Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening, welcome to Lager Time
Lagerlites of LagerLand unite! Wherever you are, whoever you are, if any of you really exist and I’m not just talking to myself and if that’s the case, could be worse, mate.
Speaking of which, large up those of you who listened to the Not Quite Live Edition last week, where I ran through a bunch of poems, to myself, in my little room, stroke studio type thing. Gotta say, I enjoy doing it like that, with no reaction, I think it really lays the pieces bare when you take an audience away and I get to see what’s really what; a little like back in the day, when rappers (like me, when I first started) would turn up to poetry open mics, with a lot of bravado (not like me, but occasionally), thinking their big bars were gonna blow the roof off, but when you strip the beat away, sometimes they aint really all that… saw that a few times of over the years.
However, doing that podcast really helped get me in shape for a real, actualLY live gig, last week, which I performed at and had a really good time. Poetry and Poppadum’s, Wood Green, hold tight Paul Lyalls for putting me on. It was a full house, decent audience and I dropped what really, is a whole new set, the only time I’ve performed any of those poems, was right hear on Lager Time, so thankyou for helping get into shape and get back in the game, so to speak, not on the game, but you never know, hard times..
Saw a few faces, a few Lagerlites. Large up Dingo Scrabbs, The Jackel himself, Dave Douglass, Dom and Donnel. Also, Catherine and Jen and all the young guys from the Dream Arts crew, who I work with, every week. Was kinda scary being in front of them, as they have to listen to me every week, telling them what to do, but they told me they enjoyed it and don’t appear to have lost any respect for me, so that’s good. Large up Tom and man like Laurie Eaves, who I’ve not seen since before lockdown.
I managed to sell a few books (with the help of some of the young guys) thankyou to everyone that bought one, walked away with a few squid in the sky-rocket, mate.
On the bill that night was Celia Bax, who was really good, she’s got a bright future, Paul Lyalls, who I spoke about a lot last week, and of course the headliner, Michael Rosen, who was great. So easy on stage, all those years in the game and a very nice chap, indeed. Swears quite a lot!
Also, in a world of co-incidences, my good pal, and Beats & Elements collaborator, Conrad Murray, is the musical director of an adaption of a Michael Rosen book, called Unexpected Twist, which is about to go on a national tour and features a few Beatbox Box academy dons, Kate Donachie, Nadine Rose-Johnson, Apollo and more.
Speaking of collaborations, another Beats & Elements alumni, Lakeisha Lynch Stevens aka Kiki, has put out another new album, called Future Dead Chick, which I’ve got a verse on. It’s a concept album and she’s recorded all the sounds on a loopstation, much like I do, but a lot better, have a listen. Kiki is a ridiculous talent, go check her out
I’ve been slowly making a few improvements in my office stroke studio, been fitting some acoustic proofing, I’ve upgraded my software and got a few new additional audio editing bits. No political affiliations here, but I want to level-up everything I’m doing.
With these sort of stories, I want more time to produce them, so I reckon I might do one a month, that way I can be a bit more consistent, and do one other podcast, that can be more general stuff, like poems, articles or whatever. So two a month, that’s the aim.
So as ever, your support is apricated but if you want to support more, subscribe, maybe recommend it to mate who might like it? You can make a donation on my Ko-fi, purchase my book, the Suburban, on my website, stream my EP, Toast In The Machine, or simple just enjoy this, or not, that’s probably fair.
I reckon that’s it for now, enjoy the second part of the Under 18’s story. Large up an old pal of mine, Paul Ramiz, who’s got in contact recently, he was certainly there at some of those back in the day and had a slick pair of pinstripes, if I remember rightly.
