Where were you when..... Where were you when..... August 16th 1977 I was laid in bed, and as usual, I was drifting to sleep in the confines of a fantasy starring the latest girl to come under my sights. The featurettes in these pre-dreams changed regularly and tonights change of focus was due to dramatic events that took place on the day before yesterday. Mr MacMillan, our history teacher,had called us into the class. It was to hand out the parts for the school play. He handed out A4 envelopes to all those that were to have an acting part. We tore excitedly into the envelopes. In bold in the top left margin mine said "The Prince" My god...this was the starring role. The play was called "MacBen"...It was a comic send up of "MacBeth" I fair skipped home that afternoon...bounced myself onto the couch and began to read my part...eventually after snacks and drinks I reached page 23. I read the first line at the top in brackets. It generated a feeling that must be akin to winning the lottery. (The Princess is laid on the ground. The Prince drops to one knee, leans down and kisses her on the lips) I immediately jumped up and began pacing the lounge. Thinking hard. Who was the Princess? In my excitement tearing open the envelope I had failed to pay attention to what was going on. I couldn't wait until school tomorrow. I rang my best mate...Paul O Malley "Paul...have you got the play." "Yeah." "Who is playing the part of the Princess?" "Whoa...have you got the Prince's part?" "Yes I have." "Spencer...you lucky bastard." "Come on who is it?" "It's Debbie Campbell." Stunned silence...almost wept tears of joy...I felt overwhelmed. This was good casting. Debbie Campbell was utterly beautiful. Perfect for the role. She looked like Olivia Newton John and even seemed to model herself by ONJ. Dressing just like Sandy out of "Grease" with her hair held in place with a wide hairband. Now I am deep in Pre-dream. Reciting the lines leading up to the kiss. Then I kiss her. Amazing. There is a moment of blurred misdirection and then I am leaving school with Debbie to walk home together. The housing estate has been replaced by long grass meadows through which we run with gleeful smiling love. Debbie keeps stopping to give me a quick flash of her white cotton knickers...then carries on running and laughing until we fall together into the long grass where nobody can see us. I am sliding into a blissful tunnel of sleep on my way to heaven. Then I hear a thumping...it's getting closer...then stops. To be followed by rapping on the bedroom door. The blissful wonderscape evaporates in an instant. I am sat up in bed...it's my mother. "Spencer!...Spencer!!" I open the door...raw and tired...squinting against the landing light. "What?" I mumble She stared up at me with aghastment.... "Elvis is dead!" I didn't know what to say...why was she telling me this? "Oh" I said finally. The aghast stare continued...she told me she was going to find out more...then returned to mode and ran back down the stairs...muttering disbelief. I slumped back on the bed and couldn't get back to sleep. I laid there frustrated for hours until daylight and 8am arrived. I threw off the covers and stood up bedazzled with tiredness. Swaying slightly I was staring at the floor...I had an awful dryness in my throat. By the time I had finished breakfast I was overheating...I felt ill...I struggled to get dressed. But I had to get to school...just had to...this afternoon was the first readings...I had to be there. Must get to school! Must get to school! I made it to the kerbside opposite the school gates. I stared at the school...rudderless. I would never make it through a lesson. I was covered in cold sweat and the thump of a headache was steadily increasing. I turned around...defeated... I felt like I was going to cry...disappointment...exhaustion...the distance home. The illness lasted for 3 agonising days and on the 4th day it turned a corner. I had to try to get to school. I dressed over a still tingling body. I was all hollow and light augmented by an unturnable hopelessness. That I am sure was responsible for my stinging eyes. I was only at the school for 10 minutes. It was enough time to ascertain that I had lost the part. I didn't even think to ask who had replaced me. I had lost the will to stay at school. On the way back to my sickbed I passed Peter Kilkenny. He just came right out and told me who it was. "Paul O Malley!" "What!!" I felt resentment...my best friend...what a wasted opportunity...he's got bad breath all the time...how can he be allowed to kiss such a creature...he even refers to himself as the "Yellow Glare"...he's not pretty. The bastard. I was given a smaller role as the evil manservant "Seyton". We did 2 performances...after which I had the consolation of being voted the best actor. I watched Paul O Malley kiss Debbie Campbell 14 times. I have never forgiven Elvis for this. Last week saw the 30th anniversary of the death of Elvis Pressley. It was also the 20th anniversary of the death of Paul O Malley. He died climbing a mountain.

