Piranhas In The Tank

Well, we didn’t expect the sun to shine so brightly and so warmly in September as it has in the last few days. T Shirts and shorts were out in abundance again. Saturday was hot, clear and sunny. I went with Special to see the Sir John Betjeman exhibition at the Bodleian Library (if you are interested in the details:”Summoned by Bells, John Betjeman and Oxford”, 15 June to 28 October 2006. Opening times: Monday to Friday 9:00am to 5:00pm - Saturday 9:00am to 4:30pm - Free). 100 years since dear Johnny was born. He lived, he wrote, and he died with his two stuffed teddy bears, one under each arm. I don’t know about you, but if I had been around him at the time, alarm bells would have started ringing. Still, he did bang out a few good poems, and a fair amount of dirge. I like this one, but then autumn is one of my favourite seasons:

Business Girls
by Sir John Betjeman

From the geyser ventilators
Autumn winds are blowing down
On a thousand business women
Having baths in Camden Town

Waste pipes chuckle into runnels,
Steam's escaping here and there,
Morning trains through Camden cutting
Shake the Crescent and the Square.

Early nip of changeful autumn,
Dahlias glimpsed through garden doors,
At the back precarious bathrooms
Jutting out from upper floors;

And behind their frail partitions
Business women lie and soak,
Seeing through the draughty skylight
Flying clouds and railway smoke.

Rest you there, poor unbelov'd ones,
Lap your loneliness in heat.
All too soon the tiny breakfast,
Trolley-bus and windy street!


Trolley busses! Remember them? Neither do I really but I remember my dad talking about them. He told me that when the pea-soupers (the fog of legends that smothered post industrial revolution London in smog throughout decades – untill someone came up with the idea of smokeless fuels),…..when the pea-soupers came down on our city, on one occasion a trolley bus, or ‘tram’ as they were also know, lost its connection with the power wires above and people climbed on top and manoeuvred the power arm through near zero visibility to try and get it reconnected and the bus moving again. I don’t know why but that stuck in my memory. Dad also told me that a blind man used to stand outside Barking train station in the evening when the pea-souper was on us, and offer to walk people home. He didn’t need to see you see, if you see what I mean.

Special knew quite a few of Johnny’s poems even though he wasn’t one of her favourite writers from that period. She knew a lot more that me, that’s for sure. We spent about an hour or so looking through the pages of Sir John’s life then went back out into the warmth of the sunshine. At the back of Christ Church there is a tea rooms. The small garden has rickety tables and chairs set up around the ancient tomb stones of the grave yard that sits in the centre of Oxford town. The queue for tea was too long so we didn’t actually buy a cup, we merely sat over the slab of a dead one and drank the small bottle of mineral water Special had purchased from the Italian deli in the covered market.

Refreshed and happy we made tracks to the Cowley Road, via a devious route that took us inside the Bear for a quick pint. The route ended on the elevated terrace of the Corridor, a pub in the Cowley Road, that used to be called the Queens Head or some other forgettable name. Special bought a pair of hand made sandals from a stall outside the Cowley road Community Centre opposite that was manned by a white Zimbawdian lady. Lovely sandals, well made, good leather, neat bead work, and only a tenner!

I had been in the Cowley Road Community Centre a few nights before. There is a club there called Catweazle, which provides a stage for poets and musicians. I had heard of it and thought I would check it out; see what the audience were like. They didn’t know me from Adam, just a random poet who had turned up out of the blue. Probably because of that, they put me on second, the worse space to go on, maybe even worse than first. I did “Sid and Nancy Do Sainsburys”, “The electricity Thief”, “Everything Is Overrated”, and another one I can’t remember. Much to my surprise I went down a storm! Who says people don’t like shallow! I left Catweazle as it was getting into full swing. It was good fun doing that gig and I will return (if they will have me back). About 10:15 and dark it was, when I stepped out onto the street. When I first gone into the club it had still been light; actually, on leaving, it wasn’t really that dark due to a huge full silver moon hanging still low in a clear night sky. By the light of the full moon I wandered down to the Half Moon to catch up with the Flying Circus and my old mate Sparky.

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The full moon seemed to have done a good job; the Half Moon was full of madness! A table full of loud Americans were drowning out some sweet music from JT when I stepped into to the bar. The atmosphere was strange, not like a usual Circus Thursday night. Sparky launched into some of his poetry trying to give them “Remote Control Girlfriend”, “One in Every Pub” and “The British”. His shouts and screams were making them flinch but still they didn’t shut it. Eventually, after a brave and persistent attempt, a defeated Sparky hung his poetry up for the night and sought solace in Guinness. A brave man, it just wasn’t a night for poetry! I have to say that it was the first time I have seen poetry frighten anyone – I think it was that they didn’t know what he would do next, he came across as madder than them and twice as angry. Here’s to you to you Sparks my old son!

On the previous Tuesday Sparky and me had done a gig at a new venue that he has managed to get hold of for every other Tuesday in the month. It’s called “Anything Goes at Mangos”, at Mangos bar in the Cowley road. This was the second time out for this gig. Sparky said the first one was packed and it was a fantastic evening. This one, maybe because of the clash with the last night of the St Giles’s fair, was empty. In fact, only performers and a couple of friends turned up. The whole bar was empty, devoid of all customers. But the show must go on so we performed to each other. In the end it was a great night with some wonderfully creative, original music and, hey, don’t forget the poems! The next occurrence of “Anything Goes” will hopefully attract a few punters. It is a fantastic venue and as Sparky said: “They haven’t even got the piranhas in the tank yet!”

When I walked along the tow path, much later that night, long shadows of the boats were cast by the now high in the sky full moon. “This is what it must be like in Iceland” I thought to myself. I don’t know why. I was drunk.

Special put her new sandals on and her old shoes in her bag. We sat and talked for an hour or two. Time just passes when we are together. She is lovely company. We laugh a lot. We finished our beers and left the Corridor. I had to be at work in the Half Moon by 5pm and Special needed to get some food shopping done and go collect her car from the park and ride. We walked down to the centre of Donnington Bridge where we held each other close and kissed for several minutes. Blue sky above us and the Thames flowing under the bridge below. Sir Johnny would have had a field day with that one. All I can say is it was dreamy and I am a very, very happy bunny!