” singles were in immaculate condition, better than mint, if there is such a condition as ‘better than mint’.
The old goth said nothing when Grid handed over the pound coin, the price that was written on a piece of cardboard next to the record box, but he did wave his hands in front of Grid’s face rhythmically in some kind of weird, peculiar fashion for an uncomfortable amount of time.
The blokes a bit of a nutter but happy days all the same, got me a bargain. A quid for this 7” record, worth a score on Discogs I reckon, thought Grid.
As Grid was walking away, the old goth muttered something, but Grid did not hear clearly, and he assumed the old goth was either talking to himself or perhaps summoning up a demon or something.
As soon as Grid had got home, he pinned the badge onto his tan coloured Harrington jacket. He placed the horror paperbacks on top of the fragile bookcase creaking under the weight of the dozens of other seventies horror paperbacks, skinhead pulp books, Monster Fun, Shoot, 2000AD and many other children’s hardback annuals from the seventies and early eighties.
All those books mingled with dozens of books on decent punk bands like the Clash, Stiff Little Fingers, and the Jam, and many others, and there were many books on the mod culture, skinhead culture, and reggae culture. Oh, and a load of poetry books to boot.
Placing the Suburban Studs 7” onto the red Dansette mono record player, Grid got reacquainted with the record that he had bought sometime in 1979. He had probably not placed that original copy of the 7” onto a record player for at least the last twenty years.
The A-side; ‘No Faith’ first, a sort of fast paced punky R&B riff intro soon combined with the ’77 trademark ‘snotty’ vocals, while the drummer kept a pretty good beat. The song lasted for two minutes dead. Great stuff.
The Suburban Studs originally from Birmingham, were one of the punk bands from 1976 that fell through the cracks after an initial energetic burst supporting the big punk bands Sex Pistols and the Clash the same year the band was formed. The band fell off a lot of young punks’ radars over the following years. Suburban Studs were certainly not the best punk band of the time, in fact nowhere near, but certainly they were not the worst.
The record was flipped and the B-side; ‘Questions’, started, and then some memories started to become clearer in Grid’s mind.
I remember Sara! Grid now realised. She had written her phone number on his original Suburban Studs 7” at a gig hosted at the Moonlight Club in Hampstead. Not a gig by the Suburban Studs, but a gig by the Ruts. Grid went on to remember snippets of a long weekend with Sara around his mate Tom’s flat in Hoxton. A horrible area to visit and no doubt an even worse area to live back in the latter seventies, especially for immigrants.
Grid remembered having to run from the ‘master race’ on several occasions when he was walking alone during his semi regular stays around Tom’s flat. The National Front had a base there, so there was always tension from street to street. You couldn’t sit on the fence with the National Front. You had to be ‘for’ or ‘against’. They were the only choices. Grid and Tom were definitely against.
Grid remembered that Sara being there at Tom’s flat in Hoxton certainly lowered the Hoxton tension, at least for a few days. Then again, Sara and Grid never left the flat during their short stay, and there was no tension in that room that they had shared, that’s for sure.
Tom had made himself scarce for the duration.
Checking on his computer Grid got a date for the gig and got a ‘hit’. The Ruts had played the Moonlight Club sometime in November 1979. That is when he had bought the Suburban Studs record. He now remembered that he had gone to Rough Trade in Ladbrook Grove prior to going to see the Ruts in Hampstead. Grid thought that he had bought the record a few months earlier than that, but no, it was in November 1979 definitely.
Ahhhhh you little 7” beauty, thank you for all the memories! Grid daydreamed for a few seconds with some fondness. Whatever happened to Sara though? Grid thought that her second name was ‘Hunt’, or at least some other name beginning in ‘H’, but it was so long ago now. Those few days were great though. He remembered the rude bits, without really remembering her name.
As the B-side of the record came to a halt, at three minutes dead, he placed the record back in its pristine sleeve and placed it on top of a table while he fumbled for a long player, an album from his collection, to save him getting up and down every few minutes.
Grid chose an album, and on goes ‘African Dub All Mighty Chapter 3’, Grids favourite of the four Joe Gibbs and the Professionals ‘African Dub All Mighty’ series.
Setting the Dansette to 33 rpm and letting the heavy tone arm drop, the stylus carved through the silent grooves at the beginning of the album, and with a shock out of the mono front speaker, a sort of fast paced punky R&B riff…
What. The. Hell.