22.8.07 22:38 Permalink / comment

Premonition Tuesday 14th May 1993 It was a fresh breezy morning, I parked my van in the car park on the floating shopping centre and set off through the centre on my way to sign on at the dole office. I turned out of the centre and began to cross the bridge. I was in mid daydream when my mind seemed to be hit with a bold message. So much so that I stopped walking across the bridge for the moment. It was unclear exactly what it was but the main gist of it was to do with warrant officers. It had been maybe two months since I saw the little ticket from the warrant office on my doormat, why should I have a big thought concerning this cross my mind right now?I gave my brain a quick shake and continued across the bridge.I arrived at the dole office and proceeded to my signing area. As I took my turn the woman behind the desk pulled out my cards and looked at them. There was a note attached....she pulled off the note and told me to wait there for a moment...she returned and told me that I was going to have to wait a short while for a jobseekers interview. I looked straight at her...there was something wrong here but I couldn't work it out...I couldn't shake off the feeling from the bridge. I was slightly spooked and the fact that I had half an ounce of weed stuffed in my pocket augmented the spook. So I told her I was going to nip out and move my car because it was badly parked. She gave me a useless look, then after a few seconds said "I'll just go and see if that's ok".I frowned as she turned to walk off...now I was spooked...since when did I need permission from the dole office to go and move my car.I spent the next minute pensively looking around the office until she returned. "Yes that's ok". So I left the office and made sure that I left the main building by the back fire exit.What was I going to do? Well...whatever was going on, if it was revolving around the dole office there was no way out of it for me. So I decided to head over to the resource centre by the park and get rid of the weed in my pocket. I left the weed with someone that I knew and returned to the dole office. The same girl eventually came out and called my name holding my cards. I pulled up the opposite chair and leaned forward resting my elbows on the desk. She shuffled about for a bit and then asked me the first question. What have I been doing to look for work in the last month? "Better make that the last two weeks" I told her "Seeing as we went through this two weeks ago" She swallowed and averted her glance. I had the feeling that I was gaining some sort of advantage. "So... what have you been doing for the last 'two weeks' to look for work?" ".........Nothing.......I've been busy writing songs." Astonishingly she never replied to my insolence. Instead she sat there looking through the paperwork, seemingly trying to work out the next question. She looked up. "And have you got a CV that we can look through yet?" " I have...but your not going to like it...so I decided not to bring it in." She sighed. "Mr Dial...it's not my job to like or dislike it...it will be simply right or wrong." "Oh it's definitely wrong...it's completely honest...it says why I hated each boss or why they hated me...or what monumental mistake I made...or how bad my soul was destroyed...or a list of things that I thought could put each business right...I figured that virtually every employer would throw it in the bin...but maybe one employer could be enlightened by my honesty and ideas and give me the worlds most fabulous job...a job that would dwarf my critics" I thought for a second that I had gone too far. Then she looked at her watch and told me I could go...the interview was over...we had over-run and would have to continue in a fortnight. I upturned my palms imploring a question. "So what was all this about?" "I am sorry to have taken up your time Mr Dial" and she walked off. I sat there shaking my head and got up to leave. I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I was lost in the strangeness of the day. I turned into the lobby and strode through the main door. Taking a deep breath as I descended the steps onto the street. Within two seconds I was back in the lobby...I was being carried under each arm by two men that I had failed to notice standing on the steps. "Mr Dial...you're under arrest...we are warrant officers" "Really?...I had a premonition this was going to happen about an hour ago" He raised his eyebrows "It seems it's happening right now Spencer." "No I mean I had the premonition