WHO PLAYLIST

IMG_4399

WHO PLAYLIST

  1.  ONE’S WHO LOVE YOU – ALVVAYS
  2. SEEKERS WHO ARE LOVERS – COCTEAU TWINS
  3. WHO LET IN THE RAIN – CYNDI LAUPER
  4. THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD – DAVID BOWIE
  5. ANYONE WHO HAD A HEART – DIONNE WARWICK
  6. WHO RINGS THE BELL – ENO/HYDE
  7. WHO’S THAT GIRL – EURTHYMICS
  8. THE GIRL WHO FELL TO EARTH – GAZ COOMBES
  9. WHO NEEDS IT – HAZEL O’CONNOR
  10. WHO’S THAT LADY – ISLEY BROTHERS
  11. THE WHO WHO SONG – JACKIE WILSON
  12. SOMEBODY WHO LOVES YOU – JOAN ARMATRADING
  13. WHO BY FIRE – LEONARD COHEN
  14. KNOW WHO YOU ARE – SLADE
  15. WHO IS IT – TALKING HEADS
  16. WHO WILL IT BE TOMORROW – WILLIAM BELL
  17. WHO LIKES JAZZ – VIA VAGABOND
  18. BOY WHO CRIED WOLF – STYLE COUNCIL
  19. WHO WAS I KIDDING – MARTHA WAINWRIGHT
  20. WHO ARE THE MYSTERY GIRLS – NEW YORK DOLLS

WHO WANTS IT?

DALE ‘M’

 

 

 

HEAVEN PLAYLIST

1200px-Dovedale

HEAVEN PLAYLIST

  1. HEAVEN & SEAS – XMAL DEUTSCHLAND
  2. HEAVENLY CREATURES – WOLF ALICE
  3. HEAVENS IN HERE – TIN MACHINE
  4. HEAVEN – TALKING HEADS
  5. HEAVEN AND ALCHEMY – SIOUXSIE
  6. MONKEY GONE TO HEAVEN – PIXIES
  7. HEAVENLY NOBODIES – LUSH
  8. STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN – LED ZEPPELIN
  9. ANYWHERE LIKE HEAVEN – JAMES TAYLOR
  10. HEAVENLY – ILYA
  11. LET’S MAKE A BOMB – HEAVEN 17
  12. MY BLUE HEAVEN – GLENN MILLER
  13. BREATH AWAY FROM HEAVEN – GEORGE HARRISON
  14. HEAVEN KNOWS – FIRST AID KIT
  15. HEAVEN ON EARTH – FAT WHITE FAMILY
  16. TEARS IN HEAVEN – ERIC CLAPTON
  17. HEAVEN IS WAITING – DANSE SOCIETY
  18. JUST LIKE HEAVEN – THE CURE
  19. THE MAKER OF HEAVENLY TROUSERS – THE CRANES
  20. HEAVEN OR LAS VEGAS – COCTEAU TWINS

THE ANTITHESIS OF HOW I FEEL RIGHT NOW

DALE ‘M’

SHADOW PLAYLIST

IMG_4217

SHADOW PLAYLIST

  1. LITTLE SHADOW – YEAH YEAH YEAHS
  2. SHADOWPLAY – JOY DIVISION
  3. FILIGREE AND SHADOW – THIS MORTAL COIL
  4. SHADOWS OF OURSELVES – THIEVERY CORPORATIONS
  5. THE SHADOW – TANYA DONELLY
  6. WE’RE SHADOWS – STUMBLEINE
  7. SHADOWTIME – SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES
  8. APACHE – THE SHADOWS
  9. HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR MOTHER BABY, STANDING IN THE SHADOWS –  ROLLING STONES
  10. SHADOWS IN THE RAIN – THE POLICE
  11. SHADOW – THE LURKERS
  12. THE CIRCULATION OF SHADOWS – LISA GERRARD
  13. THE DREAM SYNOPSIS – THE LAST SHADOW PUPPETS
  14. IN PRAISE OF SHADOWS – KELLI ALI
  15. CHASING SHADOWS – THE HORRORS
  16. LIVE IN SHADOWS – GRAHAM PARKER & THE RUMOUR
  17. STANDING IN THE SHADOW OF LOVE – THE FOUR TOPS
  18. SHADOW MAN – DAVID BOWIE
  19. IN THE SHADOWS – CABERET VOLTAIRE
  20. FOUR SHADOWS – ARIEL PINK

INTERESTING GOTHIC MORNING TO YOU ALL

DALE ‘M’

DON’T PLAYLIST

IMG_4233

DON’T PLAYLIST

  1. THE DRUGS DON’T WORK – THE VERVE
  2. DON’T TOUCH ME THERE – THE TUBES
  3. DON’T LOOK BACK – THE TEMPTATIONS
  4. THE LADY DON’T MIND – TALKING HEADS
  5. DON’T STOP – THE STONE ROSES
  6. DON’T CRY – SOLOMON BURKE
  7. I DON’T MIND – SLADE
  8. DON’T YOU  FORGET ABOUT ME – SIMPLE MINDS
  9. DON’T GIVE ME NO LIP CHILD – SEX PISTOLS
  10. I DON’T SLEEP I DREAM – REM
  11. MONEY DON’T MATTER 2 NITE – PRINCE
  12. DON’T GET ME WRONG – PRETENDERS
  13. DON’T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME – THE POLICE
  14. DON’T DICTATE – PENETRATION
  15. DON’T LEAVE ME THIS WAY – THE COMMUNARDS
  16. PAPA DON’T PREACH – MADONNA
  17. DON’T LOOK BACK AT THE SUN – THE LIBERTINES
  18. WHY DON’T YOU TRY – LEONARD COHEN
  19. THEY DON’T KNOW – KIRSTY MACCOLL
  20. HONEY DON’T – THE BEATLES

DON’T DESPAIR…

DALE ‘M’

LIFE DURING WARTIME

young-woman-looking-at-bottle-768

 

LIFE DURING WARTIME

There was a moment in time, maybe only a couple of months, when “Saturday Night Fever” was cool. A heady summer, when Punk music had yet to arrive and the Bee Gees were the only game in town. It was this moment when, failing to find a band to become a star in, I took to the local dance floor to show my star quality. Of course, this could have been a disaster… but for the fact that I had been to dance classes in my youth, and though tap and ballet were not de rigueur in the flashing lights of a disco, they did give me the edge on most of the other male dancers. There was not a lot of competition amongst the guys to be fair, as most men in those days stood on the sidelines and drank until the last three slow songs, where they all moved in, trying to score a woman to walk home at the end of the night.