‘No Faith’ by the Suburban Studs had started. Confused, Grid then lifted the tone arm and gave his head a wobble, placed the tone arm down again, and ‘No Faith’ started again. Grid skipped some songs on the album and placed the tone arm randomly onto the album on any song and ‘No Faith’ started again.
Grid thought he might be having some sort of manic episode, or a stroke or something, so he gave up and decided on a beer down the ‘M’ Bar. Get some air.
Getting to the ‘M’ Bar (pretty much Grid’s watering hole of choice) on entering he said hello to the owner Maggie, hence the ‘M’. Maggie ignored him and just scowled over some headlines in one of the local newspapers.
Ordering a lager-top (Grid’s drink of choice) from yet another new face behind the bar, he settled onto one of the high wooden stalls against the small bar and minded his own business.
There were not many people in the bar that Sunday afternoon, in fact there was never many people in the bar at any time, or on any day of the week. Maggie had either barred some of the locals, or she had scared some of them off with her angry outbursts. Ditto some of the bar staff.
They came to work and sometimes left a week or two later. Grid wondered how long new face would be behind the bar.
Maggie was a bit of a nutter and did not take to fools, especially drunk fools, kindly. Being quite small and slim she could still push far bigger folk out of the door of the bar and onto the pavement with ease, some sort of super Irish strength Grid had always assumed.
A few minutes into enjoying his lager-top, Maggie called out to remind him that he was expected to bring some records to the bar on Friday evening to be the DJ for the night. Grid did this DJ slot often. Once a month at least. The Friday evenings were relatively slow up to about 11 pm, and then people flocked in when the other pubs in the area had closed. Normally on a Friday, after 11 pm there could be fifty people in the small dancefloor area at the rear of the bar, perhaps sixty on a good night.
Maggie always decided when she would close the bar, maybe 3 am, sometimes earlier, sometimes later.
The good thing about the ‘M’ Bar apart from the sound system being quite loud and reasonably clear, was also that there was an actual DJ booth, with a closing door and everything. Pretty professional in a totally worn down ‘M’ Bar kind of way. Grid always felt good in that booth. The King of the DJs! Far better than slumming it at the annual ska / skinhead festival at the Sir George Robey in Finsbury Park during the latter-eighties and early-nineties, where he, the DJ for Christs sake, would just be set up on the floor with dozens of hairless headed plebs staring at the labels of the rare rocksteady and ska records rotating on the twin decks.
Punk bands, or any other bands did not have to set up on floor!
The indignity of it all. Grid sighed inwardly.
The Swan pub in Tottenham, had a larger dance area (a small hall – not just an area attached to the bar like the ‘M’ Bar).
Grid had had a short residency at the Swan in the mid-nineties, playing his ska and rocksteady records to predominantly West Indian pub goers. That hall at the Swan pub also had a DJ booth with a closing door. King of the DJs indeed. Get in.
Grid preferred the height of the booth and a closed door when he was ‘working’.
Grid told Maggie that he had not forgotten, and he will be ready for Friday; No problem.
The Monday and the rest of the week were quiet in general, and Grid did not put any records on the Dansette.
On Friday he needed to sort out some 7” and 12” singles for the ‘M’ Bar later that evening. The ‘M’ Bar DJ slots was ‘anything goes’, so Grid could literally bring any records along, whether it be The Pioneers, the Flys, Ian Dury, Burning Spear, Wire, Donna Summer, X Ray Spex or Matumbi. Even Dennis Waterman’s ‘I Could Be So Good For You’, the theme from the television series ‘Minder’ got a spin in the ‘M’ Bar, now and again.
The ’M’ Bar DJ slots were just a bit of fun, and Grid would put the hours in for the payment of a few free drinks and a few notes at the end of the night.
Most of Grid’s DJ slots, however, were taken seriously. Grid was a serious DJ with some seriously rare records, especially ska, rocksteady and reggae. He especially took reggae DJ slots seriously, placing cut after cut of the same rhythm, a vocal, a DJ cut, a dub, or any other versions of that rhythm. Grid also filed any records that he was to place on the turntables in producer order. Lee Perry section, Joe Gibbs section, Lesley Kong section, Niney section and so forth. This way Grid could put records on the turntables that were exclusively on the Upsetter record label, or the Amalgamated record label, or the Beverley’s record label, or the Observer record label and so forth.