an hour ago." They flanked me and escorted me from the building "So why did you turn up if you knew we were coming Spencer?" "Erm...seems you can only prepare yourself for the future...you can't change it." He nodded with mock interest. "Well seems that we can't change the fact that your going to be locked up for the night either." They pulled out my arms and slapped on a pair of cuffs. "What??!!...come on guys...overnight?" "Yep...unpaid fine...this is the procedure for such an overdue fine." "Look guys...I know what fine we are talking about...when I came back from Oxford I transferred it to the Hull office...and when I went in to pay it they said they had never heard of me...so I thought it would just turn up in the mail...and instead you two turn up." "That was eighteen months ago Mr Dial...you better tell it to the judge in the morning...including the story of your unpaid rates." "Rates?..." I was genuinely surprised...rates changed to poll tax several years ago. I sighed and got in the back of the car. My mind ticking over quickly on how to explain the £280 in my pocket which they would soon relieve me of. I was unable to leave that at the resource centre because the guy was known as unreliable at least. The officer in the passenger seat put his arm around the back of the drivers seat so he could turn and talk to me. "So then Mystic Meg...what's in store for me in the coming months then?" I lifted my cuffed hands and put my fingers on my temple and groaned "It's bad news." "Really." "Yeah...I'm afraid in a couple of weeks your boyfriends going to leave you for another policeman." Both the coppers laughed...I laughed at them laughing...oh what a jolly moment on the way to the cells. "Come on guys...do we really have to go through this locking up business...I've got nearly £300 quid on me which belongs to the band I am in...I was on the way to pay for some studio time before you guys captured me...could I not pay some of it now as an act of goodwill?" "Give it to the judge tomorrow." I gave in resigned to my fate The cell door closed. I looked back out of the flap. "Hey...can I have something to read?" The guard returned and pushed a book through the door. I turned it over 'Robinson Crusoe'...great...how apt. I dropped it on the floor. I waited near the flap until he reappeared and badgered him for a drink of water. I had hidden a small amount of weed behind my balls while I was in the back of the car...I intended to make the best of my solitude and digest some of it. I ate probably a little too much of it and spent the rest of the day and night in an introspective giggly haze. I would listen to the conversations of some of the career criminals shouting to each other through the flaps and quietly cry with laughing at perceived absurdities. I would occaisionally break this up by running laps around the cell or doing press-ups. Eventually I fell into a half sleep and awoke to the clinking keys opening my cell door. I was taken to the seargeants desk and checked out and handed over to a tiny middle aged woman in a Group-4 security uniform. I looked back at the desk seargeant with a surprised sarcastic grin but he was unmoved. She took me out to the prison van and opened the door. My ears were greeted with pounding trance music, I turned to look at her in bemusement but she was unmoved and ushered me to a cubicle and locked me in. The music was fuckin awful and fortunately the journey was short. I was taken out at the back of the magistrates court and down into the under-cells. These cells were proper Jack the Ripper victoriana and were full at the rate of two to three per cell. It was going to be a busy day on the incarceration front. For my final indignity I was losing my grip on the intense urge to go for a shit. I eventually called the guard and asked for the toilet. He took me out of my cell to a toilet cell at the end of the block. I circled the stainless steel pan like a cat trying to find a good spot. But there wasn't a good way...I was in clear view of the two cells opposite and had an audience of five. The only comfort was that I wouldn't want to look if I was over there. An hour later I was hauled up to the dock. The judge listened to my explanation and then relieved me of the £300 and ordered me to pay the fine at £5 a week. It was a bad start to the week... but as for the premonition I should consider myself fortunate. For things that came to pass and things yet to come... having drug shit stuck to my fan...would make things too dificult. To whoever sent that one...thanks.

