Easy! If you enjoy this and would like to support my work, you can subscribe to this and or make a dontion on Ki Fi - BUY-ME-A-LAGER https://ko-fi.com/paulcree
Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening
Welcome to Lager Time, fellow patrons of the Lager Nation, as we unwind, we let the lager flow and free our collective minds, or some such bollox.
Yes indeed. Apologies for the short absence, these last few weeks I didn’t quite anticipate it being this long but here we are, such is life. I am at times, a little disorganised but I’ve also been pretty busy. There’s been a lot of back and forth to London, days at a time, meaning I’m away for my little home studio, there’s been a couple of funerals, two weeks in a row, which have both been on Friday’s, which is normally my day for putting the podcast out; so I’m sure you’ll understand,
So what have I been doing? Couple of weeks back, I had the pleasure of working at the Battersea Arts Centre, a place which I’ve done lots of stuff over the last 14 years, mate. It was the place I first got involved in theatre, had my first professional performing jobs, as well my first jobs, my first assistant roles doing workshop, met Conrad Murray etc etc.
So I was back working with the almighty Beatbox Academy (who I’ve worked with, on and off, for many years.) It was the opening week for their latest show, Pied Piper, which is a re-telling of the classic-story, as hip hop musical, sounds it’s all beats, bars, and a lot of singing and some pretty sublime harmonies and melodies. All the sounds are made on stage, by the cast and it’s pretty damn good.
Conrad Murray, who is the creator of the show and co-director with Ria Parry. Con is a good pal of mine, we set up Beats & Elements together (ten years ago now) – and I know all the cast too, some of which are good friends of mine. Yes I’m biased, but the show is a banger, mate! Fun for all the family.
The whole run sold-out and it’s had some really good reviews so far, and it now goes on tour, next stop Canterbury if you’re down there. So there’s a part of the show, which involves some of the younger members of the academy, which I was co-leading on. It was fun, got to go on stage twice a day, to packed out audiences who were having a great time. It was a fun week.
I also stepped-up and performed at the Anti-Slam, which is a tongue-in-cheek, satirical take on a poetry slam. It was at the very cool Pleasence Theatre in London. The night itself was really fun, my bit could’ve gone better to be honest. I really enjoyed writing it, learning it, but I don’t think it landed that well on the night. Oh well, sometimes you try these things. I think also, some of the other acts were simply very good. Large up Kareem Parkins Brown who won on the night, and was very entertaining.
I also this week passed my driving test, so well done me. First time and all that. 40 years old, mate. Think I got a bit lucky. Means I’ve got get a little motor now, and generally become a bit more useful to my wife and my family. Which is good, I hope
Alright, so, onto this week’s little Young Unprofessional piece. It’s the final piece in this first little foray into doing this stuff. Just Another Day(Te) – little wordplay there. I managed to sneakily record it on Tuesday but my little doggies were making a lot of noise which you may hear on the recording. I’ve enjoyed doing this, I don’t know if anyone else has, but you know, I’m only dong this because I like doing it. I want to take a bit of time and go back through them, look at the form of it, so what I can do more of etc etc. I’ve got a few older pieces in the Reece character which I might record and put out, for posterity purposes. But well see, mate. As ever, everything on here is a work-in-progress, like my Anti-Slam gig, some things work, some don’t, that’s the game mate.
In the meantime, I’ve been slowly adding old poems and lyrics, complete with video or audio, onto my website if you fancy taking a look - https://paulcree.co.uk/lyricsandpoems
Some more links below to support my work (or in the podcast description)
That’s it for now
I’ll be back with something, probably in a couple of weeks time
Keep it Larger than life
Peas and taters
Paul
If you’re able to, these are ways you can support my work
THE SUBURBAN BOOK
My 1st book collection of stories and poems
Beats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy
2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murray
https://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy
STREAM TOAST IN THE MACHINE EP
https://paulcree.hearnow.com/toast-in-the-machine
BUY-ME-A-LAGER
SHOW LINKS
Piped Piper @ The Gulbenjier, Canterbury Dec 6th 10th
https://thegulbenkian.co.uk/events/pied-piper/
Kareem Parkins Brown – Poet
https://www.instagram.com/parkinsbrown/
Conrad Murray
https://www.conradmurray.org/
Just Another Day(te)
So we’d agreed Thursday for the date with Alice. Date. Can’t believe I’m saying that, what happened to just, having a drink? Going a drink? Anyway, it was a Thursday. ‘ave that Stuart, a Thursday, priorities, mate! Be At One cocktail bar in Holborn. Despite vowing to not tell anyone, I told pretty much everyone; which totals about seven people. Such as to say, whilst I was making my way there, I received three text messages all wishing me good luck. Even Diane from work sent me one?! Diane… was she hinting at… na.