Peas and taters
Paul
STAND OUT BLEND IN – PART 2
This was it. We were in, mate. Shoulders out, head up, butterflies hidden underneath badly fitting Ralph’s, Tommy Hilfiger’s and a Budget Ben Sherman in my case, school loafers buffed and shined, well, kind of. Me, Mo, Rich, Pidge and Veejay. We were inside the club, the under 18’s, like real geezers, rude boys, wideboys; feeling like we had a bit about us; stepping into the new world of beats, birds and banter
The carpet was sticky. It was dark, with neon lights everywhere, blues whites and yellows and bars all round the edges. This was sick. The design focused on the dancefloor being in the middle, with some sort of balcony up above, carzis in the corner. It was rammed already, with the que outside still massive. Dancefloor was buzzing with teens, little groups of boys and girls feeling each other out, quite literally in many cases. There were chicks dancing in the podiums, singing along to whatever crap was blaring out the speakers, couples already getting off with each in corners and crews of geezers stood round the edges, not saying much but with hawk eyes on the dancefloor.
So once inside, like, what do you actually do in clubs? Mo had the good sense to suggest we take a walk around the edges, get the lay of the land type thing. Do what geezers, rudeboys and wideboys probably do in these situations. Let people know we were about, scope out the situation. Maybe say hello to some faces, nod to the bad boys, catch eyes with some pretty females, bowl to the dancefloor and bust a few moves to a few tunes and maybe move to a few chicks, kiss a few lips and get a few numbers, like it’s nothing, mate, as you do, as per; like geezers, rudeboys and wideboys. This was us, mate.
‘OK Ikon Diva were looking hot tonight, get your birthday shout outs in’
The music was loud, but not that loud. Somehow it sounded more banging outside. The DJ was playing a mix of commercial Garage, charty house and trancey stuff, it was a bit shit but alright I guess. He also had one of those generic DJ voices, that they all seem to have, no matter what part of the country they’re from
‘Ok, Crawley, who’s out here to have a good time tonight?’
Que screaming girls.
But we, were in a nightclub, like geezers, there were pretty birds everywhere and that feint slither of hope that we could, maybe, might just get off with some, maybe even get some feelups, or get a number, or just maybe like, talk some words to them. There was an air of opportunity I’d not felt before, like 19th century immigrants getting of the boats at Ellis island in New York, full of hopes and aspirations and dreams, of chicks, of beats, loafers, pun stripes, Ralph shirts. And the possibility of some decent music being played later on, as the night progressed and the more banging beats would come out, jungle hopefully. I could really find myself here, show all these dickheads what I’m about. This was me, mate. Banging music, bowling about with the boys, chilling with the girls, being a face, safe with the rudeboys, respected by the wideboys and ally of the geeks. Stepping on the dancefloor to buss moves to big grooves and big tunes, ‘yea, yea mate, I know this tune, heard it in those clubs in Brighton and London, got it on white label mate’ like it was nothing, just another day, like, this is what I do; . Yea, mate, this was me, or it could be me, I mean I wanted it to be me, it weren’t really me… but it could be, maybe?
Mo cooly leading the charge, in his Blue CK jacket which he correctly had not removed, even though it was proper hot; we turned round to check out the bar at the back and, just, you now, casually, grab ourselves some over-priced watered-down off-brand sugary soft drinks, as you do, maybe lean on the bar whilst we sip our over-priced watered-down off-brand sugary soft drinks as you do, dash away the straws because we aint no melts, bruv. I didn’t even like soft drinks, to surgery, hard to swallow, but I liked the idea of drinking them, as you do, just like geezers, rudeboys and wideboys, do.
Just as we were moving off, the butterfly alarm bell suddenly rang, like pigeons scared off a roof by a slammed door, the senses tingled. There was a little crew of boys just in front, stood by the wall, something about their energy; didn’t like it, they kept looking at us. This big cunt in a pink YSL with the collars up, smiling with his smaller, larier looking mate, glanced at us as we walked towards them. And just as we get close, the big one pushes the smaller one into Pidge, who stumbles; then the little larey cunt gets in his face and I can see the pricks braces in his mouth and spotty mug brushing up against Pidge’s, arms out, classic rude boy stance
‘Na, na, na, sorry, mate, it was an accident’
I can see Big Cunt and the rest of his mates all laughing, it’s the sort of cuntish thing, Kells would do. Little man aint letting up, his forehead is now on Pidges as he tries to avoid eye contact, looking at the floor.
‘What bruv?! You starting yea, you starting?’