14.5.07 15:17 Permalink / comment

Doglog As part of my nostalgia sickness Today I thought about dogs I am not a big fan of dogs But we always had dogs in the family And up to point....about 1979 We didn't take them for a walk Just opened the door and let them out Sometimes on the way home from school i would see one of our dogs Trotting along...doing dogs stuff Of course we wern't the only folk to let their dogs out The practice was commonplace And that quite logically led to this The dog gang You could see packs of up to ten dogs on a regular basis As far as i can remember they never caused any trouble Nobody got bitten or savaged In fact any one of these dogs on their own would probably come over for a pat and scratch But once in dog gang They would completely ignore any human Pucker your lips or click click with your tongue Nothing...they wouldn't even look at you Even my own fucking dog would ignore me They would always be focused on following the de facto leader Whose direction would be random and erratic Then they would stop for a collective frantic sniff or a shag On a dark night in winter 1997 I pulled up at a junction I thought that a car was coming But it was stationary..in the middle of the road ' What's that moving in front of the car?' I said to Mrs Dial 'Erm....(squinting)....it's dogs tails...lots of them wagging' It was a dog gang crossing the road I smiled I hadn't seen one in over ten years And i doubt i will ever see a UK dog gang again

3.10.06 19:54 Permalink / comment

Faerie Folk September 1996 We were travelling from the nightclub through and around the centre of Nottingham. Me and Mrs Dial were sat in the back. She had had the bright idea of taking an acid tab about half an hour before we left the club. All of the roads seemed to be constant bends. Trapped in a puzzle We were looking for a large house where a party was taking place. But it was situated on the edge of a very posh district of Nottingham. They had their own blue parking lines. Which was one reason why we were still driving around. There were double blue lines everywhere and not a parked car in sight. We felt that the car may have been vapourised by laser fire if we left it round here. After apparently covering the same ground several times we called a halt and insisted that we park wherever we could, soon. It may be easier to find it on foot. So when Mark (the driver) saw an opening and some parked cars he pulled in and parked. We all stumbled from the car. I stood rustling through my pockets. Mark was walking off and turned to shout "What you looking for Spence!" "Pills and pot!" I shouted back # They were in the car, the car was a blur, I didn't need anything anymore, i shut the door. At the end of the lane we stood puzzled. Where? Which way? We were surrounded by dozens of 'South Forks' and meandering circular streets. A quick look over the stairs on my left and i spotted my mate Pete and his girlfriend at the bottom of the stairs. What a relief. Pete knows the way. He led us through all the wealthy swankness to the edge of the estate where the last posh house stood shoulder to shoulder with a run down student property murmuring house music and chatter. The inside of the house was as confusing as the estate on which it stood. I wandered through a small dancing area, it seemed hexagonal and ethereal. I half danced my way through to the next room, wide and long, full of furniture and people chatting. Through the window at the end i could see the garden. It looked like the best place to be. There was a door to the left, I took it to get to the garden. This room was similar in size to the last, there was no furniture. Everyone was sat on the floor. And pretty much everyone was smoking heroin off foil. I stopped for a moment, it was an arresting sight. I had not been to any party in any city where you would see people doing this so openly. It was similar to walking into a room full of people having sex. Heroin by it's nature is a secretive undertaking but the people of Nottingham didn't care much for this. Subsequently every party i was to go to in Nottingham would have a Heroin smoking room. The outside was as full as the inside but we found a nice spot by the house wall. From there we began tittering about the guy in front of us who was sporting a prime black Mullet. We had developed a great and amusing interest in the mullet. Even to the point of indulging in a 'Mullet Shoot' when we were at the Womad festival. This involved pretending to take photos of ourselves whilst surreptitiously trying to get a quality mullet into the frame. The guy in front of us suddenly turned around and asked us what we were laughing about. Ooops. I told him that it was just acid giggles. He came over and sat down and introduced himself. He was Pete. I had him down for one of the travellers but he wasn't. He didn't know anyone at the party. He was a fork lift driver who was married with three kids. She thought that he went out just for a drink with his mates every Saturday whereas he went out with the sole intention of finding a party for drugs and dancing. Not difficult round here. As Pete rambled on about how he mugs his drunken wifes purse when he is at Butlins, I noticed something amongst the people standing in the garden. I thought that i would tap Mrs Dial on the shoulder and check wether my eyes were tricking me. For i know that under these circumstances two people never usuually see the same things if they are seeing things. "I say....Can you see the Faerie Folk" "Yes" She could see them as well. There were five or six of them standing around chatting in the garden. Their faces had a very fine sloping bone structure. They all had curly hair and a tricky elven look about them. We wondered if this was a local bone structure thing. After all the folks around here, many years ago would have lived deep in the forest. And i believe that no folk story or myth is without foundation. Here is an example of a well known Faerie Ian Bell, Faerie descendant and England cricketer Born 11-04-82 near Nottingham As the party wound down we decided to head for home and tried to retrace our steps amongst the bendy estate. After climbing the stairs we turned into the lane where the car was parked. Except that in broad daylight it wasn't a lane. It was a footpath. I looked up and took a jolt. Shit....there was a policeman stood near our car waving at us. Even worse was the sign on the wall and the building sat prominently behind it. "STAFF CAR PARK" AND "POLICE STATION" #

