Cock in a paddling pool...
Little Claire was precisely that.
Her hair cut to a childish bob, she looked every bit of her fifteen years. I liked her. Wondered what brought her here to us. We wandered together through the shopping centre and up the ramp towards the bus station. I spotted him standing near the ticket office and went over to say hello.
'Are you always waiting here for me?' I smiled.
John smiled back, for which I was relieved. 'I'm buying a ticket.' He said.
'This is Claire.' I said, pointing to Claire. 'Where are you going?'
'On a coach!' He said, still delicious. 'Hey, fancy coming to a gig in London?'
'Got no money.' I grumbled.
'I'll buy you both tickets.'
An offer too good to refuse?
I looked at Claire and she at me, we smiled. 'OK.' I said.
He bought us tickets and we waved goodbye for now.
__________________________________________________________
Tickets in hand we waited for John to join us. That wait took us right up to departure time.
'What will we do?' Asked Claire.
'Get on the coach.' Seemed the only answer. I searched for him in the crowds as the bus pulled out of the station, prepared at any moment to tell the bus driver to stop and let him on. But he never came.
Onwards rolled the bus towards the City.
Claire nervously kept pressing for an answer as to what we were going to do in London without John. We had no money and no knowledge of how to get to the Arsenal Tavern where the gig was held. I however, did not care. London was nearing and I could smell it. I absent mindedly picked at the little crust of blood from the needle on my arm and I looked at Claire and thought her too weak for all of this.
The streets of Victoria bore an infestation of people. I merged with the rush of bodies, Claire gripping tight to my hand and I adored this feeling of chaos. I pushed faster and faster through the purposeful crowd and as their bodies knocked against me I smiled more and more.
How could one not feel at home here?
We asked directions to the tube station and from there we took a train to Piccadilly Circus. A tourist trap of a place, but something at least for the girls that lacked a starting point. The bright electric billboards of the Circus called me over and from there I had a vantage point of so something more.
I stared. 'What's down there?' I asked the lady with the camera.
'That street leads to Soho.' She had answered.
'Soho.' I repeated. Liking the way it sounds. 'Come on.' I cried to Claire, 'Let's go to Soho.' And barefoot I wandered hand in hand down the path that would colour my life forever.
I was in awe. Pretty girls, trashy girls, skinny girls with skinny arms and legs, glowing Neon lights that flashed and lured and made me smile.
Girls. Girls. Girls.
I asked the suited bouncer with the overcoat if he could spare a cigarette. He could.
'You could use a Bath.' He mumbled 'And a pair of shoes.'
'Can you spare a bath or a pair of shoes Sir?' I inquired. The Bouncer laughed a deep and friendly laugh.
'How old are you?' He asked. Voice Cockney thick.
'I'm seventeen and Claire is...' I paused and considered, 'sixteen.' He laughed again.
'Come back and see me when you've grown up girl. I may have work for a lady like you.'
'Do you know a good place for a drink?' I asked.
'Not in here. Unless you're full of money and into tits.' He winked 'Try the Intrepid Fox. On Wardour Street, just round the corner.' And he gave us the rest of the cigarettes to keep.
Soho was coloured by fantastical people. Everything seemed a little more extreme here. Outfits were daring, image was a statement and sexuality of all kinds and deviancies was paraded with satisfaction and pride. The Intrepid Fox was a Punk/slash/Goth pub. The angry anarchists and depressed and blackened youths spilled out onto the pavement where they drank from plastic cups and marked their territory with their presence.
'Are we going in there?' Asked Claire.
'I am.' I winked, 'Coming with me?'
We pushed our way into the group to find the door. Two voices called out in unison, one mine, one his...
'Shane!'
'Claire!'
I recognised him from the Hat & Feather! This was good fortune indeed as with no money to buy our own drinks, company offered more than friendship.
'What the fuck you doing here?' He asked with a smile.
'We came down for a gig at the Arsenal Tavern. I'm not going to bother going now though.' I pushed Claire forward. 'This is my mate Claire. Buy us some drinks.'
And he did. We followed him inside the Fox, the bouncer stared at Claire but let us through despite the obvious.
This place, this fucking place was incredible. The pub, cleaved firmly between the camp and homosexual pink of 'Media Soho' and the testosterone and neon red of the lighted district; this place was a palace of statements. Industrial skeletons made of rusted body parts, bats and spiders, glow in the dark paintings and every imaginable hair colour, piercing, tattoo and expression of alternative fashion. So the toilets lacked doors and the floor was as sticky as the air to breathe, but this place was welcoming me with all it had to offer.