This system helped to get continuity from record to record so the audience gets a fifteen minute or so blast of Lee Perry productions, or Joe Gibbs productions, and so forth.
The ‘M’ Bar DJ slots were far easier, like a pub juke box but louder and of course ‘live’. Just chuck any record onto the turntables, if the people there were smiling that was the main thing. Grid no doubt had better records from his own collection on any night, than any jukebox anywhere in the world, except a juke box in Jamaica maybe!
Grid sorted out the records and placed them into his DJ record box.
Grid was always a tidy dresser, with some pukka clothing, much of it bought from old Jewish tailers in the east end, Time to get cleaned up. A wash, a shave, a splash of Brut. Then, for tonight, Grid decided to put on a clean freshly washed white Fred Perry polo shirt and a burgundy Fred Perry V neck jumper. A black 100% wool Trilby hat to finish. The top half dealt with, the bottom half consisted for this evening, grey sta-press trousers with super sharp creases, a pair of garish coloured socks, complementing the brightly polished black Grenson Stanley brogues.
Lovely jubbly.
To keep any chills at bay, one of his Baracuta Harrington G9 jackets would be needed. Which one? Green? Burgandy? Dusty blue? Tan?
He thought for a minute and weirdly remembered that he had not owned a black Harrington jacket since 1979, and that black Harrington jacket was his very first Harrington jacket bought. Maybe he should get a black Harrington jacket for old times’ sake?
Grid chose the tan Harrington jacket, mainly because the PUNKY REGGAE PARTY badge he had bought five days ago had been pinned onto the collar.
Chugging down a cup of tea, no sugar, he walked out of the door and walked the ten minutes to the ‘M’ Bar.
Setting up and testing the levels of the sound system, Grid decided to play the Last Words 7” single A side; ‘Animal World’.
Grid again, with a shock, heard ‘No Faith’ by the Suburban Studs. Looking at the record label rotating on the turntable he could see that the record being played was on the Rough Trade record label, not the Pogo record label that the Suburban Studs 7” single was released on, so he knew that the wrong record did not end up in the wrong picture sleeve. This is madness, I have had the Last Words 7” single for around as long as I have had the Suburban Studs 7” single, so it is not a mis-pressed record either, he thought.
Grid took off the record off the turntable early and again gave his head a wobble. No worries and no disappointments on the dancefloor, there were only four locals in the bar area slumped over their drinks, and all those four looked as though they had been slumped there all day.
Deciding on a 12” record, and just to test the bass, Grid placed on Culture’s ‘Send Some Rain’, the Jamaican pressing on the Errol T record label, and one of the series of Errol T 12” record releases, the series with the well dodgy Joe Gibbs company die cut ‘Disco’ sleeves. This record lasts for over seven minutes, that would be more than enough time to check the bass levels and to adjust if necessary.
The record started to rotate; the tone arm was moved and dropped. The stylus carved through the silent grooves at the beginning of the 12” and the wonderful sound of Culture was soon to fill up the room. No. It was ‘No Faith’ by the Suburban Studs.
The new face behind the bar who had served Grid a few Lager-tops on the Sunday evening, five days previously, came to the DJ booth, she had nothing else to do.
The four locals at the bar were quiet enough.
She asked what the record was that was playing.
“Errr, it’s umm, it’s the Suburban Studs” Grid states in a confused manner.
“Really? It’s great. I like a bit of reggae” she replies with glee.
“Errr, what do you mean?” asked Grid.
“It’s a nice beat, I like it. I hear reggae from some of the West Indian dances that I can hear from my bedsit window in the summer sometimes” she explained.
“Arrr, okay then, umm, cheers” said Grid in an ever more confusing manner.
Two minutes dead, ‘No Faith’ finished and he took the Culture 12” record off the turntable.
Grid had already lined up another reggae 12” record as new face seemed to like reggae music, and she was the only person listening.
“Oi, why did you turn the reggae record off after a couple of minutes” asked new face “I was listening to that”
“The song finished; it is only two minutes long” Grid advised rather pompously.
“Huh?” new face muttered.
A chance to put on a record that new face might know, so Junior Murvin’s ‘Police and Thieves’ 12” had been chosen, clocking in at over seven minutes again.
