(part two)

******* An excerpt from The simpletone Chronicles *********

 “We’d been in the USA for five years when my mother came across two choice grams of black Afghani hash I was hiding along with a lovely little pipe that had great sentimental value. So rather than turn me in to the Cleveland constabulary, my parents gave me the choice of enlisting for the American Army – this was in ’71 so Viet Nam was still hot – or going to England, at my own expense and forced to rely on the kindness of distant relatives, presumably to get a taste of culture and abandon my wayward ways. Viet Nam was just intended as stark punishment. I was interested in writing ala Hemingway – you know, witnessing war and death firsthand – so naturally I opted for ‘Nam.”

 Adam: “Not my choice.”

 “A week later I’m on a flight to London.“

 Ted: “So they blinked.”

 “They knew I was goofy or vindictive enough to go through with it.”

 George: “They had your best interests at heart, though.”

 “They knew full well I’d have perished in boot camp.”

 Adam: “What happened next?”

 “Well, just to get off on the right foot, I accepted some acid for the journey from a bunch of Christian students sitting in the section ahead of me. They were all about my age and were going to a retreat in England at a place next to John Lennon’s cattle farm.

 George: “You got to meet John Lennon?”

 “Not yet. It was quite a flight with that bunch crawling the walls with their seat belts on. It was wild – they were definitely not ready for the excruciating boredom of a trans-Atlantic flight. Anyway, after talking some of them down, I detached from the mayhem and watched the movie. Thing was, I had the soundtrack for the screen to my immediate right but could only watch the screen at the front. They were on different reels and were out of sync by about ten minutes. I’m hearing the sounds of battle but watching a love scene and vice versa. Plus, because of our flight path the sunrise took forever, so the coming down from the acid was a long, agonizing passage of time.”

 George: “What about you meeting John Lennon?”

 “Not yet. When we landed, I was a psychological mess but held it all together rather well, especially compared to those crazy Christians. Good thing, too, they took all the heat at customs – I just got waved through.”

 Adam: “Were you smuggling contraband?”

 Ted: “Or drugs?”

 “As it turns out, I was, without knowing it. One of those fuckwits put a big chunk of hash in my backpack without my knowledge. Don’t know how they planned to get it back when we got past customs but they had bigger problems at the airport.”

 Adam: “What’s this got to do with David Bowie?”

 George: “When does John Lennon come in? Was he there to meet you at the airport?”

 “I met a Swedish girl at Heathrow, Connie, she was actually supposed to be heading home but had changed her mind and was swapping her ticket. She was really cute, wore a floppy hat with amazing colours – bear in mind I had some residual synapse arcing. We got to talking, she apparently decided I needed guidance – and boy did I ever – so after she changed her ticket, she escorted me to London and beyond.” Steve leans forward, elbow on the table, his chin in his hand and his eyes fixed on a distant point. 

     “That calls for another round.” George signalled the waitress.

     “Connie. Migosh she was pretty. And sweet. And played harmonica. She was so cute – her favourite phrase was ‘Hot Ziggity Dog!’ Which is what she said when I agreed to go to the Glastonbury Faire with her. That’s the real reason she wanted to change her ticket. We saw a billet that advertised TRex at the festival. “Hot Ziggity Dog!” We saw some sights, had fish and chips and we spent the night at a hostel, boys and girls separate, which she thought was “hunky dory”. After a breakfast of tea and oranges, we took the train from Paddington and changed at Bristol, which I mention because a guy got on the train there who was a little bit different. We’ll meet him later but here’s a clue: he was carrying a guitar case.”

 George: “John Lennon!”

 Ted: “Acoustic or electric?”

 “Acoustic.”

 George: “John Lennon!”

 Adam: “Acoustic. Well that hardly narrows it down. 1971 had a lot of folk singers in it. Bowie was a folk singer then.”

  “Connie and I only had our sleeping bags so if the weather turned foul, we’d have to pass on by and fine shelter somewhere. The weather was fine, though. We got a ride to Glastonbury late on the Monday and went up to see the sunset from the Glastonbury Tor, it was so beautiful, you could see for miles.”

 George: “Like that song about a dog by The Who?”

 Ted: “Yeah, Boris the Spider.”

 George: “No, the one from the seeing-eye dog’s point of view.”

 Adam: “What the good goddam fuck are you talking about?”

 Ted: “You’re talking about The Who, Keith Moon’s band?”

 George: “Yes.”

 Adam: “Did the dog belong to a guy named Miles?”

 George: “That’s the one!”

 Adam: “Jesus Christ – ‘I Can See For Miles.’ God, you worked hard for that one.”  

 George: “I was saving it. But Steve, you were telling a story….”