Ideologies<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
WARNING – CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT<\/mark><\/p>\n\n\n\n Chapter List<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n Poem to Jules \u2013 2020<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n You pull back your curtains<\/p>\n\n\n\n Birds blur the clouds<\/p>\n\n\n\n The scent of wet grass fills the air<\/p>\n\n\n\n Time and space<\/p>\n\n\n\n Separates<\/p>\n\n\n\n Our unhurt laughter<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 – Jules<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n For a few months after Jules and I split up I continued to feel emotionally raw, and even a year later when we\u2019d bump into each other, there\u2019d still be a bit of a charge between us. Generally, though, the trajectory was towards recovery where both of us moved on and lived our lives without each other. <\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 \u2013 Recovery After Jules<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s often a temptation after a relationship ends to seek solace in the arms, or legs, of someone else, even when we know doing so won\u2019t ease the pain for long. In fact, sometimes it just accentuates it. During the first few weeks after we parted, I turned back to Lorna who\u2019d just split up with her new boyfriend. I\u2019m not sure whether it was something physiological or just me telling myself not to do it, but when we kissed, it felt wrong, and this caused me to back off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lorna was very pretty, we got on well, and she liked me. It would be tempting to say it was a pity I reacted as I did, but I get the feeling I\u2019d have done so whatever the extenuating circumstances. As you may have already guessed, I was probably more attracted to rejection, so if someone wanted me, that was the kiss of death. It didn\u2019t take long for Lorna to realise I wasn\u2019t investing much into the relationship, so, each time we met up, things became a little more dislocated and within a week or so it was over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n Untrue Love<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n People might complain girls are taught to wait for a Prince Charming to rescue them, but likewise, boys believe a fair maiden will bring them true happiness. I wanted to believe in a narrative of love and romance, but if there was anything to take from these times it was the revelation that who I was, did not match up with the dreams I wanted to be a part of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The question that still perplexes me though is, did I corrupt the path to true love because of who I was, or was my vision of true love too idealistic in the first place? Maybe it was a bit of both?<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n Leonard Cohen Live in London<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n If you\u2019ve never heard Leonard Cohen\u2019s introduction to Ain\u2019t No Cure for Love<\/em> on the Live in London<\/em> album, then I\u2019d recommend you have a listen. If you\u2019d rather experience what he says afresh without the following \u2018spoiler\u2019 then please skip to the next section. Otherwise, read on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the introduction, he tells the audience that it\u2019s been a long time since he last performed on stage in London, that it was about 15 years ago when he was 60 years old, just a kid with a crazy dream. The audience laughs. He then discloses that since then he\u2019s tried a lot of medications including Prozac, Ritalin, and Focalin as well as studying deeply in the religions and philosophies of the world, but cheerfulness kept breaking through. Nevertheless, there\u2019s one thing he says can\u2019t easily be contradicted, there ain\u2019t no cure for love, and at that point, the band start playing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 \u2013 Seventeen<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n In 1979, a band called The Regents released a song called Seventeen<\/em>. Its first lines declared being seventeen meant not yet being a woman. In a way, the same went for boys, this was still an in-between age. Throughout my teens, I felt as if I was waiting to live, whereas now in my 50s there\u2019s a sense of waiting to die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n During the early years of the 1980s, there was a change for good in the air. The music scene was vibrant and outlandish fashion styles danced their way through the streets. Even in Sutton Library, people talked of androgynous guys called Marilyn and Boy George whom they\u2019d met in clubs in London\u2019s West End.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After the library closed for the night, those who didn\u2019t want to go home right away would head to the Whistle Stop pub which was a short walk away. It was a shadowy place, even on bright sunny afternoons. Daylight barely got two feet through the door before being subdued by darkness, and by sundown, it would often feel as if a dark sea of people was swirling around within. As it turned out this was rather convenient given most of the customers were underage and practically speaking it was Sutton\u2019s version of a late teen youth club. The police probably let it be, as it kept the kids off the street and at least it meant they knew where most of the delinquent kids could be found.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 \u2013 Meeting Julia<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Once I\u2019d had my seventeenth birthday my world enlarged. I\u2019d regularly have to take myself up to Roehampton Hospital to get my leg repaired or have fittings for a new one and it was during one of those visits I got talking to a nurse called Julia who invited me to a party she was having at her place that weekend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few days later I cycled to Morden Underground station, took my bike on the Tube to Fulham Broadway and then through a cold, rainy Friday night, followed the route I\u2019d marked out in my A-Z map book up to Shepherds Bush Green.