‘Na, na, na, it’s cool, it’s cool, safe yea’
‘I’ll knock you out bruv and all your mates’
This little prick don’t look much but he’s certainly got bollox. I’m thinking I could take him but I’m guessing he’s just bait for that Big Cunt and the rest of them to step in and give us all a pasting, my butterflies are loosing their shit, like a bad day at the stock exchange, paper all flying about the office. We don’t know any of these pricks but it’s a classic Crawley pre-fight tactic and if anything, I’m jealous of the little cunts confidence, to step-up like that and offer out a whole group?! 5 geezers? For no reason?! Even if none of us were up to much in the fighting sense, maybe that’s what it was, maybe they sensed it in us. Mo then steps forward without even looking at the little prick or his mates and pushes Pidge’s arm, leading him away from the group and towards to the bar, with those dickheads still behind us, still laughing. Pricks.
‘I’d have taken them’
‘Yea me too’ as Pidge looked at Rich
‘Big birthday shout-out to Helen and all the Horsham girls.’ Screaming girls again
Aside from Rich’s astute post-ag analyses, no one said nothing, music was too loud anyway for talking but I was certainly a bit shook up, Pidge looked vacant, like he was talking to himself under his breath. We’d all been started on before, this was nothing new, just weren’t nice, that’s all especially with shit loads of people around, not that I think anyone noticed, or cared. I spent the next few minutes imagining scenarios were I banged out all of the pricks, on behalf of all geeks and bullied kids, then bought them all overpriced watered-down surgery soft-drinks, like some kind of suburban, underage Batman, quietly walking out the club with the hottest chick in there, or maybe like, several hot chicks, with a sick pair of trainers on, but like, all humble and that.
Dickheads like those boys were par for the course round these parts but when there were so many tasty girls about, they were quickly forgotten; though it was a timely reminder that you always had to be on your guard to some degree, for a relatively small pond Crawley had more than it’s fair share of plastic piranhas; all wanting to play toy shark.
As we made our way around, I was starting to get the impression that not all the guys in here were under 18, some of them looked way older. They were bigger, but it weren’t just that, it was the way they held themselves, the way some of these chicks just magnetized towards them. It was kind of demoralising, and a bit intimidating, and yet, I was envious. One of them Croydon crews was holding down a whole corner of the dancefloor, all the geezers being careful not to get too close and in amongst all the Moshino and Iceberg, was a whole bunch of females doing their very best to hold their attention. I don’t know if those Croydon boys were that bothered but those girls certainly got mine, I didn’t even know girls could dance like that in real life, thought they only did it in music videos. All bumping and grinding, hips gyrating, it was mesmerising and every now and again, one of them rudeboys would just take a few steps towards them and scoop them up, sometimes two at a time; made it look so easy; we had no chance; like, how do you even do that?
We decided to head downstairs, into the DIVA section of the club. This bit, on a normal night was open to the over 25’s only, but tonight, maybe due to the sheer amount of horney and rowdy youngsters the whole club was opened up. Just bopping down those stairs I felt myself maturing like some European cheese I didn’t yet know the name of.
It was a lot smaller down there in Diva, and the décor was a bit lighter, lots of light browns and less of the neon. It was a lot more compact but the vibe was good; more for the mature crowd. DJ was spinning hip hop, so we all got our bop on and found ourselves on the podium, dancing to California Love by Tupac. It was whilst up on the podium, bopping away, I noticed one of my brothers mates, Lenny, in the DJ booth, DJing. Lenny was a real face about town, everyone knew Lenny, Lenny was cool and I knew him, so by extension, that kinda made me cool. And Mo knew him too. We all knew him, but more importantly Lenny knew me and Mo.
‘Yo, hold tight Mo and all the Wilfrid’s crew’
What? Hold tight Mo, and all the Wilfrida’s crew, what about me Lenny? What about me? Where’s my name in the shout-out? Surely I deserved more than just being part of the nameless auxiliary crew? I knew Mo knew him, but Lenny had been round our house for tea, loads of times. Still though, at least one chick tuned round to look up at the podium, to check out this so called, Mo and all the Wilfrid’s Crew. Felt like leaning down to that girl, to let her know that I was the humble silent partner in the Official Lenny Affiliation of this crew.