Grid is shocked, and not for the first time in the last few days, or even in the last few minutes. The song that Grid heard was; ‘No Faith’ by the Suburban Studs.
“Ohh I like this one” states new face “I heard it a few months ago when a neighbour, a friend from college, was playing a reggae CD while I was around there. It’s brilliant”.
Two minutes later, Grid lifts the tone arm, as ‘No Faith’ had finished.
“What are you doing?” says new face getting annoyed. “Why are you just playing a little bit of the record?”.
“The song finished; it is only two minutes long” Grid advised, again rather pompously.
“Oh bollocks. I got to serve at the bar” says new face. “Some crusties just walked in”.
Grid did not like anarcho-punk per se, the followers of such a scene, the crusties, he thought could all do with a thorough wash and a good meal. Pie and mash with lashings of liquor he imagined. But they all eat grass, don’t they? He smiled inwardly.
Grid liked some of the anarcho-punk bands though, the dogma and the followers not so much. Poison Girls was one band that stood out, the Mob, Zounds and Rudimentary Peni, and a few others.
The crusties had been served, and were wandering towards the small dancefloor,
Grid grabbed a Rudimentary Peni 7”, the very first EP and placed the tone arm onto the last song on the B-side ‘Play’, Grid’s favourite off that EP.
The song that Grid heard was; ‘No Faith’ by the Suburban Studs.
The crusties were happy enough jumping around to the one minute ten seconds of Rudimentary Peni. When the Rudimentary Peni song finished, there was what radio stations call ‘dead air’, and the ‘dead air’ lasted for almost a minute, fifty seconds to be precise. Grid was lost in a trance mouthing the words to ‘No Faith’, after all, he had heard it a few times during the early evening.
“Put something on, put another Peni record on” shouted one of the crusties.
“The song hasn’t finished yet; it is two minutes long” Grid replied.
“You twat” shouted another crustie.
More people had started to come into the ‘M’ Bar, and Maggie had turned up from somewhere, and was generally being rude to any customer that she thought she could be rude to.
Throughout the night and the early morning, while Grid was playing parts of records and lifting the tone arm after two minutes dead or allowing ‘dead air’ for however many seconds, the punters were getting restless. So was Maggie, and that was far more worrying.
There was an old goth, who was short and plump, standing right in the corner, where it was darkest. Grid thought he had seen this goth before, but couldn’t place him at that time, he seemed happy enough to be in the dark corner, bat-like. The old goth was staring at Grid throughout, without talking and without drinking.
After having to listen to ‘No Faith’ dozens of times throughout the hours during that DJ slot at the ‘M’ Bar, Grid was wobbling mentally, he must be quite ill he thought, having some kind of a breakdown. The numerous lager-tops that new face brought round to the DJ booth every now and again didn’t help either.
When the ‘M’ bar was closing, Grid grabbed his records, and expecting some money as was usual, namely a small percentage of drink sales on the night, he approached Maggie.
He soon wished that he had not approached Maggie! She properly tore into him about all the complaints she had to listen to from pretty much all the punters throughout the duration of the DJ session. Maggie refused to pay him, and not only that, she also barred him from the ‘M’ Bar, like she had done with so many other locals.
Fuck her, Grid thought.
Grid wandered out of the ‘M’ Bar and into the early morning quiet deserted streets.
When he got to his home, he chucked the record box across the room in anger, accidently knocking his bookshelf over. All the books fell onto the floor.
Fuck her, and fuck it, he screamed inwardly.
Saturday was a quiet day, mainly sorting out his bookcase that had collapsed, and getting a welcoming pie and mash with lashings of liquor down the local cafe.
On Sunday, Grid went, as usual to the car boot sale. All the usual stalls were there.
Grid asked some of the regular stallholders where was the old goth’s stall that was there on the Sunday before had gone. The stallholders looked confused and said that they didn’t know.
Grid walked towards home (without buying anything, for a change), dejected and confused. On the way home he entered the best bagel shop in north-east London, his local bagel shop. While waiting for his order some music came on the radio. Grid heard ‘No Faith’ by the Suburban Studs, although it was probably some Jewish folk music or similar.
