Part memoir, part ramble, with some mumbling and ranting that has the focus of a bloke with ADHD!

Welcome to Earlesfield Estate (extract)

Earlesfield Estate is when my memories really start. The house in Kestrel court was covered in grey pebbledash and I often wondered ‘who the fuck’ thought that was an innovative architectural look as I scrapped my arm on it propping up my bike against the wall.[1] The first bike I can remember is my red Raleigh Chopper, which I rode everywhere and over everything. A group of us would make bike courses which mostly consisted of jumps, and which eventually led to the back seat springs on my Chopper breaking. I remember being distraught at the time, but my dad managed a quick repair with some dodgy welding. They broke again soon after and I got a racing bike. I struggle to remember my exact age as I recount each of these events, but together they will, hopefully, paint a broad picture of my time in Grantham, or what I refer to as ‘The Grantham Years’. It could be titled ‘The Grantham Tears’ or ‘Fears’ or ‘Tears for Fears’. but that would be too melodramatic, and they were a shit group!

This period, the Grantham years, really shaped and shifted a lot of things for me, not by design but through adventure, misadventure, recklessness, subculture, health scares, sociocultural events and a great group of friends who were all struggling to cope in Thatcher’s hometown and many of whom were set on exploring escape routes! Among the escapees was my friend who went on to become a well-known DJ Graeme Park. We were in several bands together before he escaped to Nottingham and beyond, but more of that later.

[1] Apparently, it was C F A Vosey who pioneered the use of pebbledash in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.

Bombing around (extract)

During my first attendance on the northern soul scene in 1976, I once saw some of the older soulies in our van (probably in their early 20’s) huddled together at the back in the shadows, shooting up. I glimpsed, them, rolling up their sleeves, putting belts around arms, clenching fists, and I thought nothing of it. I carried on jabbering away with the rest of my mates as we came up on Black Bombers at the front end of Harry’s Ford Transit van. Harry was about 60 years old, and we used to have a whip round to pay him to take us to St Ives allnighter in Cambridgeshire. Harry always wore a suit and tie and he would come inside and wait all night for us. Initially, people thought he was drug squad (DS) and avoided him. But, eventually, as with many strange figures on the scene at that time, he became an accepted face and people started chatting with him. The scene back then was full of maverick characters, lost souls, mostly working-class youth who were disenfranchised, pushed into shit jobs and left to the daily grind of monotonous labour. Dancing to northern soul music was liberation and freedom, it was vital for our existence, a matter of life and death, and I fully committed to the life it offered me at the time.

Bombers, Duramin, Blues, Amphetamine Sulphate powder, Chalkies, Benzedrex Inhalers (if we were desperate), Tuinal, Mogadon, Green and Clears, Phenobarbital, Valium, Librium, I was swallowing them all at the age of fourteen. Staying out and dancing all weekend. A soul night on Friday (often at the Brit Club in Nottingham), followed by an allnighter, perhaps a coach to Wigan Casino, hitching to another allnighter on Saturday and on to an all-dayer on Sunday: or Grantham Football Club in the evening. I would do anything to prolong the weekend, the dancing, the escape attempt, and the totally depressing sense of a school week approaching. Hitchhiking, jumping trains, stealing, hanging out with an older crowd (I lied about my age), I was soon skipping school.

Shark (1986). (extract)

SCENE ONE
MAN

The song that I sing is a maritime tale,
of a sailor of sin on a tide of betrayal.
He swims not on water but still he can drown
A soldier of fortune who swims for the crown.
And this is a sea that is carefully planned,
By an army of fish who live on the land.
And the ocean is city and the ocean is town,
And the ocean is city and the ocean is town,
And a new breed of mammal is swimming around..
..or so they say.
A myth, a yarn, a legend, a tale.
But not of Columbus or the great white whale...
..nothing so romantic.
No, this is a creature we force to appear,
To nurture our anger and service our fear.
From the cold dark depths of the watery sea,
Where it has reigned supreme since nature's birth
The ultimate killing machine, CARCHARODON,
has developed a human counterpart....here on earth.

Dead Mans Shoes (extracts)

‘Yes, I am that guy who played ‘Tuff’ in that film by Shane Meadows.
I have been stopped and asked this question so many times because the film, that initially went unnoticed at the box office, became a peoples classic.
Here is a brief insight into that experience: and it really was ‘some’ experience!’

‘A couple of days later we were back in the working men’s club. Me, Anthony, Soz and Herbie were having a game of pool and generally fucking about, when in through the door comes Gary (in character) as Sonny and immediately he starts to intimidate us. He grabs Anthony (Toby) round the neck and pushes him backwards towards the dart board until Anthony’s head is against it. “STAY there you CUNT. Don’t fucking move!” Sonny says right in his face. He looks totally demonic, we were shocked and, for once, totally quiet. Sonny walked backwards from Anthony, took the darts and aimed. He wouldn’t dare throw them I’m thinking (not sure if it’s as me or Tuff). He threw the dart, he fucking threw it, full belt at the board and it laned to the side of Anthony’s head! We were silent and still; terrified might be an appropriate word here. He threw another two, whilst verbally abusing Anthony, who looked totally terrified by now. Sonny, the psychopathic cunt, then started to laugh and hug Anthony, consoling him that “it’s just a bit of fun”. Anthony looked like he was traumatised by the experience. Sonny was a scary bastard. It was at that moment that Gary claimed that role. It was an insane improvisation and Shane wanted and needed a character who was a total cunt to be the main protagonist. Job done!’