I did not want to drink, I wanted to dance. As I was still quite shy,  I would drink four pints early doors, before the disco started. Then I would dance for hours, or until a crap song came on… and in that eventuality I would sit at a table of four or five girls, who were mates.

On this particular night, I had been invigorated by a long session of my favourite songs to dance to… Get up James Brown, a 12″ version of rasputin by Boney M, which had a really great middle eight break that gave you a real buzz. Then the mood crashed, something without a decent groove was put on by the incompetent deejay, and I went back to my table and drank what was left of my pint. Opposite me sat a woman I didn’t know. I shouted into the ear of the girl next to me.

“Whose she?”

“Don’t know, I think she’s a bit pissed.”

She was an attractive woman, but she looked older than us. A lot older, we were all under-age drinkers, nothing more than seventeen. In those days, nobody cared if you were under-age just as long as you had the money to pay for your drink. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Slightly weirdly, as if she was enjoying her own joke.  I frowned, was she taking the piss? As a Seventeen year old boy, I was always wary of people making fun of me. One’s ego was a self-inflated balloon, and easily deflated. I got up to refill my drink, on a whim I asked the woman if she wanted a drink too.

She smiled that sad smile again and said yes please. She got her purse out and offered  a pound note to me,

“Get yourself one too.”

“I asked you if you wanted a drink, not to buy me one.” This was a period where the man expected to buy a woman’s drink, unless you were out with female friends, who would then just buy their own.

She pushed the pound not into my hand, and said that I could buy the next one. She asked for a Brandy and Babycham, which was a popular drink amongst women who wanted to get drunk quickly. Babycham was a sparkling perry, so it was a double bubble type situation.

I went to the bar, bought and pint and her drink and came back with change… Ahh those were the days!

I came back to the table and sat down beside her. She looked very exciting from this angle, she had on a short little black dress, and I could see evidence of stocking tops. To a provincial boy, with limited sexual experience, stockings were considered the Nirvana of erotica. She saw my gaze and then gave that sad rueful smile again. It was a definite mood chiller.

” What’s wrong?” I shouted into her ear, conversation rendered difficult due to the decibel levels of the music.

“You seem like a nice boy, you don’t want to be wasting your time on  an old woman like me.” She slurped her drink with heavy intent. She obviously just wanted to get wasted. I searched for something clever to say… but being slightly out of my depth, I drank my beer.

“You look very attractive to me.” I shouted. she looked perplexed for a second and then twigged I was coming on to her… She through her head back and laughed loudly. Tears rolled down her cheeks. I felt crest-fallen. She saw my look and laughed even louder. But the laughter dried in her throat and the tears came harder.

“Listen, I’m sure you are a real catch, you’re a lovely young man, but I’m old enough to be your mother…”

“No you’re not, what are you, 25?” I played a line. Was that too flattering? I was sure older women must like to be mistaken as younger. She looked at me hard. Her words were slightly slurred.

” You’re a wee chancer aren’t you, I bet you get all the wee girls wetting their knickers, don’t you?”

I was in uncharted waters, this lady was playing a game I didn’t understand, but she was exciting me and scaring me in equal measure.

“It’s true, you don’t look any older than twenty five, just saying like…”

“And you look Fifteen tops, You want to get me arrested as a cradle snatcher?”

“I’m old enough.” She placed her hand on my fly. She smiled at my stirring ardour.

“I feel your pain son, but I’m just a sad old woman, married to an awful two-timing cunt, and I only wanted to feel desirable, and you have done that for me, thank you…You’re awful sweet.” She kissed the top of my sweaty head. She drunk up and then stood up, wobbly on her red stilettos. I stood up quickly,

“Let me walk you home.” I said.

She grabbed my arm.

“Ok soldier, you can walk me home… But don’t expect anything.”

We walked outside into the summer’s evening, twilight lolled across the sky like western backdrop, pinks and purples spread across the yellowing night. We walked away from the Pub/disco and made our way through the park. She didn’t appear to be quite as drunk as she had before…Was that a ruse? She lent against me, and suddenly disavowed me of that impression. She threw up over my shoes. Nice. We reached some picnic tables down by the stream in the park and I bade her too sit down. I gave her my sweat covered handkerchief, which I carried to wipe the excess sweating caused in the heat of the disco. She wiped her mouth. I took  a packet of trebor mints from my pocket and offered her one. She took it. She smiled wanly at me.

“What a good little Boy Scout you are, prepared for any eventuality aren’t you?”

“Just luck, I guess. Lucky for you, I carry a hankie because I don’t like to sweat and the mints are so my mum can”t smell the beer on my breath when I get home.” She looked at me weirdly again. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve me do you… Just out for a good time and you get stuck with a nutty old woman.” I stroked the back of her hair.

“You’re a very pretty  nutty old woman.” She pushed away my hand.

” No, none of that! Go! Go back to your disco, go back to your pretty young girls.”

“I’m walking you home.”

She stood up determinedly. She towered over me by a good four inches, She slapped my face hard.

“Look sonny, I tried to be nice, But just fuck off okay?” I rubbed my face. Unsure of what I had done to offend her.

“Can I have a kiss?” I asked sheepishly. She laughed. A full no holds barred kind of laugh. She bowed her head towards me and kissed me chastely on the top of my head.

“Now go, I’ll be alright from here, you go on home to your Mummy.”

