The Gang
I used to be part of a large gang who consisted mainly of boys from the local school. But, I had my fave raves. First, there was Steve, a supercilious, cool blond who was too high and mighty to ask a girl out. He didn’t have too, as all the girls were crazy about him, and asked him out all the time. He always abruptly said no. Then, there was Roger, an intellectual communist who looked like a shrivelled monkey, and last but not least was Rob, a sardonic and sarcastic Madonna of the masculine sex. He was rude and cynical and all the girls were terrified of him. He was also a bit of a devil. Once, he told me to meet him at a party in the suburbs on a Saturday night, so I got my dad to drive me there, but when he dropped me off in the middle of manicured lawn nowhere, the parents at the supposed party venue informed me there was a mistake. There was no party there. Thank you Rob, I don't think, especially as I had to bus it home dressed up in my priceless, stolen Biba trouser suit.
Every Saturday night, the gang would all, without fail meet outside the local coffee bar, and swap addresses for parties to crash. If I was lucky, I would get to ride on the back of Steve’s souped up scooter, or if I wasn’t lucky, get squashed in the back of Roger’s mother’s filthy mini. Once, I even had a boy-friend who had a jeep, and sometimes twenty of us would clamber in, and roar up and down Kings Road. It’s amazing we were never arrested, especially as one poor young boy couldn’t hold his liquor and would consistently vomit noisily out of the window, splattering the human peacocks on the streets. Yes, those were the days, but I had to cool it with that crowd, when late one evening, my boyfriend somehow managed to crash into a pond near Hampstead Heath. That was the end, as we were stopped by the police. Actually, I would have continued to ride around in the jeep, sitting in the front seat like the Queen of Sheba for longer, but my boy-friend allowed a sly blonde girlfriend of mine to hog the front seat instead. I was so jealous, that I asked Steve, Roger and Rob to help me climb up the drainpipe to her bedroom window, in order to cut off her pony tail while she slept. But the boys told me they didn’t think it was a good idea. ‘We’re not mountaineers,’ they sneered.
Copyright; Frances Lynn, 2006
Every Saturday night, the gang would all, without fail meet outside the local coffee bar, and swap addresses for parties to crash. If I was lucky, I would get to ride on the back of Steve’s souped up scooter, or if I wasn’t lucky, get squashed in the back of Roger’s mother’s filthy mini. Once, I even had a boy-friend who had a jeep, and sometimes twenty of us would clamber in, and roar up and down Kings Road. It’s amazing we were never arrested, especially as one poor young boy couldn’t hold his liquor and would consistently vomit noisily out of the window, splattering the human peacocks on the streets. Yes, those were the days, but I had to cool it with that crowd, when late one evening, my boyfriend somehow managed to crash into a pond near Hampstead Heath. That was the end, as we were stopped by the police. Actually, I would have continued to ride around in the jeep, sitting in the front seat like the Queen of Sheba for longer, but my boy-friend allowed a sly blonde girlfriend of mine to hog the front seat instead. I was so jealous, that I asked Steve, Roger and Rob to help me climb up the drainpipe to her bedroom window, in order to cut off her pony tail while she slept. But the boys told me they didn’t think it was a good idea. ‘We’re not mountaineers,’ they sneered.
Copyright; Frances Lynn, 2006
posted by Frances Lynn @ 3:07 PM
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