Confessions of a Pop Star. Timothy Lea

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘When are we going to see old Rumbling Tum?’ I ask.

      Sid does not have to answer because a bloke with a red velvet jacket appears on a small stage and grabs a microphone.

      ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Doom. Tonight we’re very fortunate to have a return visit from that popular son of the sod–’

      His voice drones on but I find myself concentrating on a geezer with a big black beard who is clearly pissed out of his mind. He is barging into tables and cursing and muttering fit to kit out a TV comedy series. I don’t know why they haven’t chucked him out.

      ‘Do us a favour, Timmo. I don’t want to miss any of this.’ Sid shoves his empty glass into my hand and I am fighting my way back to the bar again. Blooming marvellous, isn’t it? Working with Sid is always the same. The outlay is more guaranteed than the return.

      Daffers has not pressed forward with the rest of her mates and I can see her trying to think of something to say. That makes two of us.

      ‘You look like an ’ore,’ she says.

      For a moment I cannot believe my ears. She looks such a nice girl too. What a thing to say. No bird has ever spoken to me like that before.

      ‘Nobody’s perfect,’ I say. Maybe it is the diamante on the lapels of my shirt. Mum thought it was a bit much.

      ‘I thought Thames Tradesmen were awfully unlucky at Henley,’

      Now she has really lost me. What is she on about?

      ‘I’m in the entertainment business,’ I say. ‘Do you fancy something?’

      ‘I think I’ve had enough already.’

      ‘Force yourself.’

      ‘Well, a glass of white wine, please.’

      Sidney must be right. They are all at it. And it costs as much as a pint of bitter, too. Diabolical!

      ‘ “And the brave young sons of Eireann came pouring through the door. And the snivelling British Tommies fell grovelling on the floor.” ’ I turn round and – blooming heck! The bearded git must be Rambling Jack Snorter. His accent is as thick as an upright shillelah and the first three rows are reeling under a hail of spittle.

      I tear myself from Daffers’ side and return to Sid.

      ‘What do you think?’ he says.

      ‘He’s all right if you’ve got an umbrella,’ I say. ‘Does he always go in for this anti-British stuff?’

      ‘He’s very committed,’ says Sid.

      ‘And frequently, too, I should reckon,’ I venture. ‘I think he comes on a bit strong, myself.’

      ‘He’s controversial, I’ll grant you,’ says Sid. ‘But that’s a good thing these days. He can create a dialogue between himself and the audience.’

      ‘You mean, like that bloke who just threw a bottle at him and told him to piss off back to Ireland?’

      ‘That kind of thing, Timmo.’ Sid grabs me by the arm and steers me away from the stage. ‘I think we might see if his voice carries.’

      ‘Good thinking, Sid.’

      ‘ “So here’s to all brave Irishmen, God bless their sparkling eyes. And hatred to the English filth whom all true men despise.” ’

      ‘I like the idea of the fiddle,’ I say.

      ‘Yeah. But they break easily, don’t they?’

      ‘They do if that one is anything to go by. Does he always finish his act by being thrown out of one of the windows?’

      ‘Not usually,’ says Sid, ducking. ‘It’s just that some of these dockers are a bit touchy. They’re big men but very sensitive. Do you fancy another beer?’

      ‘I don’t think we’re going to be able to get one, Sid. That’s the governor draped over the partition, isn’t it?’

      ‘You’re right. It’s a lively little place, no doubt about it. I must come again some time.’

      ‘Give them a couple of years to rebuild.’ I duck as another bottle shatters against the wall above my head. If we keep under the table and push it towards the door we may be all right.’

      Sid nods and turns up the collar of his jacket. ‘Yeah, I don’t like leaving the car for too long around here. Last time I was in the neighbourhood the kids were playing tiddly winks with hub-caps. Some little bleeder whipped my aerial. It wouldn’t have been so bad but I was doing forty miles an hour at the time.

      Daffers is sheltering under a nearby table and I nod to her as we crawl past. ‘Super to meet you,’ she says. ‘Good luck with the rowing.’

      ‘What was she on about?’ says Sid. ‘What have you been telling her?’

      ‘Search me. I think she’s a bit touched.’

      ‘I wouldn’t mind touching her and all. Lovely the way her bristols were hanging down like that.’

      The sight has not been lost on me and I would be very willing to show the lady that what I don’t know about rowing I know about in and out. I mean, it’s practically the same thing, isn’t it? Women on their hands and knees are always a favourite with me. A bit of dangle and a nice inviting curve to the backside – Down Lea!

      We get to the car just as the fire engine comes round the corner and nearly collides with the first of the police cars.

      ‘Lovely publicity,’ says Sid, enviously. ‘It’s a shame we don’t have him under contract.’

      ‘Sign him up and you’ll have us all under six feet of earth,’ I say. ‘He’s a raving nutter, that bloke.’

      ‘He’s outrageous,’ agrees Sid. ‘But that’s what a section of the market wants, these days. I wonder if I could get him to wear drag and dye his hair purple.’

      Sid rambles on in this vein until he informs me that we are approaching Plonkers.

      ‘Yeah. Diabolical name, isn’t it? I told her people would associate it with bonkers and she said that was the idea.’

      The place is down Fulham way and there are a load of high class wheels parked outside the front door. All lean and hunched-up like greyhounds crapping in the gutter. Inside there is a long bar and lots of alcoves and small tables. There is sawdust on the floor and a few geezers wearing striped aprons who cater for the wine-drinking public. I have to admit that quite a few members of the grape-group are present and they make a marked contrast to the regulars at The Prospect of Doom. Some of them are even wearing suits and the whine of their upper class rabbit would drill holes in the side of a battleship.

      If Rosie is glad to see us, the fact is not communicated by any movement of her features.

      ‘Oh, you’ve come,’ she says.

      ‘Only СКАЧАТЬ