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I met up with Julia in a pub where she worked to make ends meet, and at 11 pm she, along with some of her friends and I went to a Chinese restaurant. After the meal, we piled into her place where we chatted until the sun came up, at which point we went to sleep. There wasn\u2019t even an inkling of a romantic spark between Julia and me, but she welcomed me wholeheartedly into her world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In Wallington, my hometown, I was constantly looking for company and was conscious I was a bit of a pest, at least in some people\u2019s eyes, but as I was driven by a desperate loneliness, that didn\u2019t stop me. A year or so later I\u2019d move away, which allowed me to reinvent myself a little, or at least cast off some of that feeling of being a bother. Someone once told me the famous singer George Michael would often come around to her house when he was a teenager because he felt so alone and needed company. Had I known that when I felt the same, I might not have felt so bad. I may have believed I was doing these less-than-grateful people a favour by ringing their doorbell unexpectedly. After all, if I was to ever become famous, they\u2019d have looked back and been glad of the imposition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Fear of 1984<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n After World War 2 ended, the late 1940s and 1950s were periods of recovery, where the emphasis was on rebalancing the world. For some, there was an aim to take it back to how things had been before, but for others, this was an opportunity to build a brave new world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By the late 1950s, the pendulum hovered, motionlessly hung in the air for a moment, then through the next decade swung so far in the opposite direction it became known as the swinging 60s. Okay, that\u2019s not what that phrase means, but for many people who lived through that period, the \u201960s saw more social and cultural changes than any other decade in the 20th Century.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As we shall see, from this era onwards there was no going back. Culture wars were declared and through the \u201970s and beyond the battles continued, however, by the time we got to the \u201980s, the direction had become much clearer. There was a general acceptance that solving social issues was of paramount importance. The \u201980s also saw the onset of technology and computers entering our homes and everyday lives. Still, for all the hope that things were changing for the greater good, now, almost 40 years later, there\u2019s a sense that something went awry and some of the things forewarned in Orwell\u2019s book 1984<\/em>, had now come to exist. Somehow, all those roads we\u2019d paved with good intentions had led us to a dangerous arena of division and fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1997 – Therapy<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Therapist<\/strong>: When they pulled up the tram lines in London, it felt symbolic to me. It was as if the clear guidelines that society followed disappeared too. It was both frightening and freeing at the same time. It was as if we were entering an unknown world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 – Wilson\u2019s School \u2013 General Studies<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n After my O-level results had come through in the summer of 1981 some of the teachers were just as surprised at how well I\u2019d done as I was. One of them whom I particularly liked, Mr Jenkins, said of my success, \u201cI guess miracles do happen after all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The headmaster, who had always been somewhat aloof, not just to me, but to everyone, decided to take a small group of us once a week for General Studies. This could be on any subject, so for instance, one week we might be looking at architectural styles, and the next the issue of the global North-South divide. In one, we looked at cryptic crosswords, which I aptly renamed Kryptonite crosswords because I would fall to pieces as soon as I came into contact with them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One of the lessons he taught us that came in very useful and stuck in my mind ever since was about ideologies. His main theme that day was the assumptions made within the foundations of most ideologies, once accepted, make arguing against them very difficult. Therefore, it\u2019s these initial assumptions that should be most focused on when trying to assess an ideology\u2019s value. He also pointed out that most systems when put into practice meet challenges their creators never envisioned, and consequently, they tend to fail in many ways, especially when they start trying to \u201cfix\u201d those challenges.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 – On the Buses<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Between school and home was the bus journey. Unlike other bus journeys, this one not only included other kids from Wilson\u2019s whom I wouldn\u2019t normally have interacted with but also pupils from other schools. Highview was a school situated a few hundred metres from Wilson\u2019s, so there\u2019d be a few co-travellers with us from there. One called Brenda would often sit with me and have a chat on the way home. There were a few times when to a chorus of \u201cooh\u201d from my schoolmates she\u2019d give me a snog. Maybe she felt sorry for me, maybe she just liked kissing me, I wasn\u2019t too worried about her motivations, there was never any promise of anything more, it was a \u2018this is happening now\u2026 enjoy it\u2019 moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As the bus journey would get closer to Wallington High Street loads of girls from Wallington Girls School would jump on, and there\u2019d often be continuations of previously abruptly paused conversations from the day before, the giving of Christmas, Birthday and Valentine\u2019s cards as well as the resumption of the occasional feud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n While we connect eras in our lives to certain buildings, it\u2019s easy to forget how often transient settings act as backdrops to our lives too. Buses, trains, tubes, bus stops, platforms, waiting rooms, cars, parks and streets all play their part. These were our \u2018between worlds\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some of the buses and most of the trains we rode were of old stock that still had the feel of the 1940s, although the buses we took to school were quite modern at the time. You\u2019d get on at the front, show the driver your pass or pay for your journey then get off via the middle doors. But as you got closer to the centre of London it would be far more likely you\u2019d hop on an old bus via the continuously open doorway and platform at the back. Once on, you\u2019d be bathed in yellow light from little bulbs which had a theatre dressing room feel to them. Soon after sitting down, if you could, a bus conductor would sway in front of you, maybe dance a few steps to keep their balance, and as they took the money, they\u2019d give back a ticket in return from a steampunk-like machine strapped to their torso.