I walked away. She began walking a different way. I looked back. She did not. I wasn’t sure what kind of event this had been. My cheek stung. She looked kind of small as she walked off into the distance. I felt sorry for her. I felt sorry for me too. I never got to touch those stocking tops or suspenders. Yet, later in my bed, as I lay thinking about her, I imagined touching those stocking tops and suspenders, and in my mind the weirder aspects of the liaison were lost in the overall eroticism of what I had imagined.

Now, in my dotage, I can appreciate the maelstrom of her emotions, and I’m glad she ended up with me that night… because I was mostly harmless. She could have ended up with much worse people than that.


This is another nearly true event from my life. An event whose memory was triggered by  this poem

https://kaiaracquel.blog/  one night stand.

DALE ‘M’

 

 

TOMORROW PLAYLIST

IMG_5229

TOMORROW PLAYLIST

  1. TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS – THE BEATLES
  2. THIS IS TOMORROW – BRYAN FERRY
  3. WILL YOU LOVE ME TOMORROW – CARLA THOMAS
  4. TOMORROW – CLINIC
  5. YESTERDAY, TODAY AND PROBABLY TOMORROW – THE COURTEENERS
  6. TOMORROW – DAUGHTER
  7. WHEN TOMORROW COMES – EURYTHMICS
  8. IS IT TOMORROW YET – JOAN ARMATRADING
  9. TOMORROW TIME – JOHN MARTYN
  10. LIVE FOR TOMORROW – MOBY
  11. MAKE TOMORROW – PETER GABRIEL
  12. SORRY ABOUT TOMORROW – THE REZILLOS
  13. ALL TOMORROWS PARTIES – SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES
  14. GONE TOMORROW – THE STAVES
  15. NO TOMORROW – SUEDE
  16. TOMORROW STARTED – TALK TALK
  17. WITH TOMORROW – THIS MORTAL COIL
  18. MY WHITE BICYCLE – TOMORROW
  19. TOMORROW – THE TWANG
  20. ALL TOMORROWS PARTIES – VELVET UNDERGROUND

THE TOMORROW WE FACE LOOKS LIKE HELL… CAN WE CHANGE IT?

DALE ‘M’

MY TOP TEN ROXY MUSIC SONGS

roxy music

10. VIRGINIA PLAIN

9. SAME OLD SCENE

8.STREET LIFE

7. LOVE IS THE DRUG

6. IN EVERY DREAM HOME A HEARTACHE

5. AVALON

4. OH YEAH

3. JEALOUS GUY

2. MOTHER OF PEARL

NO 1. SONG FOR EUROPE

The first single I ever bought for myself was Virginia Plain / Pyjamarama by Roxy Music,

It cost me 49p and I thought i’d got a bargain because it had a double A’ side. Such innocence. My choices are probably off the wall for most roxy cognoscente , but I like songs which stretch the medium… To catch my imagination they have to be more than just great rock songs. If I was ever forced to sing in public again, Song For Europe would be the song I would murder. It’s an amazing piece of rock opera, switching from English to french and even bits of pig latin at the end. A tour de force!

Dale xxx

QUIET PLEASE COMPLETE STORY

IMG_4594

QUIET PLEASE

The thing about December in the University Library is the fact its empty… Totally devoid of under graduates. It is a place of peace and contemplation, a place where serious study is at last possible. Unlike the normal atmosphere of the Univesity in semester, where one rushes from a lecture to the union then on to a tutorial… Yeah, that’s a lie, the rush is from one excess to another, the lectures and tutorials are the incendentals, the thin layer of intellectual rigour spread evenly across the drinking, the smoking and the fornicating. These are the central tenets of the first years of being an under-graduate. As a 27 year old, who has spent ten years in the real world, working in industry, long hard hours of toil and turpitude, I grasped these tenets like a newly converted zealot. I drank to excess, smoked too much weed, and enjoyed as much female company as I could muster. In effect, I got to be a teenager again.

However, with all of those destractions away for the christmas holidays, spending time actually doing my essays and projects in the peace and quiet of the library, was a total joy. I would travel unto Campus on the bus, the same time as I did in term time. As the Library didn’t open until ten, this gave me an hour in the union cafe, a time to read the Guardian, do the crossword and drink a mug of disgusting coffee… but all in peace. None of the remaining students, the ones who lived on Campus and hadn’t gone home for the hols, would not be up and about until midday at the earliest. Peaceful times.

At ten, I would get up, put the newspaper in my brief case, and toddle off up to the library. In those last years, before everything was on the computers and everyone had mobile phones, the only way to find the information you required, was to read. You had to wade through hundreds of essays, novels and pamphlets… Magazines like New Society, New Scientist etc, you had copies of every newspaper from the year dot on microfiche, which as a sociologist was a goldmine… It was a pleasure to use all these tools, and with the aid of helpful Librarians, you could find information which none of the other students would begin to research. In effect, the time spent alone in the library was probably the most productive time I had in my four years of University education.

At twelve, I piled all my books up and placed them on the end of the desk, with a note that I was coming back and please do not remove them. I put all my papers and notes in my briefcase, and made my way down the circular steps of the library back towards the Union building, looking forward to a hard earned cheese baguette and a cheap pint of lager. At the bottom of the steps I stopped and lit a much needed cigarette, the library was one of the few places on campus where you were not allowed to smoke… Heady days before the anti-smoking fascists took over, these days you can only smoke in a dustbin on the first thursday in september, but in those halycon days you could smoke anywhere, even in the maternity ward of the local hospital!

As I walked across the car park I was passed by a rather beautiful asian girl, who stared and smiled at me as if she knew me. I smiled back, desparately trying to place the girl, was she in one of my tutorials? She passed by, and I continued towards the pigeon holes where our internal mail was placed, it was important to check your pigeon hole at least twice a day, because the individual faculties tended to treat communication as espionage. You were never told anything, but instead got messages written in invisible ink, which you had to decipher with lemon juice and the burn on pain of death.