‘Yea, yea, I know that DJ as well, yea, his names Lenny innit, he’s my brothers mate, but like, I’m safe with him as well yea, not just Mo, me as well yea, Mo and Paul and all the Wilfrid’s crew yea…. So like, are you gonna get off with me?’ Saw some other pricks from our school in there, who also cheered at the shout-out, which pissed me off, it weren’t meant for them, they weren’t cool with Lenny. Dickheads trying to steal our hype. But I guess it was good that they were repping our school, let all these other dickheads know that we were about.
Lenny dropped a few more bangers and even got on the mike and spat a few bars, he was so cooI. I was enjoying it, felt like a moment, especially when that Eminem tune came on, My Name Is and loads of the girls grabbed their boobs, or their friends boobs on that Momma You Aint Got No Tits line. I’d never seen anything like it; they were so brazen; it was amazing.
We decided to head back upstairs to see what was going on and I took it as an opportunity to go for a pat cash. All that watered-down-overpriced-surgery-soft-drink was going right going through me. I get into the carzy, do what I need to do. As I’m washing my hands, two geezers walk in
‘Alright, Paul.’
‘Alight.’
Oi, someone said my name. Sick. It’s a kid called James that I barley know from cadets, but he was kinda cool and he just acknowledged me. Which was kinda cool and by extension made me kinda cool, surely? Gave me a little buzz, just a shame there was no ladies about to witness that confirmation of my geezer-face-status. So I’m drying my hands, keeping it understated, as James and his mates are presumably pissing in the urinals, when a few boys from that Croydon lot walk in, like big cats prowling on the Serengeti, shit.
Head down stare into the steel plate in the dryer and pray they don’t view me as prey; and they don’t, they walk straight passed me. Biggest one of out of them, in a red and white Moschino, like an Ajax shirt, has gone straight up to James, whilst he’s pissing in the urinal, towering over him; those additional London tones on his accent like extra chilli in a hot currey
‘Eh yo, you blud, you just banged it into my back on the dancefloor blood, I’m letting you know, blood’
I’m stood by the dryer and I can see the back of this guy and the side of James’s head, one of the other Croydon guys stood behind him
‘Did I? I don’t think I did, mate’
‘Don’t lie to me blood, it was you, and I’m letting you know… So what are you gonna do blood?’
I can see that he’s leaned in further and I’m worried that James is gonna end up splashing on this pricks Air Max, he’s that close, and if he was this bothered about being brushed in the back or whatever, what’s he gonna do when there’s piss on his shoe?
‘err. What?’
‘ I said I’m letting you know blud, yea, I’m letting you know, so what you gonna do blood?’
‘’err.. I’m sorry mate, err, I did’nt meant to like…’
‘You sorry yea?’ You sorry.’
‘…yea, I’m… I’m sorry really sorry’
‘Alright, blood, I’ll let you off, this time, but I’m letting you know, you violated blud, next time, yea, next time, I’m letting you know.’
And he bowls out with his crew. Shit. What a cunt. Do I say something to James? Don’t want him to think, that I think he’s a pussy but then, that was pretty scary, but his mate was there, his mate didn’t say nothing; what a pussy! I slipped out behind them, feeing bad for James but thinking at least they didn’t do anything, overheard someone saying earlier that a few of these Croydon boys had come down with blades and had stashed them somewhere. Whey they brining blades? What’s wrong with these dickheads? And Why go into a packed club if you don’t wonna get accidently touched on the back?
I found the boys and we decide to make our first tentative steps towards the dancefloor, each one of us fighting on our own battles to find the beat, jump inside it and then ride it into the sunset, hopefully with one of these, many chicks, gyrating around us. Mo’s a good mover, Rich, visually confident but terrible; no rhythm, Pidge isn’t bad, he’s a music head so it makes sense, but he’s trying to hard, Vee-jay is just sort of, like, jumping on the spot, like he’s holding in a piss and me, I’m struggling, mate. If there’s one thing my big arse family is good at, it’s music. I play the drums, I have some sense of rhythm and timing, in my bedroom I’ve got good moves, mate, but it’s like my limbs and shoulders are freezing up; so I hold a tight space and just slightly move my feet back and forth, just keeping in time. Pidge leans in laughing
‘You’re shit at dancing bruv’
‘What?’