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Diary entries:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tuesday the 2nd of March 1982: On the way home from Roehampton Hospital, the bus conductress looked me straight in the eyes, it sent a shiver up my spine. She gave me a lovely smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tuesday the 4th May 1982: On the way to school, I saw Penny and Hazel, and as usual, we had a giggle. Well, it\u2019s better than admiring dirty windows or looking at one\u2019s reflection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 – Lessons in Belief<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n In one of our English literature lessons, our teacher told us we were naive because while we could criticise our government, what difference did it make? We all nodded in agreement. But now, in 2021, my opinion has settled somewhere between his and our na\u00efve ones. There are indeed lots of barriers to changing our world, especially the political one, but things do change, both dramatically and not so. Some for better and some for worse, and partly because of or despite our actions. While we were na\u00efve back then he may also have been somewhat jaded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Although teachers were not supposed to bring their political or religious beliefs into the classroom, by the time we hit the sixth form they certainly did. Whether this was because we became more interested in politics and therefore provoked such discussions, or the teachers felt freer to bring up the subjects, it\u2019s hard to know. Either way, politics and religion became common topics within our daily lives both in and out of the classroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One day, in another English Literature class, we were studying a section of Virginia Woolf\u2019s book, To the Lighthouse.<\/em> The bit we focused on was about religion. Woolf was an atheist and at one point in the text we were reading, it was inferred that believing in God was something one should grow out of. This stuck in my mind, not because it was logically argued well but because it made me think that anyone who believed in God was immature, at least academically.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even though our teacher, pointed out that logic and faith by definition can\u2019t always come together, spiritual belief is probably in our blood. After the lesson one of my friends, Cameron, and I discussed some of the central issues around belief. Even though I felt I was winning the logical arguments, he told me he wanted to become a Church of England priest. Now, four decades later, I\u2019m still a \u201cthink agnostic, feel spiritual\u201d person and he\u2019s a bishop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After school that day I stopped off at one of my friends who lived on Roundshaw. My friend wasn\u2019t in, but her mum invited me in for a cup of tea. At one point, she mentioned God, so, trying to sound clever and mature I said, \u201cSurely, we\u2019ve all grown out of believing in fairy tales such as God\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My friend\u2019s mum, I\u2019ll call her Paula, looked at me and then in a raised voice said, \u201cI don\u2019t know what they teach you at that school. How can you talk in such an arrogant way?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was a bit shocked and knew this was not going to bode well in terms of my chances of ever going out with her daughter, who I had fancied since I was eight. I stuttered, \u201cWell, I didn\u2019t mean to be arrogant, it\u2019s just there\u2019s no way there\u2019s an old man in the sky, or a Heaven in the clouds, or Hell beneath the earth, or Adam and Eve starting off humanity. And, and\u2026\u201d I hesitated slightly as I could see these arguments were not helping matters, they were not helping one bit. Her face was red, and she shook as she glared at me harder than I ever thought was humanly possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd,\u201d I bravely or stupidly went on, \u201cif there is a God, why would he allow such suffering just so he can get us to become perfect again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n At that moment, my mind went ahead to the wedding I\u2019d always dreamt of between me and her daughter, and there on the main table Paula did not look happy about our union, in fact, she looked like thunder. I came back to reality, and the same thunderous face was still looking at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was rather hoping for a calm counterargument, but instead, she asked me in an \u201cI\u2019m still really angry with you, tone\u201d, \u201cIf you\u2019re so sure about there not being a God, then how do you think the universe got started? And if you\u2019re so sure there\u2019s not a God, then prove it to me, you can\u2019t, can you? Just because the Bible stories may not stand up to scientific scrutiny, doesn\u2019t mean there isn\u2019t a God, does it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Trying to calm the situation I conceded, \u201cWell I can\u2019t prove it, that\u2019s the point, it\u2019s about belief.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cExactly!\u201d she exclaimed, \u201cSo, if it\u2019s about belief why are you trying to make it sound like only idiots believe in God? I\u2019m disgusted by what that school\u2019s done to you Simon, I\u2019m so disappointed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hated anyone using the, \u201cI\u2019m very disappointed in you\u201d line, mainly because it was easily the best way to get my eyes to well up with tears. Well, at least it did so until I became so bad that I was more disappointed with myself than anyone else could ever be. For a moment, I wanted to explain that Virginia Woolf had made me say it, but I didn\u2019t think that would help either. So, I went quiet and left soon after.