29.9.06 11:53 Permalink / comment

Tory Gory Approximately Nov. 1982 At the time i was 16 years of age. Hanging about on street corners with me mates. I reckon most bored teens at the time would always find their favourite hang -out spot, and we had ours. It was the bottom corner of one of the local streets and as an added bonus was occupied by a phone box. This was classed by us as our office. And if you wanted to contact anyone to see what wasn't going on you would call the number. So we were standing there one night and off goes the phone. Andy goes to answer it. We can see him chatting for about a minute and then he comes out. "Weird!" he says. It had been a bloke wanting to speak to Dave. When he realised that Dave wasn't there he made his excuses and put the phone down. The following night Dave was present amongst the gang. We expected that the phone would go off again for Dave and it did. This time we sent the man himself to answer it. Dave frowned throughout the conversation and about a minute later came out still frowning. The man had said to Dave that he should look behind the boards that were being used to board up the windows on the disused factory which was right next to the phone box. He went on to say that he would call back in a few minutes to see if Dave liked what he saw. Before he had finished saying this we were searching behind the boards. Andy soon found the items in question. We all looked in amazement. Lots of pictures of men with hard ons, wanking and sucking each other off. Dave was laughing sheepishly, i think he would have liked to have at least indulged in embarrassment but was too confused. The phone went off again. We all hopped around in a startled panic wondering what to do next. Andy took the initiative. "Arrange to meet him." "Fuck that...I am not talking to him" "Come on Dave...we can't let him get away with this" We all badgered Dave intensely but he didn't move until somebody mentioned something about him clearing his name. He wasn't happy and reluctantly answered the phone. To top this we were urging that he indulge the guy so that he would be more likely to turn up. Written suggestions were being handed to him as he spoke to the guy. When he actually said one of them we just fell about pissing ourselves with laughter. Dave came out of the phone box. He was a bit stunned. "Well what the fuck are we going to do now?" "Have you arranged to meet him?" "Yeah...at the toilets opposite the cemetary." Odd voices rang in with things like 'let's fuckin do the queer', then Strodder stepped in. "No lets blackmail him" "Good idea Strods...right one of us go get a camera...meet us at the cemetary." It is only now in the next century that i have realised that Dave did look like he was gay. He used to wear a brown leather box jacket, had short dark parted hair and a small moustache. He could have been a village person... easily. And as we all waited in the bushes of the cemetary i must admit that he did look the part as he stood shiftily outside the toilets. Word was soon being passed back that the guy had turned up. We were amazed that he was here so soon. Quickly new instructions were being pased down. "Dave thinks we are gonna jump out when he rounds this corner. But don't. Hold still. Let him get really deep into the cemetary. Make him sweat." We passed the same instructions over to the camera crew opposite and then held position as Dave and the perp sauntered past us. After about ten yards Dave started looking around for us, after about twenty yards he couldn't go any further and looked like he was going to shout. The guy, by this time, had realised something was wrong. We leapt from our positions...camera flashing...man with his hands in the air...lots of shouting...people wrestling...mayhem. Then things calmed somewhat. Strodder had the man in a headlock then let go, pushed him away, kicked him up the arse. "Fuck off yer dirty old bastard...we'll be in touch" But we never did get in touch. Two days later the photos were developed. Within hours he had been recognised by Dave's parents. It was, without a doubt, the Tory candidate for the Avenues ward, Hull West. A man named Basil Bulmer. Blackmail now seemed too high profile. So we thought we would do our civic duty and turn him. Unfortunately Dave thought this mean't ring the police. To which the police duly turned up. Collected the photos and all the negatives and were never seen again. Bulmer continued as the tory candidate for some years to come living at home with his elderly mother and never succeeded in making a scratch on the labour fortress that is Hull West.