Well, I might be exaggerating a little, but I had missed re-arranged tutorials and new essay assignments, simply because I hadn’t checked my pigeon hole a second time on a given day. So, it became second nature to check the pigeonhole every time you entered the union building.

As I found nothing for me there, I turned and bumped into the girl of the biggest smile again!

“Sorry… Oh it’s you… Hello… How are You doing?” This was before Friends so I’m claiming the phrase back from Joey.

“Do I know you?” I asked, as her smile and demeanour suggested some previous knowledge of each other.

” I don’t think you remember me, but we have met.”

“Have we? I’m sure I would remember… You.”

” You remember the reading we did of Macbeth in Drama?”

This was not proper drama, I hasten to add, drama was not a faculty or subject allowed in my University, the drama mentioned, was part of the Teacher training faculty, which at the time I was studying concurrently with my proper studies. I gave it up after the first year, because I didn’t want to teach. I was pencilled in to teach English, History and Drama… So I had to attend these Drama classes as part of my teacher training. It was very dull, we were treated like pupils, and led by the nose on how to stand up a play from the page. As I had studied Acting at Drama and Dance School from the age of nine, it was quite run of the mill. When I turned up to the classes, which was not always, I was most often drunk… or at least libated.

When we had stood up Macbeth, I’d played the drunken night watchman, from the beginning of the play, and had hammed it up a little, as it was improvised. The other classmates had fallen about in hysterics, and a terse Tutor had called time on my performance.

I’d neglected to return after the event, as it wasn’t an integral class to the subject, but an extra add on. I’d just dropped out of it. So, the members of that class had not become a permanent fixture in my firmament.

“Were you there? I don’t remember, I’m afraid I was rather drunk.”

“I was supposed to be Lady Macbeth, but you rather stole the scene.”

“I’m terribly sorry, I don’t remember much…”

“Yes, I know, you were rather drunk… I just wanted to thank you!”

” You did, why?”

“I was terrified of playing Lady Macbeth and then your performance brought the place down, and it was never stood up again, so you saved me from that fate.”

“Well you’re very welcome.”

“You were very funny, you should be on the stage.”

“I was drunk, I’m always funny went I’m drunk.”

“Seriously, you look like a filmstar.”

“Who Alan Ladd?” Ok, this needs explaining. Alan Ladd was a famously short filmstar, 5ft 5 inches, from the 40’s and 50’s, exactly the same size as me. You, dear readers will probably not be aware of this fact, given your of a later vintage, and the girl similarly, looked perplexed.

” You know, the American actor who is famously short.”

“Oh, I see, no I never thought of you as short… You act a lot taller!”

——————————————————————

QUIET PLEASE : THE DENOUEMENT

I told the girl that I was just going up to the Union, for a sandwich and a pint, did she want to join me?

She shook her head.

“I’m going out for a walk around the lakes, I need some fresh air, you can join me if you like…”

Given that it was the middle of December and that there was a couple of inches of snow on the ground, and the extra joy of a windchill approaching -5, the thought of walking around the lakes, a good mile and a half in anyone’s money, was of course an absolute delight. I chided myself for being a sucker for an adventure, especially if the adventure involved an interesting young woman. Cock-led, I smiled as if it was the best idea i’d ever heard.

We walked away from the Union, across the main road and down by the side of the old Hall which housed the English Faculty. We walked in silence until out of sight of the Hall and the snow gave out to sludge and then mud as we got closer to the lakes.

I was still carrying my briefcase, and formed an incongruous image, what with briefcase, a bright blue motorcycle leather jacket, jeans and Dr.Marten boots. The girl brought her own picaresque elements to our costume, as she was wearing a long flowing kaftan skirt underneath her Afghan coat… She too wore the obligatory Dr.Martens shoes.

Despite the efficacy of wearing an Afghan goatskin coat in those freezing conditions, the smell of it required someone with extreme confidence in their own personal hygiene to carry it off. Momentarily distracted by the comical false landings of a pair of mallards on the half frozen lake, they had landed like a pair of ice skaters in a free dance routine as they glided across the ice, only to come unstuck when the ice gave way to sludge, and both pitched forward in a most ungainly manner, I hadn’t noticed that the girl was no longer beside me. I turned around in shock, and caught her carefully aimed snowball squarely on the bridge of my nose. My eyes watered, this walk had taken on an unexpected turn of events. I tried to laugh playfully, but it dried in my throat as her next ball caught me smack in the lips. I bent forward gasping. She looked at me as if concerned, bloody woman!

“Are you ok?”

“Of course… cough cough… splutter splutter… I love a snow fight!” I looked around me for snow, but alas and alack, the path next to the lake where I stood, was devoid of snow, only mud lay to hand.

I toyed with the idea of throwing mud at her… But it probably wouldn’t be construed as playful, at best it would seem mean, at worst it could be seen as an assault. I put my hands up.

“Ok, you win.”

“I’ve never seen real snow before.”

“Don’t they have snow where you come from?”

“No, not so much in Tower Hamlets, the city tends to keep snow at bay.”

I laughed… I didn’t know anything about her, but I’d presumed that she was from… somewhere else…

“What is your name?”

“Tee, my friend’s call me Tee.”

“Why do they call you Tee?”

“Because it’s easier than saying Ateebah?”

“Ateebah is a lovely name, what does it mean?”

“it means something that is soft and gentle I think, at least that’s what my mother told me.”

“It suits you.”

“You think? I just smashed snow all over your silly face… Was that soft and gentle?” I pursed my lips. I was not used to losing any competition, verbal or physical, and yet she had me two for two. I would regain my composure somehow… but not yet.

“Do you know my name?”

“Dave or something.”

“Not Dave.”

“It’s something like that, all your names sound the same to me…” Would she rile me? No. But she certainly had me off kilter.

“My name is Dale. Dale Beck.”

“And what does your name mean Dale Beck?”

“It means Valley Brook.”

“So it’s basically a tautology?”

Oh she is good. Very good.

“It suits you.”