<\/p>\n\n\n\n About 30 years later I met up with Paula, her husband and their daughter, the love of my early teenage life, for a reunion meal. Near the end of our meeting, I started to tell a joke then interrupted myself with, \u201cMaybe I shouldn\u2019t tell this as you might not get it as it\u2019s for people who have had therapy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Paula leaned back slightly, nodded then encouraged me with, \u201cGo on, try us\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOkay,\u201d I said, \u201cOkay, how many psychoanalysts does it take to put a light bulb in?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTwo,\u201d I said, \u201cOne to put the bulb in and the other one to hold my cock, I mean my mother, I mean the ladder.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They laughed politely and we carried on chatting. As we walked to our cars, I looked at the woman who\u2019d been the girl I fancied. She was a lot taller than me and just on that level, I realised my teenage ambitions had been a little too lofty, let alone all the other reasons I\u2019d have never been the one for her. I remotely lowered the roof of my car, but no one was impressed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few years after that I sent them all Facebook friend requests which were never accepted, although one of her brothers, whom I was always very fond of, as I was of all of them, did. But I knew, okay I believed, that somewhere in all of that was the remnants of that argument and how I\u2019d become quite unlikeable in their eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 – Girl Friends<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n The types of relationships I had with girls and women varied greatly during 1982. Firstly, I stepped away from trying to have intense romantic connections. Yes, it was my choice, okay it wasn\u2019t my first choice, but, okay then, it wasn\u2019t my choice at all. Secondly, I began to develop a few non-romantic friendships and thirdly, I started to get involved in sexual situations with girls\/women who I realised either before or after things happened, I didn\u2019t want to get emotionally involved with in any serious way, whether they did or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the poem I mentioned in the previous chapter, Words Without a Story<\/em>, by Adrian Henri, the narrator describes all the things he\u2019ll do to capture the heart of his beloved, but once they\u2019d \u2018rolled amongst the galaxies\u2019 he becomes aware of a \u2018distant star\u2019, and soon after, rejects her. This was the place I found myself too, I was lost in space where yearning for someone and then no longer desiring them after we got up to something, was new to me. Even though I knew it didn\u2019t help in terms of gaining a long-term deep and meaningful relationship, nor was it particularly nice for the other party, especially if they wanted more. None of that stopped me from getting caught up in the same dynamic repeatedly for years to come. Was it because there was something wrong with me, or was this the way of the world? It\u2019s true there are probably a lot of dynamics going on within the process of falling in lust and then pulling away. And there might be a dark side to them too, but I can\u2019t help but think of the Woody Allen lines about casual sex being a meaningless experience, but as meaningless experiences go, it\u2019s a pretty good one. And you wonder why I ended up in therapy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 2021 – From Paris with Love<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m listening to Melody Gardot singing her song, From Paris with Love<\/em>. She sings of lovers falling in love like they fall out of bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n Interested In<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n When someone says they\u2019re \u201cinterested in\u201d someone, the primary meaning of this phrase is they\u2019re interested in developing a romantic\/sexual relationship with them. Consequently, this involves showing an interest in who they are, and what they say, do, think and feel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With Jules, I hung on to every word she uttered. But was I genuinely interested in her? I may have been, but then how could I know given I was so \u2018interested in her\u2019 romantically?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Of course, this is probably the same for most of us, but once we begin to realise this is going on we can admit to ourselves that a more realistic relationship between us and our lovers may take some time to get to. Likewise, when we lose interest in someone, it may not mean they\u2019re no longer interesting, but instead, no matter what they do, we will not be interested, especially if we\u2019ve become \u2018interested in\u2019 someone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n July 1981- Photography<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ve been interested in taking photographs since I was five years old. There was something about capturing an instant that seemed deeply important to me. Even now if I meet someone I connect with, albeit very slightly, I find it almost unbearable not to have some way of getting in contact with them again if ever I\u2019d like to. It was the same with memories and moments in time, photography became a way to hold on to them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As I began to become more involved in art, I realised that just like telling a story, it\u2019s the way images are presented that makes them interesting. So, everywhere I went I took my new second-hand, bottom-of-the-line, Chinon CS SLR with me and to top it off, to the untrained eye, it made me look like a photographer who knew what they were doing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1981 – Anya Part 1<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I had originally considered placing Anya\u2019s story in an earlier chapter as it started in the summer of 1981. However, given it illustrates my divergence from a more romantic path, it made it far more relevant for this chapter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The main part of Anya\u2019s story started about four months before I met