The following is an account of true events: the names of those involved have been changed (including the dog’s).
My introduction to the Great Edgar Broughton started in a pub said to have once been frequented by highwayman Dick Turpin.
Aged fourteen, me and a couple of mates found we could get served in the Schooner, located—though no longer there—where Streatham High Road meets Hermitage Lane.
In the early 90s I worked London’s markets; the following is an account of true events (continued from: Songs T Taught Me and the Mystery of Charlie Chaplin):
Spaces always look smaller when empty; something in this case helped big time by the stage being hidden behind a curtain. The area once full of merry drinkers now occupied by a solitary pool table, five ‘chaps‘ drinking and smoking round it.
It’d become one of those pubs where unless you knew someone already there, everyone there would assume you undercover plod worthy of a good stabbing–up. The fact one of us was a loud Aussie doing nothing to allay suspicions; on the contrary, what better way for a rozzer to hide than appearing to be from a different country.
Last thing to do: turn tail and leave.
In the early 90s I worked London’s markets; the following is an account of true events (continued from: Horses for Courses):
In Croydon my attempts to give socks away were met with outright resistance:
‘He don’t like the ones with elastic at the top’
‘Too thick; will make his feet sweat’
Replying, ‘how about for another much loved and cared for family member, such as a cherished grandchild?’ did nothing to entice the taking of free socks.
There was nothing for it but the songs T had taught me:Continue reading
In the early 90s I worked London’s markets; the following is an account of true events:
“What you reckon?”
T looked at me across the table of the ‘workingmen’s café’ he’d chosen to meet in for ‘a bit of breakfast’.
He’d been running up and down Oxford Street selling out of a suitcase; just he hadn’t been running fast enough. A three person operation (seller/fake excited buyer/lookout), T had decided he had enough winning charm not to need the second—granted, I’d give him that—and enough cunning and sly to outwit plod: wrong; numerous times too.Continue reading
Neighbour knocked on front door earlier, thought I was M. Offer to go get M, but no, want message relayed. They aren’t social distancing from door, which I already have Continue reading
Circumstance took me back to the UK just before Christmas; a landmark birthday on it had me stay to spend it with mother, who lives in Chard; a place located in deep and darkest Somerset.
By choice celebrations would start with friends on Christmas Eve; a visit to the pub with a massive Continue reading
Recently I’ve been thinking of writing something about how certain songs can take me to a very specific time and place.
Last week I was lucky enough to see Continue reading
Saucy Sally in the Tale of the Terrible Sense of Humour
A short story about the memories a beautiful summer can bring. Continue reading