Do people do that before someone goes on a date, though? Surely for some cosmopolitan young twenty something Londoner, especially a geezer, who probably does this type of thing all time all the time, they don’t get those sorts of messages, do they? It was hard not to read too much into those texts. It felt as if they’re were saying ‘Reece, we don’t know how this has happened, or how desperate this person is, but you’re going on a date, good luck, son, you’ll need it’- but it did make me realise I probably shouldn’t have told anyone, probably. I was a bit embarrassed, I don’t like drawing attention to myself like that, it’s to exposing. Even Gary sent me a good luck message, of sorts. It said ‘Do the business, mate, you can’t be a nonce your whole life.’ He meant well.
I went straight from work. Got changed in the carzi. Took off my work shirt, and changed into a long-sleeved blue one that I’d bought in Topman. Kept, my work trousers and shoes on. I guess I looked kind of smart? It was about as smart as I’d get. Ideally, I’d least have the Air Max on, and maybe a Lacoste polo, letting her know I’ve got the street-geezer edge, little bit hip hop little bit football casual, but I was worried this bar would have a dress-code. Fucking dress codes.
I didn’t want to be late, so I got there early, like really early, and walked over to the bar. I don’t normally go in cocktail bars, only really when I’m on dates, or birthday parties. I don’t really go on dates, and don’t have that many mates, so I don’t really go in cocktail bars; unless it’s some work doo. Basically, I don’t go in cocktail bars. I looked inside and it was packed full of young 20’s and 30’s types. Some in couples, some in groups, some looking like the post-work crowd; still boozing. I figured it was too early to go in, especially on my ones, so I bopped round to The Crown, safer-ground, where I’d met that prick Stuart Simmons a few weeks before; he who put me onto this Gumtree online dating caper. It’d come full circle.
‘Look at me now Stuart, I’ve made it, I’m on a date, you can’t laugh at me now… and I’ve still got your Spiderman Game on the PS1! I’m gonna make love to this girl with that on in the background, on pause, just looping around. And what, bruv?!’
He’s a prick, but I guess he had done something good here. Alice seems really nice, from the computer anyway. And she’s a teacher, with like, a proper job, a career. I’m probably out of depth here. There was a lot at stake. I was excited, and nervous, and anxious; I’d been thinking about it all day, all week. I pretty much did nothing back at work, which is only slightly less than what I normally do.
I got a pint of that Alpine lager in, told myself I had time to kill, so sip it slow. Yea. Something else must’ve kicked in and overrode that internal command, because I did it in about four gulps; without even noticing. It’s like I couldn’t help myself, like my right hand was a magnet to the glass and my elbow was automated to go up and down and I didn’t know where the off-button was. It just goes down to easy. I was trying to read a copy of the Metro on the table, but no words were going into my brain. Just staring a picture of Frank Lampard celebrating a goal for Chelsea. I wonder what Frank Lampard would be doing in my position.
All I could think about were various scenarios of me impressing Alice, with my suave free-spirit-creative-vibes, but with the coating of a geezer who’s got a bit about him. Not some posh kid who writes poetry on a tree-protest. Obviously. She needed to know that I was good guy, but I weren’t no melt, like Stuart Simmons, or any of his London mates.
Three pints later and I had half-an hour before we were due to meet. I was gassed-up and already fizzing with that lager buzz, feeling good but also like I shouldn’t have drunk all that booze, a few burps slipping-out, worried that I might’ve already crossed that threshold, when talk just goes into turbo breeze and I’m just spouting hot air, like a malfunctioning kettle close to boiling point or more like implosion.