Jules. Looking back on it now, my life changed considerably during those six months. At 16, I could still frequent playgrounds and act in a far more childlike way than I could at 17. It was as if the relationship with Jules was the watershed between feeling wholly disconnected and yearning for a relationship to save me, and realising that there were other connections to be made in life that were just as significant in their way. Even so, in my new incarnation, there was still plenty of scope to make connections in not-so-meaningful ways too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n MEETING ANYA \u2013 Tuesday 18th August 1981<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Sunil and I had gone to the recreation ground in Carshalton Park where we met his friends Colin and Paul. Colin had a perfect Elvis quiff, every time I looked at it, I felt a bit of quiff envy. He also had a big Rock n\u2019 Roll Jacket, it wasn\u2019t leather, but he still looked the part. Paul was very tall, well-built, and had bright ginger hair. He seemed a bit of a gentle giant, a little depressed and slightly dislocated, but then none of us seemed to fit together outside of being misfits. We were a gang of slightly too old teenagers hanging around the playground and would\u2019ve normally had little time for each other, but the empty spaces around us pushed us together. Having my camera with me seemed to set me apart though, it made me feel like a not-present observer. My arms probably set me apart a little too, but I\u2019d forgotten all about them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nearby a couple of girls were sitting on the children\u2019s roundabout chatting while slowly pushing it around with their feet. A small child waited patiently for them to get off, but they weren\u2019t going to, so, after a few minutes, he got on anyway and started to push it faster. The girls pushed their shoes to the ground to hinder his efforts while nonchalantly chatting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sunil knew one of the girls and nodded knowingly at one of them while quietly saying, \u201cSee the one with ginger hair, she\u2019s up for it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Quiff Boy Colin quipped, \u201cHow do you know? Have you got off with her then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNah, mate,\u201d Sunil laughed as if he wouldn\u2019t touch her with a barge pole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell, how do you know then?\u201d Colin asked again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sunil nodded sagely, \u201cI hear things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We could\u2019ve been in an American teenage gangster film if the sky hadn\u2019t been so overcast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll call them over. You\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sunil then shouted, \u201cHey, Jacqui, come over here!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFuck off!\u201d came the reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sunil leapt off his swing, \u201cLet\u2019s go and chat with them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n So, we coolly dismounted from our swings too and ambled towards them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou got a fag?\u201d Sunil asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Jacqui flicked ash from her cigarette. \u201cI don\u2019t smoke.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smiled. \u201cI don\u2019t either\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We all climbed on the roundabout and started to push it in the opposite direction. It came to an ominous stop for a moment then started to move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t go fast,\u201d Jacqui shouted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The little kid\u2019s eyes lit up as he barked, \u201cGo fast, go fast!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We all held on tight and put our heads near the middle to make it more bearable while Paul and Sunil pushed it faster. I could feel a slight sense of nausea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The other girl a bit angrily shouted, \u201cFucking hell, I feel sick, can you stop please?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As it slowed down, she looked at me. She was tall, had long dark hair, and was slightly Indian or Middle Eastern looking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s your name then, Mr photographer?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked up at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSimon. What\u2019s yours?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnya.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took a photograph of her and the others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOi! I didn\u2019t give you permission.\u201d Her voice was raised enough for me to be a bit worried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I paused for a second, \u201cI don\u2019t need it, we\u2019re in a public place.\u201d (The finer points of the law might have pointed out that the land was council-owned, but I didn\u2019t want to get into that.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n Frowning a little she pointed at me, \u201cWell it better look good or else I\u2019m gonna sue you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow could it not look good?\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She laughed, \u201cSuch a charmer.\u201d She squinted slightly as she looked into my eyes. Then she looked up at everyone and asked, \u201cDo you lot wanna come back to my house, my mum\u2019s not going to be back for a few hours, we can have some toast?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The little kid shouted \u2018Yes\u201d, to which nearly all of us said, \u201cNot you!\u201d in unison. And so, with the little kid looking at us like a forlorn abandoned pet fading into the distance, we made our way to Anya\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1981 \u2013 18th August \u2013 ANYA\u2019S PLACE<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n We all crammed into Anya\u2019s bedroom, the walls were cluttered with posters and pink and blue tiny flower-patterned wallpaper. A few minutes later Jacqui and Anya come in with some mugs of tea, a plate full of white bread toast soaked in butter and a jar of marmite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now before we go any further, I just want to point out that if you find the following dialogue a bit naff, it\u2019s not a weakness in my writing skills but is accurate to the kind of conversations we, as slightly socially dislocated teenagers who\u2019d watched too much of the TV programme Grange Hill, had in the 1980s.