A few years back and there you have it, I was in 'Nam, Cheltenham. It being New Year's Eve it seemed right to visit some friends, regimental tie and blazer no less. And there we were, "Happy New Year, fella," I offered some massive biker, "Is it, F***r?" came the electric synapse, ultra dopamine quick response.
I looked at the offensive mountain of oily denim, leather, hair and worse and said, "Devil take you and twice as fast." He didn't, fortunately, because the owners, ahem, of the house broke in, "Leave him alone, he's Adolf." And so he did.
Funny thing, I was the last man standing at that biker event, at 4++ in the morning. Lightweights, obviously.
Do you believe in spooks? Well sure, we all know they're out there operating the arcana of their dark art, and the insouciance of latter day youth denigrates their online presence, "Glowies." But what about real spooks, ghosts, apparitions, typically of the dead. People see these, no doubt about it, and so have I. Here's a short story.
Back in the '80s our family lived in an Edwardian rectory on the outskirts of 'Nam, Cheltenham. My room was on the top floor and, when it was time for dinner, Ma LSP would shout out from the ground floor, "Dinner!" and off we'd go, all 5 kids.
a typical glowie
The pattern repeated. One night I was a bit slow off the mark and left the eyrie late. Walking by my parents' room I did a quick eyes left and there was the silhouette of a woman, it was winter, the lights were off and she was combing her long hair in front of a mirror on the wall in the darkness.
I thought it was one of my sisters, being a comb your hair in the dark hippy, and was going to tease her for the malfeasance but thought better of it. Don't be a churl, LSP, let her enjoy the moment, so I duly walked down another flight of stairs and thence to the breakfast room, where everyone was present. No kidding, what had I just seen.
True story. Was it a ghost and if so, what are they, spirits of the dead in some kind of limbo? A transdimensional occurrence, a slip in the fabric of space and time? Or something else. Feel free to weigh in.
Terminal D at DFW, normally a heaving mass of travelers trying to board jets with all the comfort and convenience of a 1982 bus ride from Cheltenham to Canterbury, was eerie empty. Seriously, you could've fired a canon off in the departures concourse and not hit anyone, much.
But hey, gotta wear a mask in case you give a person who's been vaccinated against Covid, you know, Covid. That's the beauty of these vaccines, they stop you getting the deadly disease which 99.9% doesn't kill you. Except that they don't, which is why you have to submit a negative PCR test and be vaxxed up before you travel to Canada. Until April 1st.
You'll note, keen-eyed readers, that April 1 is April Fools' Day. Huh. When, dear Lord, will this Kabuki Theater end?
There we were, in some kind of biker go-down in 1996 and it was New Years Eve, high spirits, right? And there I was in a blazer and regimental tie, pretty snappy. So one thing leads to another, "Happy New Year fella!" And enormous 8' tall biker bloke replies, "Is it, fkr!"
We look each other in the eye, me staring upwards, obviously, and there's a moment of, what can we say, friction. Will this end well or not? And it does. "Errrr, leave 'im alone, he's called Adolf, he's alright." And so I was. Curiously, I was the last man standing at that party, tie and all. Can't let the regiment down, what?
Hippies start off well with love, peace and save the planet. Good call, who wants hate, war and a ruined ecosystem. Then they hold a festival, aka freak fayre, and throw all their trash around, wrecking the park. Not so green, but some of them are politicals. Here's a quick real world example, from long ago 'Nam, Cheltenham:
Bullsh*t Nige: "I ain't part of no system!"
LSP: "But Nige, don't you collect a giro? (welfare)"
Nige: "I does."
LSP: "That makes you part of the system, right?"
Nige: "Errrrr... But I got a workshop outside Swindon!"
LSP: "What?"
Nige: "Makes howitzers, nuclear howitzers! And a UFO."
To be fair, Nige wasn't so much a hippy as a lower order biker who lived with Big Frank, a prospect, at the time, for the Wolves Outlaws, or "Wolfies." A friend, PA, said one morning as we srolled through the Regency streets of England's premier spa town, "Imagine. Nige wakes up, 'Frank! I can't tie my boots!' Wheels turn, 'Fkn eat them then!'" I had to laugh.
Well, PA went blue not long afterwards, followed by FT, S, K, SB and others. What a waste of young life! I rebelled, joined the army, left the Glorious Glucesters and became a padre. So there you have it.
I hope Nige is lording it over copious pints somewhere in 'Nam right now, when not gunning his hog past Imperial Gardens. And yes, hippies are and produce rubbish. They don't wash, either. Just stating the obvious.
Because this is an uplifting family blog, here's Mr. Fantasy. Good work, Traffic. My dad, rest in peace, used to call Winwood "Stevie Boy," and got him to help out with the Mass music from time to time. Quite a thing in a small church in 'Nam; that'd be Cheltenham, obviously.
I visited "Stevie Boy's" recording studio in the Cotswolds, it was like a spaceship. No kidding.