I slipped in to the carzy for a Pat Cash and a sneaky spray of a Hugo Boss miniature, that I’d bought off Kemal from work, he had a load of them so I bought a set; some mate of his that worked in Duty Free or something; was getting job-lots of them. Whilst I was washing my hands, I noticed the jonny machine. Up until that point, the thought of banging, sleeping together, hadn’t even occurred to me. I’d been pretty much entirely focused on hoping she was cool, whilst not making a complete dickhead out of myself, which I was at permanent risk of doing. It’d been a good while since I’d even got close to a chick like that, for even a kiss, let alone anything else. What was I meant to do here? I certainly wasn’t planning on bangs, I felt lucky enough to even have a toenail in the door with a chick, a girl, a female, a lady, a women, with a job, and a career, and opinions, and a sense of humour, who seemed really nice, and funny, this was far from a sealed deal. Yet, what am I meant to do here? There’s clearly some sort of rules to this caper; rules which have passed me by. If it went well, and things heated up a bit, she might think I was naïve if I didn’t have them? Or reckless? But then, if I did, she might think I’m too presumptuous? Arrogant even? Disrespectful? I didn’t want to be any of those things. This debacle was stressing me out. I stood there by the sink and wondered if many a geezer had been in this predicament, like Frank Lampard, where, whatever you did, you were probably gonna get it wrong.
I thought about texting Gary, but then I knew what he would likely say. I had no idea what Frank Lampard would say, probably some football platitude about the lads putting in a good shift. So I rung Stuart, he laughed and told me to buy them, just to be on the safe side, figuratively and literally. Good advice, I thought and despite being a melt, he seemed to have done alright with the ladies of late. It’s like he came into his own at uni or something. Lord knows how, he played Warhammer when we were kids, not even I had the temerity to do that (though I can’t lie, I was tempted.)
So I bought a pack of jonnies. The process of popping a couple of nuggets in the machine and the packet coming out, made me feel good, like a man, or something, sort of. I actually had a reason to be buying jonnies, for once. I was hoping another geezer would come in the carzy, like Frank Lampard, and see me buying the jonnies, like it’s nothing, and give me that nod of respect. Not like back when we were teens when we’d would take turns to buy them in the shopping centre toilets, fill them up with water and throw them off the top floor.
I stuck the rubbers in my pocket, which left a bit of a bulge but I had nowhere else to put them. Bowled out that carzy, three pints in, a bit lagered-up, jonnies in my pocket, wearing that alpha-male swag like I’d just bought it from a fancy dress shop; felt good though, even if I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Being half-cut at least made me forget, how woefully unprepared I was, for any of this.
Alice sent me a text saying she was running ten minutes late. I could deal with that, I thought, and my fears were numbed enough from those pre-pints to step into the cocktail place on my Jack Jones. She messaged me, which to me was a good-sign, she hadn’t ghosted me yet, like that time in year nine when Natalie Longden agreed to go to the cinema with me, but never turned up and I stood outside the ABC for two hours.
It looked like a few of the post-work boozers had cleared out as a couple of tables had come free. Stepped up to the bar, picked up a menu and looked at it for all of about ten seconds; there were multiple cocktails on there, none of which I knew what they were, and I didn’t have the patience to read the ingredients; so I got another pint in; they had kronenburg on tap; which considering I was three pints in, on an empty stomach, weren’t the best idea. Kroenburg was in the naughty club; up there with Stella; personal favourite of mine, but I knew to tread carefully. I had a penchant for the naughty lagers but had gotton myself in trouble on those, many, many times before. But there were other forces at work here, familiarity won out, revealing I know nothing about cocktails, or much else for that matter.
I sat, or perched, like a budgie, on this awkwardly high stool by the awkwardly high, tiny round table. Who actually wants to sit at these? They’re so uncomfortable. I took regular small sips of the pint, and kept the phone in my hand, routinely reading the messages she’d sent me, nodding my head along to the generic house music, which was just about at background level, that no one else was listening too. I’d gone from feeling alright to shaking, and I couldn’t stop tapping my foot, to the point where I wobbled the table and spilt a bit of the pint, which went on my hand and on my shirt. I managed to get some napkin form the bar, to wipe off the booze, some of which had also gone on my phone, when Alice rung me. Shit. I sort of panicked and said ‘hello’ – voice going up an octave, and could about make out a female voice with a slight northern accent, saying
‘I’m here, where are you?’
I look up, and no more than ten metres away is this small, petit girl with dark blonde hair, with glasses, shoulder length, wearing a cream jacket, with a big clutch bag on her shoulder, blue jeans, flat converse trainers, standing there on her phone, looking around. She looked alright, bit small, but shit, alright, mate. And she’s wearing trainers. Should’ve worn mine!
‘I think I can see you ‘
I said, napkin stuck to my arm, which I’d just realised. She turns round and sort of clocks me and walks forward. I unstuck the tissue, awkwardly climbed off my perch to greet her. She looked kind of tentative walking towards me. Fair enough, I’m a stranger, you don’t know me etc. I might be a nonce or something, which I’m not, obviously, or wait maybe it’s not that obvious? Shit, I hope not. But she don’t know that I’m not a nonce, so she was tentative, nervous. Like me. Maybe she’s a nonce?