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Sunil pursed his lips, and cocked his head up slightly, \u201cSo, you got a boyfriend Jacqui?\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, I \u2018av.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWa\u2019s \u2018is name then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy, don\u2019t you believe me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah,\u201d he paused, \u201cjust wondering if I know \u2018im.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNah, you won\u2019t know him, he\u2019s at college, e\u2019s a man, not a boy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Paul, who had been silent since we arrived, made an, \u201cooh\u201d sound, then went quiet again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m a man,\u201d Sunil, irritated paused again, \u201cI\u2019ll prove it if you want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Jacqui laughed, \u201cYeah, you\u2019d love to try. I bet\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t flatter yourself,\u201d Sunil said, raising one side of his top lip. As he looked a little like Elvis, albeit an Indian one, I had a slight moment of curled-lip envy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Anya decided to take things on a different tack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI just got a new guitar, can anyone sing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSimon can do a good Elvis,\u201d Sunil said laughing as he offered me up for sacrifice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Colin looked a bit put out, to my delight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, that\u2019s good, I\u2019ve got an Elvis song in my guitar book.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She pulled out a \u2018Start Playing the Guitar\u2019 pamphlet and strummed a few chords from, Can\u2019t Help Falling in Love<\/em>. Her playing was stilted and slightly out of tune, but I sang a few lines, while at the same time eating toast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Big Paul started clapping, demanding an encore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So, we did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I grabbed my camera and took a photograph of her playing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWow,\u201d Anya looked at me, \u201cyou\u2019re brilliant, don\u2019t you think so Jax?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Jacqui politely nodded in a direction not discernible by the naked eye. Anya stood up and started clearing away the plates and mugs, and along with Jacqui took them downstairs. After they\u2019d been gone a while Sunil turned to Colin, \u201cWell, what do you think then? I don\u2019t like the look of your one mate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Colin laughed, made a face back at Sunil and said, \u201cI don\u2019t like the look of yours\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo mate,\u201d Sunil shook his head, \u201cCan\u2019t you tell, Jacqui\u2019s well inta me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Colin looked incredulously at Sunil, \u201cYeah right, you\u2019re fuckin well deluded\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWho\u2019s deluded?\u201d Anya asked as she came back into the room unexpectedly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSunil is, he thinks he\u2019s got a chance with Jacqui.\u201d Paul chirped in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Anya nodded her head from side to side, \u201cHold on, I\u2019ll find out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She walked out of the room and shouted down to Jacqui who was still in the kitchen. \u201cHas Sunil got a chance of getting off with you Jax?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Jacqui shouted back laughing \u201cYeah, I\u2019d give him one, one in a million.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sunil smiled optimistically, \u201cSee, you heard her, she\u2019d give me one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Shaking her head even more vigorously this time, Anya sighed \u201cYep, you\u2019re deluded, mate\u201d. Then gesticulated for everyone to get up, as it was time to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnyway, c\u2019mon, my mum\u2019s gonna be back soon so you better all go otherwise she\u2019s gonna have a right ol\u2019 go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As we all got ready, and the others went ahead, Anya asked me for my phone number, which was a bit of a new one for me. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you come round and we can do some music together.\u201d She suggested.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, that sounds like a good idea,\u201d I said smiling and feeling buoyant. I went home. It\u2019d been a good day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1st September 1981 – ANYA \u2013 Night Out<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n A few weeks later Anya and I met up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat do you want to do?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s go to the cinema,\u201d she said excitedly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So, we went to the one in Sutton, where a film called \u201cOutland\u201d was on. After about 15 minutes Anya leant towards me and quietly whispered. \u201cThis is shit, let\u2019s get out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nodded in agreement and as we walked out, I asked what she fancied doing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s go up to London,\u201d her face beamed a big smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd do what?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWalk around a bit then come back home.