“Really how so?”

“Well look at you, you’re all wet!”
She skipped off delightedly, like a little wood nymph. I gave chase, determined to find snow before she did, once caught twice as vicious I thought, pay back would be sweet.

Of course the inevitable happened, my briefcase got caught between my legs and I fell headlong into the mud. My hands flew forward to halt my fall, and I flung my briefcase forward. I lay in the mud, face dripping and aghast watched as my briefcase arced across the path and smashed into a tree. It sprung open and all my notes spread themselves deliciously across the mud.

Tee stopped running and looked as if she was about to erupt into hysterics… You could say I have a natural flair for slapstick… But then replaced the look of glee with a look of actual concern,

“You’re bleeding…”

“My bleeding notes, look covered in bloody mud!”

She looked around to where I gestured and saw my spilt briefcase.

“But you’re bleeding, seriously!”

I rubbed my hand across my temple and found it redden hued,

“I’m always bloody bleeding Tee, I play rugby every weekend! But those notes are the product of a weeks study.”

I got up groggily, and went to the scattered ashes of all my labours. I put the notes, such as they were, back into my briefcase and relocked the open clasps. Luckily, the case wasn’t badly damaged, just a little dent in the lid, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The blood streamed down the side of my face. Tee ran to me and pressed a handkerchief to the wound. As my face was equally smeared in mud as well as blood, she feared the wound might go septic.

“Oh God, Dale look at the fucking state of you!”

“I can’t maybe you can look for me.”

“Quick I’ll take you back to my halls, get you washed up.”

“Where are your halls, Tee?”

The thought of walking half across the campus covered in mud and blood would not do my street cred much good… Even if most of my friends were already away home for the hols.

“They are just across the lake there, we can get to them without going through the campus… Look just there beyong the trees.”

I let her lead me around the lake, taking care not to slip again, because dignity once lost is difficult to regain…. Bloody fool!

She sat me in her small bedroom after removing my coat and boots, and stowing my briefcase behind the small desk she had in the corner. She went off to find a bowl and soapy water… I stood still in her inner sanctum and looked around. I did not wish to muddy her furnishings. As a student, the first thing to attract my attention was her books. She had an array of books with cyrillic script, which given her ethinicity seemed incongruous, she was studying Russian? Along side the incomprehensible Russian texts sat the equally incongruous science text books… I knew something of Astral Physics and Quantum Physics, but her books were on Chemistry, a subject I knew very little about.(Strangely, I ended up doing Chemistry for morons as one of my minors later in my academic life, and managed to scrape a pass… Chemistry for Morons was officially called, Environmental Pollution Protection… and I passed by being able to synthesise the lead from grass from the motorway verges, something to do with spectroscopy I think… As i say it was Chemistry for morons!) She also had the text book written by the Professor of Education at our University, which was required reading on the syllabus… The perks of being a Professor, you get to sell more copies of your interminable doggerel which you call a text book! I had not purchased the book, but rather photocopied the chapter we were required to read each week from the library copy. Waste not want not, I’d already decided I was going to give up education next year, so decided the money saved on the books would be better spent on alcohol!

She returned from the kitchen with a bowl of warm water and dettol. Tee washed me down, and somehow persuaded me to take off my trousers and shirt…

“There covered in mud let me put them in the wash…”

I’d like to say I was embarassed by being in such a state of undress, but being a tart, I didn’t shame easy… I still had a decent physique then… If only now… Oh well. Years of excess take there toll. Worth every extra inch I’d say.

So there I sat, on her bed, in my underpants and socks and totally unabashed. She returned to the room this time with a band-aid for my forehead and a bottle of Peach schnapps for my spirits.

Peach Schnapps is an acquired taste. I acquired it quickly as I emptied the proffered shot glass, whilst she applied the plaster to my inconsequential nick on my head. It was no more than a graze and I felt a fraud letting her minister to my medical needs. When she stepped away to admire her handiwork I put out my shot glass for a refill. She refilled it. And again. And again. I lay sprawled length ways along her single bed. She sat at her small desk. The chat was blurry. I remember reading some poetry to her. She was enchanted. She said she was enchanted. I was not in a position to judge. She could have been faking it. I fell asleep, either through the shock of the loss of blood or by the ministering of an unknown spirit.

When I stirred Tee was lying next to me. She was naked. She had covered us in her duvet. She was very warm and coccooned my body with her own. There seemed to be sme sort of state of arousal going on. I wasn’t sure how much of this state was down to me. A sudden fear.

“Tee how old are you?”

“Nearly twenty.”

“How near?”

“With in a hair’s breath.”

I was alarmed. I didn’t want to compromise myself… She could have been one of those child prodigy’s whose lives are nearly always ruined by being sent to University too soon.

“What’s your date of birth?”

“23rd December 1967″

I tried to do the maths, nearly twenty, nearly eight years younger than myself. Though people might frown, it was not an unacceptable age difference.

I relaxed back unto my back and she gently stroked my taut belly.

“You have a lovely body.” I reached around her and stroked her back. She had skin like velvet.

“So do you.”

She leant forward and kissed me passionately on the lips. She was so hot! Literally as hot as a five bar electric fire.

“Are you too warm?” I was worried she might have a fever.

“You make me hot, you’re a sexy man!”

“Really? With a cut head and mud on my knees, I still look sexy to you?”

“You’ve always looked sexy to me.” Now, bear in mind, I’m a little drunk at this stage, so my normal reactions cannot be relied upon, because given that I had not known of her existence until a couple of hours before, the phrase you always looked sexy to me, might suggest someone who is a bit stalkerish? A bit Kathy Bates in ‘misery’? But I’m drunk and being flattered, which are two of my favourite states to be in, so I don’t take to flight. She is now doing unmentionable things to my manhood with her hand… And judging by her smile, it is having the desired effect. Not to be left out I begin to explore her exquisite body, from head to breasts with my hands, then with my lips… as my hands continue their scouting mission further down… My hand discovers a mound which is erupting like vesuvius… pity poor pompeii! She is awash, more so than any other woman I have ever known…

So we have a perfect chemical bonding here, both elements are liberally prepared for their chemical romance.