As she’s walking towards me, I’m thinking; what do I here? Is this a handshake thing, a hug thing, a kiss on the cheek thing? A two kiss on the cheek thing? What would Frank Lampard do? But before I knew it, I’d gone for some clumsy hybrid of a handshake and a hug and almost like fell into her. I got close enough to know her head came pretty much just by my chest, and that she smelled nice, even if she did have to lean back to avoid me crashing into her..
‘Sorry’ I said, I weren’t quite sure what to do there.’
She laughed though, and said ‘hello, I’m Alice.’ It was a nervous laugh, but you know, understandable. ‘It’s alright’, she said, ‘we can hug.’ And we hugged, and she still smelt nice.
As first impressions go, I don’t think I was doing that well. She had to climb a bit to get on the stool, and laughed while doing it. Do I laugh here? Is that appropriate? That would draw attention to her petiteness and I don’t think I’d earned that right yet. But we get into the small talk anyway, how’s your journey and your day so far and all that caper. I can do that bit, but I could already hear the wind-chimes indicating that I could unleash a whirlwind of turbo breeze at any minute, and talk a load of complete bollox, scaring her away. Had a cursory glance at my pint and I was already two thirds down. Do you want a drink, I said? She said ,yes please, and asked me to choose her a cocktail, that’s a good sign right, bit flirty, but shit, she’s gonna realise I know nothing about cocktails. I came back with a Long Island ice tea because that’s the only one I’d heard of. She looked surprise and went, ‘ok, that’s a strong one’. Not sure what that meant, though, but I don’t think it was good.
At the bar I spied they had bottles of Peroni so I downgraded myself to that, I had to keep the storm at bay, otherwise all hell would break loose, and I was already close. I was at the four-pint threshold with no food and a big potato sack of nerves, raging through me. This was a terrible combination; this was going to take all my mental powers to hold it together.
She seemed a bit reserved, and was looking around a bit, whilst we were talking, this wasn’t a good sign. I was trying to compensate for this with more chat, which was increasingly looking like bollox. However, I’d noticed she had a slight northern accent and asked her where she was from. She seemed receptive to this question and told me she was from some town in Lancashire, which she said was a bit of a dump but didn’t mind it, as it was where she grew up, I respected that. Came to London for uni and stayed ever since. I then got her talking about her job, and what she liked about it, which was good because it meant I wasn’t talking, and I knew a little bit about teaching. She genuinely seemed to love her job, some little primary school in Notting Hill and the more she talked, the more cool she seemed. She had a lovely smile. Slight gap between the teeth but it was cute. Not the best looking chick ever, but you know, she was alright. She then asked me the same question. I guess that’s what this game is, when you’re both a bit nervous, and trying to be polite, you ask each other questions and while they’re talking you try to think of something witty to say whilst also trying to not be a dickhead; which for me, was proving very, very difficult. I told her about New Town, and growing up there and never really doing much.
‘So you just came to London then? No uni?’
Pretty much I said, expecting to think I was some kind of looser. From the sounds of it, where she’s from, geezers like me don’t leave. Which was a bit like New Town. I guess I am a bit different in that respect. Good for you she said, Uni was the only way I was ever gonna get out.
We get on to the next drink, I’m just about holding back the drunkenness, I think she could tell, shouldn’t have been late then, Alice?! She has a Martini this time and buys some crisps, which was a touch, as I think I needed some kind of sandbag in my liver to absorb some of the booze. I could see she was relaxing a little bit more. I noticed her at the bar, texting, who though? She came back with a smile, of sorts, and some crisps. So where’s your favourite place to go on holiday then?
Bollox, I could lie here but fuck it.
I haven’t been on holiday in years, I said. We used to go to Camber Sands when I was a kid, had a couple of lads holidays which to be honest were a bit shit, just got sunburn and spent loads of money. She laughd at that. I’ve never been there but I’d like to see the middle east, maybe, like all of it. Iraq, Irsael, Iran, Syria I dunno. Never been to any of them.
Interesting, how come? She said.
I dunno, something about the region interesrts me.
Like what? She said, really looking at me. I couldn’t hold her stare for long, I looked at the beermat
I dunno. Three of the worlds major religions are from there, in that one little spot on the map, so much of we know. The old spice roads and the ancient civilisations and all that. I dunno, maths and science, and discoveries and, like other stuff. Just find it interesting, it’s like the middle of the world or something.