17.8.06 16:51 Permalink / comment

Omens Aproximately June 2003 Omens... I suppose are a similar entity to superstitions They're vague...you don't know for sure that your not just making it up yourself And maybe sometimes your open to such suggestions because you know something is badly wrong Like say for instance....Heroin smoking The urge could appear like a genie at any time Usually something would go wrong with the day And there would be the urge... You very rarely turned back So there i was straight on the phone to Nigel Fingers crossed Will he answer? Will he have any? How much shall i get...a 10 or a 20? Where will i meet him? He answers...we arrange to meet at the bridge I make sure that i have some foil A good lighter and some tobacco I pre burn the foil and make a tube Then i set off We meet at the bridge I give him a crisp twenty and put my wallet on my lap He leaves And i decide to go to the shop on the way home As i walk into the lounge i get the urge to delve into all of my pockets I become alarmed I re-exit the building very alarmed I have realised that my wallet was still on my lap when i got out of the car to go into the shop It's not anywhere except...probably...on the road I drive there very quickly It's not there...i rack my brains...it's not there There was over 200 quid inside the wallet Amongst all the cards and drivers licence I tried not to think about it But part of me was telling me...This, Spencer, is an Omen It is a small 200 pound warning That things are going to go badly wrong if you keep doing this I went home Smoked...and deeply forgot  Two days later...a Tuesday I got a call...it was from the local video shop I prepared for a 'late video' conversation But she said that a Spanish man had called the shop to say that he had found my wallet She gave me a number to call I called it straight away And arranged to meet him at the Dials I opened the wallet Everything that was in the wallet...was still in the wallet I thanked him and offered him a reward He refused This was a full reprieve...a good omen...I'll not do that again A week later I was scoring again This time i arranged to meet old Tony This always felt wrong But the nagging was satisfied As i sat there i watched everything going on around me Which is usual during such an undertaking In very quick succession i heard a noise and a scream It came from about 50 yards directly behind me on the dual carriageway I looked in my mirror I could see a couple of people running up and down behind the railing of the crossing Tony turned up I crossed the road and sat in Tony's car The ever present aromatic alsation was on the rear seat Neither of us had a clue what was going on at the crossing Tony was a man of few words So i was soon back in my car I looked in the mirror again There was now a small crowd gathering around something Sometimes hands were being waved Shortly after leaving i was passed by two speeding ambulances It felt bad I pulled up at the 2 hour bay at the top of the crescent Put my bag over my shoulder And picked up the gear from the console shelf It slipped from my fingers And fell down the side of the seat I climbed out so that i could see where it was I couldn't see from any angle So i got out and tried from behind the seat My bag twice slipped round and obscured  my view I took it off and slapped it on the roof I carried on looking Not a sign of it I was getting very frustrated I went through the whole process again No joy Only one thing could be done I would have to get a ratchet and take the seat out It had to be there I jumped back in...reversed...and turned into the crescent to park outside the house I dashed in...grabbed a ratchet And was soon on my knees By about the third turn of the ratchet i stopped Something was wrong My bag...I put my scrunched face in my hands...not again I stupidly looked at the roof I dropped everything and sprinted to the top of the crescent It wasn't there Nobody in any direction looked the culprit The people at the bus stop were all looking at me I really wanted to ask someone But i couldn't I had already given in I needed to find that gear As i walked back my mind raced with bag contents Lots of important things and 180 quid I knew there would be no reprieve this time I found it...smoked and forgot A week later i got a call It was from the police They had found my bag During a raid on a crackhouse Could i come in and reclaim it? I did so But when i arrived i realised i had forgotten the name of the woman who had called me I explained to the desk man what had happened But he insisted there was nothing he could do without the name I had to leave Returning two hours later with a name The desk man said that there was nobody of that name What the fuck! Just then somebody passing overheard the desk man and stopped He knew who i mean't and went to get her She ushered me in to a small room And said that she had to interview me We sat down and i had to explain how i came to lose the bag Of course from the off i was lying I sensed that as she was a policewoman she may know that i was lying Whilst being really puzzled as to why It was awkward She showed me the contents The first thing that caught my eye was something that wasn't mine I turned it around It was a lifetime gold membership card to the gym that i went to Wow...that would save me a fortune The policewoman was saying something but i wasn't listening Hang on though The person who owns a card such as this is probably known to the gym staff I had a quick vision of the showers and meatheads and fists and blood And then gave up on the idea So many little tests I told her what was mine and left Later that day i was driving down the dual carriageway near Tony's patch When i noticed lots of flowers on the railing where all that fuss was going on last week Oh dear...somebody died I pulled the car over and walked over to the railing I opened the first card It read Dear Linda Happy 40th birthday Shame you couldn't make it Jill + Dave