'Claudia' Said the girl stood next to Shane. She held out the palest hand that I had ever touched and offered it to shake.
'Claire...' I paused and I remembered there were two of me. 'And Claire.'
Claudia had fluorescent pink hair shaped into large coned spikes, each about fifteen centimetres long. She was pretty, Meryl Streep pretty and I shook her pale hand with my slightly dirty one and sealed the friendship.
'I like your dress.' She had said. I liked her Myra Hindley T-Shirt and ripped up kilt look too.
Shane was flirting. I flirted back as the free drinks flowed but my attention was mostly on this new girl. Another lad joined us, but I remember neither his name nor why he was with us.
Claire was indeed lost in this place, but I was found.
Claudia told me that she lived in Maryland, near Stratford with her Mum, who was a crazy liberal, and her little sister Cecilia, an aspiring model. She was everything that I wanted to be. Full of fun and happiness. Passionate. Fiery but not angry. I envied her that she could be her and not be us. Claudia knew of a squat where we could all stay the night and I was glad to get to spend some more time in her company. She was also seventeen.
We left the Intrepid Fox when the money ran dry. Begged a little more for our fares then took a bus or was it two to Peckham, just south of the river.
Peckham.
Gloriuus filthy Peckham, model of the sink estate.
If I found beauty in Soho, it could only follow that I found heaven in these streets. Claudia hurried down the main road, wanting to get from the cold of the night to the warm of something. I paused for a moment to stare in the glass of a barber shop window. A large group of African men hung out at the back listening to music and smoking, but definitely not cutting hair. One of them saw me, smiled and waved, just as I felt Claudia's hand in mine pulling me onwards down the street.
'You should wear shoes.' She said 'You'd be faster. I'll nick you some tomorrow if you like.'
'Mrs Claudia' I said, tucking my arm in hers, 'I think that we will become good friends.'
We entered the estate and I saw those blocks before us. I had never set foot in a place like this. I had never seen this type of wall before. The Commercial Way Housing Estate and its very silence frightened me. I liked that. There were signs as you entered the estate, 'Sleeping Policeman', I thought it nice of them to warn us and walked extra quietly from that point on. The door at the base of the block was kicked from its hinges. It lay against the wall like a tombstone to whatever aspirations the council officers had once been hopeful for. It smelt of piss and canvased graffiti. The lift doors were also broken. Forced back and buckled they now strained against the command to shut and grunted unhappily. We heard them moan and decided to take the stairs.
How many fucking floors? Twenty possibly. Up and up we went. Feet slipping on the pee pee soaked tiles and cold on the concrete landings. The door to flat number 86 was Council Estate blue. What's with the blue? Did the Government get donated a thousand tons of not very nice blue paint in the sixties and seventies? Or did a hundred separate managers of the lives of poor, think this an apt and fitting colour?
Claudia knocked on the door of blue.
Footsteps approached then a female voice called out, 'Who is it?'
A door opened behind us and a child, of a about nine years old with a spongy afro and Batman pajamas stared.
'It's Clod and Shane.' Shouted Claudia. And then quieter, 'And Claire and Claire and Matty' with a smile.
The door in front us opened now and the boy behind us called out.
'Don't worry Ma. It's just the fucking punks again.'
Then he disappeared behind his blue.
The girl wore roller skates. She stared at all of us then back at Clod.
'You bought your whole family?' She jibed. The added. 'Well, hurry up. Get your butts inside.'
The hallway had a nasty carpet. Nasty by design and filth. The carpet led us onwards to a room at the end, which we were informed by Claudia, was free for us to use. The girl on skates, mixed race of coffee skin on tired bones, waved us goodbye and shut the door to a different room. My future.
I stared at all before me.
Claudia lit the candle with the cigarette lighter. The room about three meters square, had a double mattress in one corner, a single in another and a paddling pool in the centre.
Shane smiled at me, 'Wanna share the double?' so I did. but my mind was more firmly on the cock in the paddling pool.
That's Fiend
The small blow up circular paddling pool was blue with orange fish. In its midst was a man. A man with dirty dreads and tattooed face and body. His trousers were pulled down to his knees and his cock was hanging out for all to see. He had a tub of sick next to his head, orange ripple contents now replaced with bile and beer. I stared at him a little, but mostly at his cock.
'That's Fiend.' Said Claudia. 'I'm on the single bed with Matty' She threw a blanket at Little Claire, 'You're in the paddling pool with him.'
And for some inexplicable reason I wished that she had left that job for me.