\u201d She looked like a prisoner who\u2019d just escaped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOkay,\u201d I said while thinking, \u201cWell, it\u2019s not like I\u2019ve got anything better to do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We took the bus to Morden Tube station then the Underground up to Leicester Square and just as planned, we walked amongst the crowds and the dodgy street vendors. After an hour of sitting on benches, and walking and talking, we headed back home on the Underground. As the train swayed us from side to side, Anya, who was sitting opposite me, told me all about a great new band called The Jam who she\u2019d seen a few times. As she talked wildly about them, she put her foot gently between my legs. I didn\u2019t feel any in-love feelings towards her, but she turned me on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1981 – Don\u2019t Listen to Me Fa fa fa fa fashion<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I hadn\u2019t listened to The Jam because I was a rocker and that style of music belonged to The Mods who were technically Rockers\u2019 enemies and had been for decades. The \u201960s, \u201970s and \u201880s were especially full of rivalry and conflict associated with musical styles. Was it partly because once army conscription ended, the pent-up energy and anger of young men had to be redirected somehow, or was it just due to tribal tendencies? Whatever was behind it, the music world was extremely demarcated into style-related camps, of which you were only supposed to choose one, and from then on, all others were off-limits. Well, at least that was the rule for teenagers. The rules would come to change as you got older. At that point, you\u2019d be allowed to like a variety of styles, but even then, some were still off-limits. If you listened to them, you were very, very uncool.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The world was much more demarcated back then. For Catholics or Protestants going into each other\u2019s churches was still a big issue. It was the same in the art world where similar snobberies existed, maybe even more so. In turn, they partly related to education which also relates to class. If you were working class, ballet, opera and classical music would most likely feel alien as would conceptual and abstract art. Similarly, listening to music your parents listened to was also a no-no. Music was, and still is, a fashion victim, no matter how great or rubbish it ever is or was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the late \u201970s and \u201980s, there were a lot of developments in the music world. It was partly driven by technological advances (synthesisers, drum machines, samplers, digital recording and music technology becoming available to more people). But by the mid-1990s there were very few new significant stylistic developments within the music world. Other things had a big effect, such as home studios, MP3 files and the Internet. But since then, while there have been many fantastic artists, I can\u2019t think of any great new musical styles. Can you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the early \u201980s music was a big part of people\u2019s lives, there were loads of new sounds and even I started to allow myself to listen to many other artists apart from Elvis and Dire Straits. Music would continue to fill my life, not just for the sake of filling an empty space but because it was full of nourishment for body, mind, heart and soul. Even if music echoed the pain in us, it also made it clear that such pain is an important part of our lives and shouldn\u2019t always be avoided. Music was, for many of us, our \u2018safe space\u2019 where we could open our hearts to our deepest joys and sorrows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n September 1981 – Anya \u2013 Shouting Quietly<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n A few days after our night out I spoke to Sunil who told me Anya wanted me to be her boyfriend. I knew he wasn\u2019t joking as she\u2019d made it quite clear to me already, however, even though she had a fantastic body and was good-looking looking it didn\u2019t feel right to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wondered what it would feel like to her if I were to say I didn\u2019t want to go out with her. I knew what it was like to feel rejected and didn\u2019t want someone else to feel the same way. Even so, I decided that the next time I saw her I\u2019d tell her. The only thing about that was, I hadn\u2019t considered she\u2019d be with her friend Jacqui. So, instead, I ended up inviting them both in and we had lunch together, after which they went off without me. By this point, I was almost in a state of despair, so I phoned Anya and asked if she\u2019d pop around the next day. She said she would but when the time came, she called to cancel. I squirmed when she said, \u201cDon\u2019t worry my love, I\u2019ll see you tomorrow.\u201d Well, she probably didn\u2019t say those exact words, but whatever she did say, that\u2019s what I heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally, a few days later she invited me around to her place. I went there ready to deliver the \u2018bad news\u2019 and just when I got the courage to tell her, she started snogging me, which I found quite a turn-on, so I thought to myself, \u2018Well, c\u2019mon, there\u2019s no rush is there?\u2019 and didn\u2019t attempt to push her away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Of course, I kicked myself for not telling her when I got back home. \u2018What was I playing at?\u2019 I shouted to myself, very quietly. This was going to be a conversation I would end up repeating many times throughout my life. Still, I vowed I\u2019d tell her the next time we met. What I didn\u2019t count on was that she didn\u2019t get in contact with me for another month, by which point I couldn\u2019t see the harm in meeting up. Part of me, yes, we know which part, hoped she might like the idea of meeting occasionally for a snog and not want any more commitment than that. This time though, things were a bit different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Instead of trying to have a kiss she just wanted to chat. Just as I got ready to go, I thought, \u2018I won\u2019t bother coming again\u2019, but then she asked if she could borrow my poetry book, saying she\u2019d return it a few days later (which she didn\u2019t). However, a week later she phoned to see if I\u2019d like to go to London with her again, but my leg was very sore so I couldn\u2019t. Another week passed, and this time I called her and asked if it was okay for me to pop around to get my poetry book back. She said yes, but when I got there, there was no answer. As you can imagine I was a little pissed off. I walked back home and called her to find out what was going on. She said she couldn\u2019t have heard the doorbell. I was adamant that next time I saw her I would blank her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few days later I was in Carshalton High Street, and just as I came out of the bank she passed by. I so wanted to blank her but instead, I merrily said, \u201cHi Anya.