23.7.06 22:26 Permalink / comment

Sometime in May 2001 I called my friend Chris I needed a vehicle and he had an ex post office sherpa van that he wasn't using much He said 'yeh no probs' so i went to pick up the keys In the meantime i had a call from Sammy He wanted to borrow a vehicle from me I told him that i didn't have a vehicle at the moment I was unusually bereft of vehicles I had been borrowing Matty's Saab But he had emerged from his heroin haze and wanted it back So i said to Sammy 'Why don't you give Chris a ring, I have the keys to his van but I don't need it until the day after tomorrow Chris gave him the OK So Sammy popped round and picked up the keys The van was kept some distance away from Chris' flat due to the permit problem So Sammy had to scour a long street to find it He was driving around in the Sherpa for nearly two days doing various joinery jobs At the end of this point, one evening i paid a visit round to his flat, picked up the keys and took the van home The next morning i drove out to Poynings in the countryside to an old converted barn that was now an internet office I spent the whole day working on an electrical job there and then drove back into town As i was approaching Brighton i took a phone call It was Steve He had called Chris and also wanted to borrow the van 'No problem Steve, I am on my way into Brighton, I have got an appointment in London, so I will leave it around the corner from Chris' flat and post the keys through the door I pulled up in said spot and grabbed my change of clothing I looked over my shoulder into the back of the van It was the only moment over this three days, that my senses noticed something  was wrong But in my rush to get to the train station my mind brushed it aside I climbed into the back and changed, dropped the keys through the letter box and dashed for the train At the halfway point of the train journey Steve's name flashed up on my mobile again I answered 'Spence' 'Yeh, hiya Steve' 'Spence, where did yer say that you had parked the van' 'Down North Gardens' 'Spence, this isn't Chris' van' 'What?!?' 'It looks very much like it but it isn't the same one' 'Course it is, we've been driving around in it for three days' 'No it's not, besides the fact there are a load of strange cassettes on the dashboard, Chris' van has a partition behind the seat with a little square window.' At that point the train went through a tunnel The phone went dead The train came out of the tunnel I thought about Chris' van and about the partition Steve was right I remembered the moment when i got changed It felt odd moving from the front seat straight into the back 'Fuck, it is the wrong van' Sammy was the only one of us who had never been in it before I rang him straight away 'Sammy, that van you picked up the other day, it's the wrong one' 'What?' 'It may look remarkably like it, but it's definitley not the one that Chris owns' 'Eh...i don't get it' 'What street did you pick it from' 'Albion hill like he said' 'Look Sammy it's a post office van, they probably all use the same keys, Chris' van must still be parked somewhere on Albion Hill' He started laughing I cut off I rang Steve and agreed that it was not the van He started laughing I knew that i was going to have to sort this out The next morning i went to Hove police station It was closed So i went into Brighton I strolled up to the counter 'Yes, what's the problem' said the desk seargent 'I have stolen a van' He let out a little laugh and looked through his eyebrows at me So i explained the story Before the end of it the seargent and both the women at the desks were laughing out loud Another policeman came in and asked what all the fuss was so they told him and he joined in the laughing During the laughing he interupted with his own story, that he had once stayed in the wrong holiday cottage for a whole week More laughing Then an old tramp who was stood at the counter next to me said that he had once driven round in the wrong Morris Minor for four days thinking it was actually his The laughing continued They managed at some point to establish that it had been reported stolen Then i left

15.11.05 01:14 Permalink / comment