I’m about to slide between her thighs when she says something which stops me in my tracks.

“Do you think it will fit?”

“Of course… Why do you ask?”

“It’s my first time.” Those dread words. I’m turned to stone, apart from the required part, which in effect withers on the vine.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Yes, is that ok?”

“No. It’s not, I can’t take your virginity.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Your first time should be special.”

“You are special, you are the person I chose… I wanted it to be you!”

“You don’t even know me, Tee, I’m a total shit!”

“You’re friends say you are the best lover in the University.”

“Who Does?”

“Judith, she’s in my Russian Studies tutorial. I told her that I wanted to lose my virginity, and she said, I should come and meet you, she said you are amazing, the best she’s ever had!”

“She must have had a sheltered life then, is all I can say…”

“But everything has felt so right today, and you are so nice, even when I snowballed you… It seemed so right. Look at me, I’m crazy for you!” She pulled down the duvet to show her perfect flushed form to me. I was sorely tempted, I mean, who would refuse such an offer? I jumped out of the bed, and reached for my trousers, now folded across the chair beside her desk, She reached around for my cock and pulled it towards her mouth.
“No.” I pulled away.

“Please, Dale, Please Fuck Me Now!” I leant down to her dirty mouth and kissed her passionately.

“My sweet girl,if you get to know me first, spend a couple of months to become full acquainted then maybe I might be able to help you, but not like this, I couldn’t forgive myself if I took advantage of you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to take advantage of me. I will just take advantage of you.”

I pulled on the rest of my clothes.

I bent to kiss her cheek. She had tears rolling down them.

“Listen Tee, your a lovely woman, so beautiful I will be berating myself all the way home. It’s not you it’s me… I don’t feel worthy of taking your maidenhood, you need to find a guy to love first…”

“What if I love you?”

“If you love me sweetheart, you will wait a couple of months until we know each other.”

I turned to the door and left.

I stood at the bus stop, very nearly sober, kicking myself for a missed adventure. I berated myself mentally all the way home on the bus. Damning myself for this innate self-loathing. I had always felt the same about virginity… It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but I really did feel that it should be special and with someone you loved. I had lost my virginity at the age of fifteen, behind a shed at the back of a block of flats, a tomcat had pissed on my head from the roof of the shed as I enacted the eternal petit mort… the girl at the time had been incidental, I had not really cared for her, she had not cared for me, it was an itch we both wanted to get over, so we did. I felt guilty afterwards… And had cried into the night. I swore that I would never put anyone through such a tawdry experience again for their first time. And I hadn’t… Damn my eyes!

 

QUIET PLEASE : THE DENOUEMENT

IMG_4547

QUIET PLEASE : THE DENOUEMENT

I told the girl that I was just going up to the Union, for a sandwich and a pint, did she want to join me?

She shook her head.

“I’m going out for a walk around the lakes, I need some fresh air, you can join me if you like…”

Given that it was the middle of December and that there was a couple of inches of snow on the ground, and the extra joy of a windchill approaching -5, the thought of walking around the lakes, a good mile and a half in anyone’s money, was of course an absolute delight. I chided myself for being a sucker for an adventure, especially if the adventure involved an interesting young woman. Cock-led, I smiled as if it was the best idea i’d ever heard.

We walked away from the Union, across the main road and down by the side of the old Hall which housed the English Faculty. We walked in silence until out of sight of the Hall and the snow gave out to sludge and then mud as we got closer to the lakes.

I was still carrying my briefcase, and formed an incongruous image, what with briefcase, a bright blue motorcycle leather jacket, jeans and Dr.Marten boots. The girl brought her own picaresque elements to our costume, as she was wearing a long flowing kaftan skirt underneath her Afghan coat… She too wore the obligatory Dr.Martens shoes.

Despite the efficacy of wearing an Afghan goatskin coat in those freezing conditions, the smell of it required someone with extreme confidence in their own personal hygiene to carry it off. Momentarily distracted by the comical false landings of a pair of mallards on the half frozen lake, they had landed like a pair of ice skaters in a free dance routine as they glided across the ice, only to come unstuck when the ice gave way to sludge, and both pitched forward in a most ungainly manner, I hadn’t noticed that the girl was no longer beside me. I turned around in shock, and caught her carefully aimed snowball squarely on the bridge of my nose. My eyes watered, this walk had taken on an unexpected turn of events. I tried to laugh playfully, but it dried in my throat as her next ball caught me smack in the lips. I bent forward gasping. She looked at me as if concerned, bloody woman!

“Are you ok?”

“Of course… cough cough… splutter splutter… I love a snow fight!” I looked around me for snow, but alas and alack, the path next to the lake where I stood, was devoid of snow, only mud lay to hand.

I toyed with the idea of throwing mud at her… But it probably wouldn’t be construed as playful, at best it would seem mean, at worst it could be seen as an assault. I put my hands up.

“Ok, you win.”

“I’ve never seen real snow before.”

“Don’t they have snow where you come from?”

“No, not so much in Tower Hamlets, the city tends to keep snow at bay.”

I laughed… I didn’t know anything about her, but I’d presumed that she was from… somewhere else…

“What is your name?”

“Tee, my friend’s call me Tee.”

“Why do they call you Tee?”

“Because it’s easier than saying Ateebah?”

“Ateebah is a lovely name, what does it mean?”

“it means something that is soft and gentle I think, at least that’s what my mother told me.”

“It suits you.”

“You think? I just smashed snow all over your silly face… Was that soft and gentle?” I pursed my lips. I was not used to losing any competition, verbal or physical, and yet she had me two for two. I would regain my composure somehow… but not yet.

“Do you know my name?”

“Dave or something.”

“Not Dave.”

“It’s something like that, all your names sound the same to me…” Would she rile me? No. But she certainly had me off kilter.

