This Rare Treat

Having just posted this on another blog by accident (there was a pop up in front of my blog) I feel a little fearful of messing up. This is the cover of a fanzine in the late 80's, the young man who set it up (or wrote for it?) was called Greg, but I think it was not his real name? Not sure.

Charles Dickens...sister-in-law...grave..Georgina Hogarth

The Sluggard

Ruby M Spankie

A Tower Block Fire in Kingston upon Thames

Yesterday a fire ripped through the top four floors of a block of flats on the Cambridge Estate, Kingston upon Thames. People appeared from houses and flats, from their cars and gardens, all drawn by the smoke and fire, by the drama, by the desire to see something shocking and fearsome. Something that would be talked about for years. Talked about in the pubs and on the TV.
I heard a story of a photographer who was close to the scene of 9/11 and refused to take photographs. I thought about him as I got my camera out of my bag, should I? Is it wrong? I felt it was, so hesitated. Many were snapping away with their mobile phones, it assuaged my guilt. If I had seen a body or a sign of distress I would not have taken a single shot, then rumours spread that everyone was out (after I had taken a few photographs).

I was fascinated by what looked like a moving, changing painting in the skies. The dramatic black clouds darkening the sun's light, the spears of orange flames (like a crown on top of the towering building) and the people, people everywhere scuttling out to have a look (like me), the pull of horror. No one could take their eyes off it. Scores were filming it, taking photographs of it, pointing at it. People brought together at a time of crisis, of tension, of fear - I talked to people I would never normally see or talk to, a need to share the experience or talk it out of my system, I am not sure what it was but others were doing it too. A boy on a bike raced around telling everyone the building was about to collapse. Another man said he wouldn't have to go into work the next day because of it. Rumours spread of petrol bombs or drug gangs. A baby had been saved (which turned out to be true). A policeman ran towards the fire with two bottle of mineral water, he was told the water wouldn't do much good by a man near me (and by many I imagine).

Later i offered to help in the community hall but no help was neeeded. Tenants would be staying with friends and relatives, those without somewhere to go would be looked after. I was thanked for offering. It had come so naturally, the desire to help others in need, in shock, vulnerable.

Death in Malibu

Either a Hollywood star had died or it was someone that liked the odd tipple, but either way this was a strange tribute to a life lived. There is beauty in there somewhere. And love too. Lots of it. I would like a bunch of Bluebells shaped neatly into the shape of a bottle of Peroni.

(If this arrangement was for a relative of yours (viewer) and you are offended by it being on the internet, please let me know and I will remove it).

Bob Dylan - Guilty.

Over the last year or so I have been collecting autograph stories from friends, family and work colleagues It has been a very pleasureable experience listening to/reading the 50 tales I have received.
Of course, I am having no luck with publishers or agents and I receive rejection letters on a regular basis. But, the project was fun to do, so I cling on to that thought as I tear open the envelopes.

Here is a story about Bob Dylan, it is one of my favourites, I hope you like it.

Dylan

I owned everything by Dylan and last saw him in 1967 at Manchester Free Trade Hall. Now I had the chance to see him again and if I was lucky, meet him.

I was a policeman in my early twenties, I think it was 1976, when Dylan played three or four nights at Earls Court. Dylan was on form around this time having released Desire and Street Legal. I was based at Notting Hill Police Station but for big concerts or demos worked with other policemen from all over London in what were called “Serials”, these were units of about 20 to 30 policemen.

I had worked at Earls Court a few times and seen Elton John, The Rolling and Queen all play there. But Dylan was different, I wanted to try and get to him.

I managed to catch bits of Dylan’s concert in the first two days but I was mostly involved in traffic duty and crowd patrol. The crowds were so bad in Warwick Road just opposite the venue, that I didn’t get an opportunity to see too much of the concert. But on the fourth night I managed to swap duties with another colleague who knew how much I loved Dylan.

I knew the venue quite well and had access to most areas so after the concert I went to see if I could catch a glimpse of Dylan backstage. When I got there I found lots of fans gathered around the stage door. Not having a valid reason to push through them all and worried that I might be caught by my Guvnor I decided to wait and see if the great man emerged.

After a short while a roadie came out to where we were gathered and people handed him various items for Dylan to sign. As fans handed him scraps of paper and programmes I realised the only thing I had on me was my police pocket book. I handed it over (I think I folded it over to a blank page in the middle). The man walked off towards a room where we could see Dylan sitting at a long table. He gave Dylan the bundle of bits and pieces to sign and Dylan signed the lot. (People say Dylan is aloof and doesn’t like to engage with his fans, but I never really believed that so it was nice to see him doing his bit for his fans).

I got my pocketbook back, looked at the signature and felt thrilled. I quickly put it in my pocket and rushed back to where I should have been stationed.

About 6 months later I was in Knightsbridge Crown Court (which is no longer there) giving evidence in a case that involved a drink driver I had arrested. The man had been too drunk to breathalyse and under section 15 (or 16) I was able to arrest him without breathalysing him. He also had an offensive weapon in his car, I think it was a sword. (NB Back then drink driving cases these went to Crown Court).

I was questioned by the Prosecution and the case was clear cut. Grasping at straws the solicitor for the defendant looked at my statement and then asked to see my pocket book (which was quite an unusual request in such cases). He pointed out that there was a page missing and he wanted to know why. I was shocked, I nearly said I didn’t know why it was missing and then I remembered. The Dylan autograph!

The judge (or the Recorder) sniggered when I explained why the page was missing. The judge decided that I couldn’t have made it all up and accepted my explanation, he said the matter was now left up to me and my superior officer to discuss.

The verdict: Guilty.

(Extract from the unlikely to be published - You can't sign a coconut by The Quiet Busker)