‘You’re shit at dancing bruv.’
‘Whaaaat?’
Rich leans in.
‘He says you’re shit at dancing bruv.’
‘What, no I aint’
Dickheads, not giving me a chance, yet they’ve already pissed on my firework. I’m only just getting into this but I feel like I hate it. I love music, and dancing and chicks but this is…ok I’m getting into it, I start to loosen up and then that Armand Van Helden You Don’t Know Me tune kicks in, which is sick and now I’m actually enjoying myself. A group of girls has appeared right by us and my senses are going off, they’re all fit, even if they’re not, and I find my feet and body slowly moving towards them. There’s this one in all white, with blonde hair with a white hairband, it’s like a I’m giant paper clip moving towards a magnet, my back is now her back and I swear I just rubbed bums with one of them, hopefully the blonde one, oh shit, and again, what, this is sick, I turn around and fuck me it’s Pidge. The fat cunt has moved in between me and that blonde chick and he’s now dancing with her, and he’s shorter than her for fuck sake! Shit, and by the looks of things Mo and Rich are also dancing with two of their mates, like Pidge just broke down a social barrier and only invited those two in, I was getting there as well
I now don’t know what to do, it’s like I’m in no mans land with no where to turn and everyone can see, so I try and just concentrate on dancing to the music but I’m so aware of these chicks and everyone around me thinking I’m the lemon, that I’m loosing my rhythm again. I glance over my shoulder and I see the chick in the white give Pidge the brush-off, rightly so, fat mug, she was way out his league, so now he’s back dancing with me and Vee-jay, but I’m kinda glad his here. Rich has wasted no time and is already getting on the chick he’s dancing with, she aint all that but then I guess nor’ is he, none of us are, except for this chick in white. Mo’s now talking to someone he knows and suddenly we’re separated and unconsciously-consciously slowly, dancing my way back to the safety of the side, in a subtle retreat, where’s it’s safe from embarrassment and humiliation and Pidge and Vee-Jay do the same.
We decide to go and get some more our over-priced watered-down off-brand sugary soft drinks and by the time we get back to the edge of dancefloor, Mo re-joins us. Looks like Rich is all over that same chick; fair play to him, and her. Mo leans in
‘You having a good time, mate?
‘Yea bruv, sick, sick, sick, loving it’
I hate this. This mixture of sadness and desperation has begun to settle in, as I watch more people couple up and dance together badly, having a great time; locking in limbs and lips like it’s the last time they’re ever gonna do. I scan about again and see Kells on the dancefloor, griding with some chick, with her back to me. I was wondering when that prick was gonna turn up. He catches eye contact, then sniffs his fingers and smiles.
‘Ok, Crawley who’s having a good time?’
Not me you cunt. When are you gonna play some Jungle?!
We moved back downstairs for the reminder of the night, at least the music was better. Lenny was no longer around but the DJ was playing hip hop and Rn’b, I wasn’t so big on the R’n B but the girls clearly liked it. As the night wore on, I felt the simultaneous feeling of the 19th century American dream dying, but the pressure to make the most of this chick heaven mounting, like the beginnings of a cyclone in my tummy. I just didn’t know what to do, I had no plans, except for the oldschool one of asking a chick to dance, but more and more it just felt this thing that I had to do, right there and then, like it was my duty, and if I didn’t, I’d die of disappointment or something.
‘ok, Crawley, now we’re moving into the slow-jamz, it’s time to get close.’
The night was drawing to a close, and the DJ dimmed the lights a bit, everyone started coupling up. Some chick grabed Vee-jay and pulled him onto the dancefloor, as we watched on the side.
It was then this girl caught my eye, she was quite pretty, bit chubby but was standing on her own, looking a bit forlorn. A kindred spirt perhaps? Low self esteem perhaps? Jealous of friends getting feelups perhaps? A match made in heaven, surely?! We already had so much on common.