Not quite the answer I’d expected but fair enough. You ask me a question? Go on.
Shit, she was taking control, and I had no idea what to asj.
‘Erm do you like music?’
She laughed, that’s a rubbish question, you’ve already asked me this question in one of your messages.
Oh yea.
She laughed again, ‘also, who doesn’t like music?’
I dunno, there’s bound to be some perverts out there who don’t
She laughed again. ‘Perverts?’
Shit, I’m not even trying to make her laugh here, but she’s laughing. Is she laughing at me though?.
My dad doesn’t really like music, you calling him a pervert?
What?! Na, na, er not at all.
It’s alright, I’m just teasing ya… he is a pervert
Really?.... Oh right…
Course he’s not, I’m just teasing you again.
Oh, ok.
Jesus, she was playing me!
Ok, next question then?
Erm who’s your favourite celebrity?
Another corker of a question.
Sorry
Stop saying sorry. I’ll answer it though. Gloria Estefan. Me and mum love her, sometimes we stand in the kitchen and sing Rhythm Is Gonna Get You, mainly when dad is out, as he hates it. So what about you then?
I hate these questions, had no idea what to say.
Err Frank Lampard.
The footballer?
Yea
Why?
He’s err a role model, kinda there when I need him, sort of.
I’ve no idea what that meant, why did I say that?
She laughed again, looked at me for a few seconds then checked the time on her phone, looking a bit mor anxious. We chatted a bit more, I talked this time about my family, Tanya who’s a cousin, my job. She seemed more and more occupied, though, and checked her phone again.
Do you want another drink? I said
No you’re alright, I’ve gotta head off. It’s almost ten and I’m up up early, so if you don’t mind I’m gonna say goodbuy.
Shit. Suddenly her demeanour had changed a bit, I think she’d seen through me.
Ah no worries, I should probably get off myself off as well, I’ve enjoyed it though.
Yea she said, unconvincingly, whilst climbing down off her chair and opening her handbag.
I got up myself, to sort of see her off, with no idea what to do, so I tried to play it cool and look like this was all fine, you know business as usual but suddenly feeling awkward and before I knew that automated arm was doing its own thing again, and had reached into my pocket for my oyster card, and without thinking pulled out my wallet, and the pack of jonnies, and plonked them on the table; before I could even register what I was doing.
She looked at them, then at me, with a sort of bemused look.
I didn’t know what to say.
Oh shit sorry
She looked at me, what are you sorry about?
I didn’t mean to get those out. I weren’t suggesting anything, I forgot they were in there. Do you want me to walk with you to the tube station?
She ignored the question. Do you always get those out on first dates?
No… I didn’t know what to do, my mate advised me to get them just in case..
Just in case what?! She seemed pissed-off, now. And who is this, mate? Frank Lampard?!
Was she brining Frank into this before, he didn’t do anything. I didn’t saying anything, and then in some sort of desperation repeated
Do you me to walk you to the station?
No I’m fine, thankyou. It was nice meeting you.
No kiss, no hug, no handshake, she just turned and walked off, didn’t even look back. I slumped back down, elbow on the tables, head in hands. I blame Stuart. Dickhead.
I was blasting out Broken Wings again on the train home. Did the routine, Got off, kebab, smashed that, sauce in my chin, back to the flat, straight to bed. I wasn’t going too as I knew it was a lost cause but decided to send her a text message and apologised for my clumsiness. Explained that I didn’t really know what the correct thing to do was, so I was just being precautious. She didn’t reply.
Next day at work, Dianne weren’t in and I was low down enough on most peoples priority list, to not give a shit about the fact that I’d gone on a date, so no one asked me, which was a good thing. I’d come to the conclusion that the whole date was a little like a Division Two side getting a plum cup-match against a Premier League outfit. Of course, I was the underdog going into it, no one expecting me to actually doing anything, just hoping for some of that cup magic. Held my own for a bit, showed a few glimpses of something and then eventually collapsed, standard I suppose.
Got to about 5pm, whilst pretending to look at this customer, my phone vibrates and it’s Alice. She said sorry she’d not replied and don’t worry about the whole thing. She had some bad family news whilst we were there and said she’d overreacted a bit, was a bit upset and maybe in a few weeks, did I want to go out again?
Shit. Sick! I didn’t know what to do here? I mean obviously my answer was yes, but like when do I respond?? Leave it a couple of days? What would Frank Lamp… oh fuck that. No worries, I said, and yes I’d like that. Speak to you soon, Reece.
Young UnProfessional - EP 6