“My name is Dale. Dale Beck.”

“And what does your name mean Dale Beck?”

“It means Valley Brook.”

“So it’s basically a tautology?”

Oh she is good. Very good.

“It suits you.”

“Really how so?”

“Well look at you, you’re all wet!”
She skipped off delightedly, like a little wood nymph. I gave chase, determined to find snow before she did, once caught twice as vicious I thought, pay back would be sweet.

Of course the inevitable happened, my briefcase got caught between my legs and I fell headlong into the mud. My hands flew forward to halt my fall, and I flung my briefcase forward. I lay in the mud, face dripping, and aghast watched as my briefcase arced across the path and smashed into a tree. It sprung open and all my notes spread themselves deliciously across the mud.

Tee stopped running and looked as if she was about to erupt into hysterics… You could say I have a natural flair for slapstick… But then replaced the look of glee with a look of actual concern,

“You’re bleeding…”

“My bleeding notes, look covered in bloody mud!”

She looked around to where I gestured and saw my spilt briefcase.

“But you’re bleeding, seriously!”

I rubbed my hand across my temple and found it redden hued,

“I’m always bloody bleeding Tee, I play rugby every weekend! But those notes are the product of a weeks study.”

I got up groggily, and went to the scattered ashes of all my labours. I put the notes, such as they were, back into my briefcase and re-locked the open clasps. Luckily, the case wasn’t badly damaged, just a little dent in the lid, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The blood streamed down the side of my face. Tee ran to me and pressed a handkerchief to the wound. As my face was equally smeared in mud as well as blood, she feared the wound might go septic.

“Oh God, Dale look at the fucking state of you!”

“I can’t maybe you can look for me.”

“Quick I’ll take you back to my halls, get you washed up.”

“Where are your halls, Tee?”

The thought of walking half across the campus covered in mud and blood would not do my street cred much good… Even if most of my friends were already away home for the hols.

“They are just across the lake there, we can get to them without going through the campus… Look just there beyond the trees.”

I let her lead me around the lake, taking care not to slip again, because dignity once lost is difficult to regain…. Bloody fool!

She stood me in her small bedroom after removing my coat and boots, and stowing my briefcase behind the small desk she had in the corner. She went off to find a bowl and soapy water… I stood still in her inner sanctum and looked around. I did not wish to muddy her furnishings. As a student, the first thing to attract my attention was her books. She had an array of books with Cyrillic script, which given her ethnicity seemed incongruous, she was studying Russian? Along side the incomprehensible Russian texts sat the equally incongruous science text books… I knew something of Astral Physics and Quantum Physics, but her books were on Chemistry, a subject I knew very little about.(Strangely, I ended up doing Chemistry for morons as one of my minors later in my academic life, and managed to scrape a pass… Chemistry for Morons was officially called, Environmental Pollution Protection… and I passed by being able to synthesise the lead from grass off the motorway verges, something to do with spectroscopy I think… As i say it was Chemistry for morons!) She also had the text book written by the Professor of Education at our University, which was required reading on the syllabus… The perks of being a Professor, you get to sell more copies of your interminable doggerel which you call a text book! I had not purchased the book, but rather photocopied the chapter we were required to read each week from the library copy. Waste not want not, I’d already decided I was going to give up education next year, so decided the money saved on the books would be better spent on alcohol!

She returned from the kitchen with a bowl of warm water and dettol. Tee washed me down, and somehow persuaded me to take off my trousers and shirt…

“There covered in mud let me put them in the wash…”

I’d like to say I was embarrassed by being in such a state of undress, but being a tart, I didn’t shame easy… I still had a decent physique then… If only now… Oh well. Years of excess take there toll. Worth every extra inch I’d say.

So there I sat, on her bed, in my underpants and socks and totally unabashed. She returned to the room this time with a band-aid for my forehead and a bottle of Peach schnapps for my spirits.

Peach Schnapps is an acquired taste. I acquired it quickly as I emptied the proffered shot glass, whilst she applied the plaster to my inconsequential nick on my head. It was no more than a graze and I felt a fraud letting her minister to my medical needs. When she stepped away to admire her handiwork I put out my shot glass for a refill. She refilled it. And again. And again. I lay sprawled length ways along her single bed. She sat at her small desk. The chat was blurry. I remember reading some poetry to her. She was enchanted. She said she was enchanted. I was not in a position to judge. She could have been faking it. I fell asleep, either through the shock of the loss of blood or by the ministering of an unknown spirit.

When I stirred Tee was lying next to me. She was naked. She had covered us in her duvet. She was very warm and cocooned my body with her own. There seemed to be some sort of state of arousal going on. I wasn’t sure how much of this state was down to me. A sudden fear.

“Tee how old are you?”

“Nearly twenty.”

“How near?”

“With in a hair’s breath.”

I was alarmed. I didn’t want to compromise myself… She could have been one of those child prodigy’s whose lives are nearly always ruined by being sent to University too soon.

“What’s your date of birth?”

“23rd December 1967″

I tried to do the maths, nearly twenty, nearly eight years younger than myself. Though people might frown, it was not an unacceptable age difference.

I relaxed back unto my back and she gently stroked my taut belly.

“You have a lovely body.” I reached around her and stroked her back. She had skin like velvet.

“So do you.”

She lent forward and kissed me passionately on the lips. She was so hot! Literally as hot as a five bar electric fire.

“Are you too warm?” I was worried she might have a fever.

“You make me hot, you’re a sexy man!”

“Really? With a cut head and mud on my knees, I still look sexy to you?”

“You’ve always looked sexy to me.” Now, bear in mind, I’m a little drunk at this stage, so my normal reactions cannot be relied upon, because given that I had not known of her existence until a couple of hours before, the phrase you always looked sexy to me, might suggest someone who is a bit stalker-ish? A bit Kathy Bates in ‘misery’? But I’m drunk and being flattered, which are two of my favourite states to be in, so I don’t take to flight. She is now doing unmentionable things to my manhood with her hand… And judging by her smile, it is having the desired effect. Not to be left out I begin to explore her exquisite body, from head to breasts with my hands, then with my lips… as my hands continue their scouting mission further down… My hand discovers a mound which is erupting like Vesuvius… pity poor Pompeii! She is awash, more so than any other woman I have ever known…

So we have a perfect chemical bonding here, both elements are liberally prepared for their chemical romance.

