CATNIP part two



Ok, so we missed the party the first week. The next Friday, segue into the last week. The usual suspects sit drinking in the George IV. After two pints, the hero says to the drummer,

“What about going to that party?”

“Are you sure its on?”


“Oh you sure, you are sure?”

“Yeah, Delney, said it’s gonna be crammed with her mates…”


“Most definitely.” The drummer looked around the sparsity  of the clientele of the pub, and said,

“Well, my old china, there’s fuck all going on here.”

Reprise the scenes from the previous week, we left for the off-licence. This time we went sans the Watney’s red barrel, as the party seven was difficult to drink without a bottle opener. We settled for two half bottles of vodka each, as the bottles were easier to conceal about your person. The palliative offered to the kitchen table, this time was a tasty little Mateus Rose wine. We would not be drinking it. It was a token offering for the ladies.

So, we went on the train to Sutton Coldfield. The mile to the house was not covered with such alacrity as the week before. Once bitten twice embrocated.  We were not expecting miracles.  We arrived at the address. This time it was awash with lights, We did not need to knock the door. It was wide open. Beats from the front room escaped like magical madrigals across the road. My drummer gave a little skip, like a boy from the playground.

“Sounds more like it!” He ran into the house, like a man on a mission. I looked around the gathering throng for the birthday girl. She was deeply en-tongued with Pete in the lounge, which had been cleared of its furnishings. I tapped him on his shoulder, and he gave me sheepish grin…

“Alright mate, made it then, on the right day?” The joke being, he had ribbed me all week about being a premature ejaculator. Such is the jocular hilarity of banter in the midlands.

“Fuck off mate, I’ve never been too quick in my bleeding life!”  A hasty rejoinder.

We circulated. My drummer, clockwise, me anti-clockwise. He winked at me as we crossed paths…

“Plenty of crumpet!” his hasty appraisal of the situation. Mine was less encompassing. I focused upon two likely characters. A very striking dark-haired girl and a her mate, who was perfect in her demi-perm and white dress.

“I’m in here mate” I said to the drummer, nodding my head towards the two girls.

He looked incredulous, as the two girls in question, were unmistakably the best in show.

“Come on then.” He said.

“No. Let them be, let’s away to the kitchen.” I grabbed his eager arse and pulled him away to the kitchen. Here we found glasses and soft drinks to make our vodka last longer. We ditched the bottle of Mateus Rose, and found orange juice and glasses.

“Here.” I said, as I passed him a glass.

“Don’t get too pissed!” I said..

“We don’t want any trouble. OK?!”

“Okay, I hear you, no smashing things up.”


A couple of weeks before, we had been arrested by the local constabulary. How had this come about?

Like this.

We had been at the local disco at the rugby club. We had partaken of a few beverages and been outside sharing a few joints. We had been in conversation with our two long-haired guitarists about forming a band. They were all for it at the time, not when we got to rehearsing, either the drummers drumming or my singing… made them cool on the idea of a band. Anyway, long story short, I’d left the disco on my drummer’s back, after a short altercation with the local constabulary. We had escaped without prosecution, but our high spirits, ie the fact I was riding him piggy back, had evoked the ire of one of the local ruffians, who on seeing our high spirits had taken exception, and punched me in the face. Unable to protect myself, as both hands were occupied reining in my horsey, I received a massive black eye. The ruffian had rounded on me as I dismounted, and called me all the names under the sun.

“You fucking idiots are gonna get us arrested.” He exclaimed. I rubbed my eye. I looked harshly at him, and then noticed he had a beer mug in the other hand. My alert brain, always on the look out for danger, said, probably best not smack him one back.

So, the drummer and I made our way home without any further ado. Half way home, we decided between us, home was not the place to go… Given that my eye was out on stilts… And that I would probably face interrogation from my parents. This was something I didn’t fancy at the time, as I was still stoned from the Cannabis and liable to incriminate myself. So we stopped off at a half built building and sat beside the fireplace.

“What we need here, little drummer boy, is a fire to fill this fireplace.” Given that the house was on a building site and building materials were ever present, we found plenty of bits of wood and paper, and soon built an impressive fire. It must have been impressive, because the flames alerted the neighbours and shortly, we were once again visited by the boys in blue.

There was a notorious Sergeant at the local police Station. Jock Mackay. A bastard to all who sailed with him.

“Alright boys? Your fucking nicked my beauties.” I put my hands up, The drummer ran. Big mistake. He was caught in the back yard, with a swift left hook. He fell gasping like a carp to the ground. Jock took my hands and put them behind my back and then handcuffed them. Him and his driver led me up the garden path to the awaiting panda car. The Driver opened the back door, and Jock, ever helpful, smacked my head against the roof.

So, its 4 a.m. and I’m brought into the interview room. I’m still underage, which the dear beloved sergeant already knew.

“Listen, just tell me it was your mate’s idea to set the building alight and you’ll get off!”

I knew the dreaded Jock’s M.O., and could see he was trying to set up my drummer boy for the fall, as he was in fact over 18.

“It wasn’t his idea, we both thought it at the same time.”

“Oh dear son, looks like I’m going to have to tell your mum.”

“You can tell my mum, she already knows about you.” My mum was a youth worker, and already knew the dreaded Jock’s way of working. he liked to fit up youths for jobs, just to get convictions. He knew who my mum was. He knew fitting me up or my mate, would lead to loads of hassle. Seeing that I’d seen through his plan to fit the drummer up  for the charge, he had no alternative but to let us go, but not without some fun for his leary mates. We were eventually shown the stairs, and thrown down them.

We crashed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

I shouted back up.

“OI, we were only half a mile away from home… You Gonna give us a lift back?”

Jock’s face turned puce.

“Fuck off you little twat! You better stay clean otherwise I’m gonna fucking have you!”

I turned to the drummer, picked him up, then turned back to Jock and said,

“Thanks for your help!”



Back to the party next time.


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