Continued...
Her hair cut to a childish bob, she looked every bit of her fifteen years. I liked her. Wondered what brought her here to us. We wandered together through the shopping centre and up the ramp towards the bus station. I spotted him standing near the ticket office and went over to say hello.
'Are you always waiting here for me?' I smiled.
John smiled back, for which I was relieved. 'I'm buying a ticket.' He said.
'This is Claire.' I said, pointing to Claire. 'Where are you going?'
'On a coach!' He said, still delicious. 'Hey, fancy coming to a gig in London?'
'Got no money.' I grumbled.
'I'll buy you both tickets.'
An offer too good to refuse?
I looked at Claire and she at me, we smiled. 'OK.' I said.
He bought us tickets and we waved goodbye for now.
__________________________________________________________
Tickets in hand we waited for John to join us. That wait took us right up to departure time.
'What will we do?' Asked Claire.
'Get on the coach.' Seemed the only answer. I searched for him in the crowds as the bus pulled out of the station, prepared at any moment to tell the bus driver to stop and let him on. But he never came.
Onwards rolled the bus towards the City.
Claire nervously kept pressing for an answer as to what we were going to do in London without John. We had no money and no knowledge of how to get to the Arsenal Tavern where the gig was held. I however, did not care. London was nearing and I could smell it. I absent mindedly picked at the little crust of blood from the needle on my arm and I looked at Claire and thought her too weak for all of this.
The streets of Victoria bore an infestation of people. I merged with the rush of bodies, Claire gripping tight to my hand and I adored this feeling of chaos. I pushed faster and faster through the purposeful crowd and as their bodies knocked against me I smiled more and more.
How could one not feel at home here?
We asked directions to the tube station and from there we took a train to Piccadilly Circus. A tourist trap of a place, but something at least for the girls that lacked a starting point. The bright electric billboards of the Circus called me over and from there I had a vantage point of so something more.
I stared. 'What's down there?' I asked the lady with the camera.
'That street leads to Soho.' She had answered.
'Soho.' I repeated. Liking the way it sounds. 'Come on.' I cried to Claire, 'Let's go to Soho.' And barefoot I wandered hand in hand down the path that would colour my life forever.
I was in awe. Pretty girls, trashy girls, skinny girls with skinny arms and legs, glowing Neon lights that flashed and lured and made me smile.
Girls. Girls. Girls.
I asked the suited bouncer with the overcoat if he could spare a cigarette. He could.
'You could use a Bath.' He mumbled 'And a pair of shoes.'
'Can you spare a bath or a pair of shoes Sir?' I inquired. The Bouncer laughed a deep and friendly laugh.
'How old are you?' He asked. Voice Cockney thick.
'I'm seventeen and Claire is...' I paused and considered, 'sixteen.' He laughed again.
'Come back and see me when you've grown up girl. I may have work for a lady like you.'
'Do you know a good place for a drink?' I asked.
'Not in here. Unless you're full of money and into tits.' He winked 'Try the Intrepid Fox. On Wardour Street, just round the corner.' And he gave us the rest of the cigarettes to keep.
Soho was coloured by fantastical people. Everything seemed a little more extreme here. Outfits were daring, image was a statement and sexuality of all kinds and deviancies was paraded with satisfaction and pride. The Intrepid Fox was a Punk/slash/Goth pub. The angry anarchists and depressed and blackened youths spilled out onto the pavement where they drank from plastic cups and marked their territory with their presence.
'Are we going in there?' Asked Claire.
'I am.' I winked, 'Coming with me?'
We pushed our way into the group to find the door. Two voices called out in unison, one mine, one his...
'Shane!'
'Claire!'
I recognised him from the Hat & Feather! This was good fortune indeed as with no money to buy our own drinks, company offered more than friendship.
'What the fuck you doing here?' He asked with a smile.
'We came down for a gig at the Arsenal Tavern. I'm not going to bother going now though.' I pushed Claire forward. 'This is my mate Claire. Buy us some drinks.'
And he did. We followed him inside the Fox, the bouncer stared at Claire but let us through despite the obvious.
This place, this fucking place was incredible. The pub, cleaved firmly between the camp and homosexual pink of 'Media Soho' and the testosterone and neon red of the lighted district; this place was a palace of statements. Industrial skeletons made of rusted body parts, bats and spiders, glow in the dark paintings and every imaginable hair colour, piercing, tattoo and expression of alternative fashion. So the toilets lacked doors and the floor was as sticky as the air to breathe, but this place was welcoming me with all it had to offer.