I’m about to slide between her thighs when she says something which stops me in my tracks.

“Do you think it will fit?”

“Of course… Why do you ask?”

“It’s my first time.” Those dread words. I’m turned to stone, apart from the required part, which in effect withers on the vine.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Yes, is that ok?”

“No. It’s not, I can’t take your virginity.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Your first time should be special.”

“You are special, you are the person I chose… I wanted it to be you!”

“You don’t even know me, Tee, I’m a total shit!”

“You’re friends say you are the best lover in the University.”

“Who Does?”

“Judith, she’s in my Russian Studies tutorial. I told her that I wanted to lose my virginity, and she said, I should come and meet you, she said you are amazing, the best she’s ever had!”

“She must have had a sheltered life then, is all I can say…”

“But everything has felt so right today, and you are so nice, even when I snowballed you… It seemed so right. Look at me, I’m crazy for you!” She pulled down the duvet to show her perfect flushed form to me. I was sorely tempted, I mean, who would refuse such an offer? I jumped out of the bed, and reached for my trousers, now folded across the chair beside her desk, She reached around for my cock and pulled it towards her mouth.
“No.” I pulled away.

“Please, Dale, Please Fuck Me Now!” I lent down to her dirty mouth and kissed her passionately.

“My sweet girl,if you get to know me first, spend a couple of months to become full acquainted then maybe I might be able to help you, but not like this, I couldn’t forgive myself if I took advantage of you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to take advantage of me. I will just take advantage of you.”

I pulled on the rest of my clothes.

I bent to kiss her cheek. She had tears rolling down them.

“Listen Tee, your a lovely woman, so beautiful I will be berating myself all the way home. It’s not you it’s me… I don’t feel worthy of taking your maidenhood, you need to find a guy to love first…”

“What if I love you?”

“If you love me sweetheart, you will wait a couple of months until we know each other.”

I turned to the door and left.

I stood at the bus stop, very nearly sober, kicking myself for a missed adventure. I berated myself mentally all the way home on the bus. Damning myself for this innate self-loathing. I had always felt the same about virginity… It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but I really did feel that it should be special and with someone you loved. I had lost my virginity at the age of fifteen, behind a shed at the back of a block of flats, a tomcat had pissed on my head from the roof of the shed as I enacted the eternal petit mort… the girl at the time had been incidental, I had not really cared for her, she had not cared for me, it was an itch we both wanted to get over, so we did. I felt guilty afterwards… And had cried into the night. I swore that I would never put anyone through such a tawdry experience again for their first time. And I hadn’t… Damn my eyes!


I never saw ‘TEE’ again, and my friend and chief cheerleader Judith denied all knowledge of the girl. So was it real? Did it really happen? I think so, but I am a little mad, so who knows.


I struggled with the second part of this story, I asked a close friend is it believable? I mean no man would turn down such an offer surely? She said it sounded like me… Which is a nice thing to say… I think. Then I suddenly realised something from what she said to me… I had never actually asked anyone out in the entirety of my adult life. Girls or women I should say had always asked me out. And I’d always been surprised and delighted. What man reaches the age of sixty without ever asking someone out?

My Marie had practically dragged me upstairs to consummate out relationship, my ex wife had asked me out, the two girls before her had both asked me out too. Even when I’d met people in a disco or a pub, I’d just gone with them, gone along with what they wanted. If they wanted me, they got me, if they didn’t I just went home.

I’ve come to the conclusion I’m a fucking freak!

oh well, too late to change now.

Dale ‘M’

TOGETHER PLAYLIST

IMG_4440

TOGETHER PLAYLIST

  1. EVERYBODY GET TOGETHER – DAVE CLARK FIVE
  2. ALL FALL TOGETHER – BIG COUNTRY
  3. ALL TOGETHER NOW – THE BEATLES
  4. ALTOGETHER – SLOWDIVE
  5. COME TOGETHER – SPIRITUALIZED
  6. EVERYTIME WE LIVE TOGETHER WE DIE A BIT MORE -HOOVERPHONIC
  7. GOOD TOGETHER – JOAN AS A POLICEWOMAN
  8. HELP ME (GET MYSELF BACK TOGETHER AGAIN) –  THE SPELLBINDERS
  9. LET’S GET TOGETHER – JEFFERSON AIRPLANE
  10. LET’S SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER – DAVID BOWIE
  11. LET’S STICK TOGETHER – BRYAN FERRY
  12. OUR FIRST DAY TOGETHER – CARLY SIMON
  13. PUTTING IT TOGETHER – BARBARA STREISAND
  14. SLEEP TOGETHER – GARBAGE
  15. STAY TOGETHER – SUEDE
  16. STICK TOGETHER – KRISTINA TRAIN
  17. STILL TOGETHER – MAC DEMARCO
  18. TOGETHER ALONE – CROWDED HOUSE
  19. TOGETHER IN ELECTRIC DREAMS – HUMAN LEAGUE
  20. UNTOGETHER – BELLY

 

UNTOGETHER

JOINED AT BIRTH

OF ADULTHOOD,

WE LIVED UNTOGETHER

FOR THIRTY THREE YEARS…

UNBEARABLE AS A HALF,

WE JOINED TOGETHER,

AND FELT WHOLE AGAIN.

 

AND NOW WE ARE UNTOGETHER AGAIN,

STOLEN FROM MY ARMS,

STOLEN FROM MY HEART AND SOUL,

I HAVE NO WAY TO BECOME

A COMPLETE ENTITY…

A HALF-LIFE HYSTERIA…

A MINDLESS DRONE.

A FREE RADICAL.

DALE ‘M’