This was it. K-Ci & JoJo, All My Life came on, which I secretly loved and on occasion pretended to sing it in my room, I left the boys without them noticing, and walked that ten or so meters between us, like I was stepping up to take a penalty in a World Cup knock out game, she was still looking into the dancefloor and hadn’t noticed me; everyone was to involved in their own feelups and French kissing like fighting sea-lions, and just as I approached, she turned to look at me, she was wearing a white vest top, her hair was light brown and in a bun. I leaned in and gave it my best
‘…err do you wonna dance with me’
‘..err, ok’
Shit. I wasn’t expecting her to say that. I couldn’t believe it. Shit, what was I supposed to do now?! My shoulders went back, I looped my arm over her head, and put it on her bare arm, wow her skin felt so nice, and we both started to walk towards the dancefloor, just like a geezer, a wideboys, a rudeboy, like I was nothing, just me and a lovely chick who I’m already thinking about marrying, we walk about ten paces, this is sick…Then…? The house lights came on?
‘ok boys and girls, that’s it for tonight, safe journeys home yea, make your way to the exit please., make your way to the exit’
I turned to look at her, she looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, then slipped out my arm and I just sort of turned around, and waked towards the boys, who were now all gathered, including Rich, Kells, Gareth and Brendon, all looking at me, cracking up and making wanker signs at me.
‘Safe journey home tonight… until next time Crawley…’
Despite feeling a bit gutted, of what could’ve been, I’d had a fairly good time and the feeling of possibility was still there as we streamed out, they were giving out flyers for the next event and I vowed that I’d be back, and with more Lynx than ever before, and maybe an earing.
We all got outside and parted ways. The boys heading off towards Broadfield all rolled together, Rich went towards where his mum was parked and me and Mo towards the station where he’d leave me. I was starting to get that horrible feeling of being on my own again. I said laters to Mo, just as I noticed a few of those Croydon boys walk towards a skip and each retrieve one of them Nike drawstring bags, then jump over the wall onto the platform.
As I got into the ticket hall, I could hear some sort of fight happening on the platform in what sounded like a few of those Croydon boys. A load of Crawley faces came bursting through the station doors and onto the platform, there was a bunch more shouting but I stayed back in the ticket-hall, so couldn’t quite see what was going on. The platform was packed, mostly with those Horley lot. The train rolled in and I quicky jumped on, this time sitting right near them, I had a bad feeling. All those Crawley boys, like Shane O ‘ Connel and Yusef stood on the platform, arms out, couple of them booting the doors as the train moved off. I caught a few of them Croydon boys, hanging out the window giving them wanker signs and laughing; I felt kinda proud of the Crawley, can’t have these Croydon kids coming down and taking the piss
Once the train had got moving, a few of those Croydon boys kept coming back and forth through the carriage, eyeing up everyone as they went passed. The butterflies were telling me they were on the rob and I could hear some more shouting coming from the next carriage on, and a quick glance down on the edge of my seat, I could see a whole crew of them, all stood up but looking like they were arguing with whoever was sat down.
I was praying the train would stop at Gatwick before they got into our carriage and when the driver slowly began applied the brakes, it felt like years before the train actually stopped, I jumped straight off and ran down the opposite end to get back on again. As I did this, I could see through the window into the carriage, as a bunch of them Croydon were stomping out some guy on the seat, all shouting; couple of girls screaming.
The end carriage where I got in was much quieter, there were a few airport travellers with their suitcases which weirdly made me feel a bit more reassured, but I was still shitting it. For what is probably one of the shortest rail journeys on the whole network, Gatwick to Horley, it felt like it took ten years and when it finally got to Horley, I jumped straight off and flew up them stairs; not caring if I looked like a loner or not, I was out of there, managing to notice a few girls in tears, makeup all streaming. I later heard they robbed loads of kids on that train: wallets, money, watches, even took one kids shoes. Cunts.
I got home feeling relieved. Relived that I didn’t get robbed, relieved that I didn’t get kicked in, made it home in one piece, managed to put my arm around a girl, even if only for about 30 seconds and could finally say I’d been to a nightclub, with loud but not quite banging-enough music, and I survived, like a geezer, a rudeboy, a wideboy and none of the above.
Satellite Stories: EP 6 - Stand In Blend Out - Part 2