'Claudia' Said the girl stood next to Shane. She held out the palest hand that I had ever touched and offered it to shake.
'Claire...' I paused and I remembered there were two of me. 'And Claire.'
Claudia had fluorescent pink hair shaped into large coned spikes, each about fifteen centimetres long. She was pretty, Meryl Streep pretty and I shook her pale hand with my slightly dirty one and sealed the friendship.
'I like your dress.' She had said. I liked her Myra Hindley T-Shirt and ripped up kilt look too.
Shane was flirting. I flirted back as the free drinks flowed but my attention was mostly on this new girl. Another lad joined us, but I remember neither his name nor why he was with us.
Claire was indeed lost in this place, but I was found.
Claudia told me that she lived in Maryland, near Stratford with her Mum, who was a crazy liberal, and her little sister Cecilia, an aspiring model. She was everything that I wanted to be. Full of fun and happiness. Passionate. Fiery but not angry. I envied her that she could be her and not be us. Claudia knew of a squat where we could all stay the night and I was glad to get to spend some more time in her company. She was also seventeen.
We left the Intrepid Fox when the money ran dry. Begged a little more for our fares then took a bus or was it two to Peckham, just south of the river.
Peckham.
Gloriuus filthy Peckham, model of the sink estate.
If I found beauty in Soho, it could only follow that I found heaven in these streets. Claudia hurried down the main road, wanting to get from the cold of the night to the warm of something. I paused for a moment to stare in the glass of a barber shop window. A large group of African men hung out at the back listening to music and smoking, but definitely not cutting hair. One of them saw me, smiled and waved, just as I felt Claudia's hand in mine pulling me onwards down the street.
'You should wear shoes.' She said 'You'd be faster. I'll nick you some tomorrow if you like.'
'Mrs Claudia' I said, tucking my arm in hers, 'I think that we will become good friends.'
We entered the estate and I saw those blocks before us. I had never set foot in a place like this. I had never seen this type of wall before. The Commercial Way Housing Estate and its very silence frightened me. I liked that. There were signs as you entered the estate, 'Sleeping Policeman', I thought it nice of them to warn us and walked extra quietly from that point on. The door at the base of the block was kicked from its hinges. It lay against the wall like a tombstone to whatever aspirations the council officers had once been hopeful for. It smelt of piss and canvased graffiti. The lift doors were also broken. Forced back and buckled they now strained against the command to shut and grunted unhappily. We heard them moan and decided to take the stairs.
How many fucking floors? Twenty possibly. Up and up we went. Feet slipping on the pee pee soaked tiles and cold on the concrete landings. The door to flat number 86 was Council Estate blue. What's with the blue? Did the Government get donated a thousand tons of not very nice blue paint in the sixties and seventies? Or did a hundred separate managers of the lives of poor, think this an apt and fitting colour?
Claudia knocked on the door of blue.
Footsteps approached then a female voice called out, 'Who is it?'
A door opened behind us and a child, of a about nine years old with a spongy afro and Batman pajamas stared.
'It's Clod and Shane.' Shouted Claudia. And then quieter, 'And Claire and Claire and Matty' with a smile.
The door in front us opened now and the boy behind us called out.
'Don't worry Ma. It's just the fucking punks again.'
Then he disappeared behind his blue.
The girl wore roller skates. She stared at all of us then back at Clod.
'You bought your whole family?' She jibed. The added. 'Well, hurry up. Get your butts inside.'
The hallway had a nasty carpet. Nasty by design and filth. The carpet led us onwards to a room at the end, which we were informed by Claudia, was free for us to use. The girl on skates, mixed race of coffee skin on tired bones, waved us goodbye and shut the door to a different room. My future.
I stared at all before me.
Claudia lit the candle with the cigarette lighter. The room about three meters square, had a double mattress in one corner, a single in another and a paddling pool in the centre.
Shane smiled at me, 'Wanna share the double?' so I did. but my mind was more firmly on the cock in the paddling pool.
That's Fiend
The small blow up circular paddling pool was blue with orange fish. In its midst was a man. A man with dirty dreads and tattooed face and body. His trousers were pulled down to his knees and his cock was hanging out for all to see. He had a tub of sick next to his head, orange ripple contents now replaced with bile and beer. I stared at him a little, but mostly at his cock.
'That's Fiend.' Said Claudia. 'I'm on the single bed with Matty' She threw a blanket at Little Claire, 'You're in the paddling pool with him.'
And for some inexplicable reason I wished that she had left that job for me.
Continued...
posted by Claire at 3:00 pm
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