Throughout the next couple of weeks, Grid’s mental state spiralled downwards. He wanted to play his records, and he had tried, but to the same outcome over and over and over again. Music was pretty much his whole life. He had a whole lifetime of being involved in some way or another in music and the music scene, whether DJ’ing or whether being in a couple of well-known bands when he was younger, and as for the thousands of gigs he had been to from a young age. It was incalculable. He had invested heavily in music and the music scene.
He decided to listen to an old cassette tape with some studio recordings on from his old band from 1982. Maybe a cassette tape would break the spell that vinyl couldn’t. He yearned to hear his voice again, set against a dub reggae punky beat. Pressing the play button Grid heard ‘No Faith’ and then heard it again when the next song on the cassette tape started, and then heard it again, until the cassette tape finished and automatically clicked off in the cassette recorder.
Throughout the following few weeks, Grid had lost interest in any music, he knew what he was going to hear, so what was the point. Throughout those weeks he stayed indoors more and more. He did not wash or groom himself properly. Unheard of just a few weeks previously. Grid always looked smart and sussed, now he just looked lost and sad.
Grid’s neighbours would check on him from time to time, especially Grid’s actual next-door neighbour, a young lady who was creative in art and music, and a genuine good friend of Grid.
After a while Grid had stopped talking altogether, even to his next-door neighbour, just swaying in a chair.
One afternoon, an old goth, who was short and plump, knocked at the door of Grid’s home. Grid’s next-door neighbour happened to be in Grid’s home caring for him. Grid was still not talking.
The old goth asked if he could speak to Grid alone, as they were very old friends, and he was worried. Grid’s neighbour thought whether this would be okay, but seeing no immediate risk, and considering the old goth could have been one of Grid’s very old friends, she politely made her way out of the door and into her own home hoping that Grid’s goth friend could drag some words out of him at last.
The next day, when Grid’s neighbour was at her studio working on a music project, the old goth turned up again at Grid’s home. This time with a Luton van and a younger man.
When Grid’s neighbour came home and opened up Grid’s door with her set of keys that she had had cut several weeks ago, she found Grid on his chair in a pair of ‘distressed’ blue jeans, a grubby plain white T-shirt, a leather biker jacket and a pair of canvas sneakers, holding on to a 7” single by the Suburban Studs in one hand, and holding a twenty-pound note in the other hand.
The red Dansette was still there, a bed and a couple of chairs. Everything else had gone. The books, the records, all the pukka clothing and the polished shoes. Everything that Grid had accumulated over a lifetime. Even the Brut bottle was gone.
Grid stayed hypnotised for many months, and perhaps he would remain so for the duration of his life.
He wore only clothing that the Suburban Studs, the Saints, or the Ramones, or any number of bands, would have felt comfortable wearing back in the latter seventies, ‘distressed’ blue jeans, a grubby plain white T-shirt, a leather biker jacket and a pair of canvas sneakers,
The old goth had hypnotised Grid so all the music he ever heard from that day at the car boot sale onwards, was ‘No Faith’ by the Suburban Studs, the 7” record that the old goth was punting. The lifetime love of music now lost, quickly drove Grid into some form of insanity and depression, and he was then susceptible to abuse.
The old goth knew this would be the case after waiting a few weeks. He not only took most of Grid’s possessions, but he also took Grid’s dignity, of being at one time, only a few short weeks ago, one of the smartest dressed and sussed people in the area. Grid was now going around in ‘distressed’ blue jeans, a grubby plain white T-shirt, a leather biker jacket and a pair of canvas sneakers.
Grid had got the twenty-pound note for payment for all his possessions stuffed into his hand by the old goth.
Grid did manage to place the Suburban Studs 7” single on the Dansette quite often, it was the only record he owned, and it was the only music he could hear.
The old goth was never seen again, nor the younger man, nor were Grid’s possessions.
In his lonelier moments Grid wondered if he even ever owned anything to start with. Did he ever own any rare books, rare records, pukka clothes and polished shoes?
He couldn’t remember anymore.
THE END
OTHER POETRY AND FICTIONAL BOOKS WRITTEN BY TIM WELLS
BUY MOONSTOMP FROM HERE
BUY SHINE ON ME FROM HERE
This last book ‘Shine on Me’ set in 1980 has a chapter that describes in detail someone called ‘Penguin’ being found dead down an alleyway after being at a Madness concert the night before.
I have been slaughtered by Joe, the skinhead werewolf!