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh! Hi Simon. Sorry about the other night, I can\u2019t believe I didn\u2019t hear the doorbell. I bet you were annoyed. I am sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I smiled, \u201cOh, it\u2019s okay, these things happen. Don\u2019t worry, I completely understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n About a week later I went to her place where I drew a picture of Paul Weller, the lead singer from The Jam. We had a good chat, and she gave me my poetry book back and showed me a letter from a friend of hers saying they liked some of my poems. And that was the last time I saw Anya until I decided to get in contact one lonely day six months later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n March 1982 – Anya<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n At the beginning of March, I was still yearning to hear from Jules and hoping against all odds that she\u2019d come back to me. In my diary, there were pages of my angsty bullshit, self-pity and even more self-delusion than I tell myself nowadays. But for all of that, it didn\u2019t take me long at all to firstly approach Lorna, and then Anya. It wasn\u2019t that I was trying to replace Jules, I was just trying to avoid the pain of grieving by creating periods where I could forget her. I started to use sexual behaviour as a kind of analgesic, just as someone might do with alcohol or drugs. It was a cocktail of socialising and sexualising. Previously I\u2019d just been a habitual user of the socialising drug, but now I\u2019d moved on to this harder combination.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Halfway through March, I met up with Anya, who I probably bored stiff talking about my break-up and how upset I was. She was very sympathetic and had her mum\u2019s boyfriend not been in the room next to us, may have consoled me further with her beautiful breasts. But nothing happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A week later I called Anya, and she said I could come around but as she was going to be out for a little while would leave a key out for me, so I could let myself in, which I did. After a few hours, she still hadn\u2019t turned up, so I went home feeling annoyed. I called her the next day and had a go at her which she didn\u2019t react well to. \u201cI\u2019ve just about had enough of her mucking me about,\u201d I thought to myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next time I felt I needed a distraction, I didn\u2019t bother calling Anya, instead, I went to see Lorna. Things between her and I soured quickly once we both sensed there was a dislocation. So, after a couple of weeks, I finally recognised I had to be strong and face the situation head-on and start to heal or be weak and keep finding solace in the arms of an analgesic situation. So, one Friday evening at the beginning of April I decided not to go to karate and instead visit Anya.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Things didn\u2019t go to plan though as she had some friends pop around, so, it ended up as just a social event but as consolations go, I was happy with that. The distraction had been enough to help me get through a difficult evening. Still, for Anya, this may have come across as me being interested in a boyfriend\/girlfriend relationship with her because a week later she invited me around in the daytime when her mum was out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When I got to her place, Anya greeted me wrapped in a purple towel. \u201cSorry,\u201d she said, I\u2019m not quite ready.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, okay, sorry about that,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She started walking upstairs, looked over her shoulder and said, \u201cIt\u2019s okay, you can come upstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n So, I obediently followed her to her room. She started drying her hair while talking with me. I couldn\u2019t hear what she was saying properly, so she stopped the hairdryer and walked over to where I was sitting on her bed. She let her wet hair touch my head and face. I looked up at her. She then leaned down and kissed me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you want to see my body?\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Trying not to sound too eager I whispered\/stammered, \u201cYes,\u201d Then, trying not to show I was going to gulp, I gulped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She stood upright and slowly undid her towel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She had very long legs and large breasts. She kissed me again and then lay down on her bed. I stood up took my T-shirt off then as quickly and un-seductively as possible took off my trousers and my prosthetic foot. I don\u2019t think she was too bothered about any of that though. I lay down next to her, and we started to kiss and touch each other. This was my first fully naked experience with a woman. Even though she was 17, as far as I was concerned, she was a woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For many of us, there\u2019s a change in our lovemaking as we become more experienced where the focus on what we\u2019re doing changes into what I would describe as entering a lower conscious dreamy world of connection. It\u2019s hard to describe it, but it is as if we enter a dimension in which our archetypes live, but instead of being scary it\u2019s enrapturing. Well, this was not one of those occasions. I wanted to lose myself in kissing her body, but instead, I tried to be a good lover. So, I kissed her between her legs because I was sure that\u2019s what a lot of women would like, even if I wasn\u2019t aware of the finer points of such things. Fortunately, for both of us, she reacted well, telling me how lovely it was and after a while, she told me she\u2019d come. She then pulled me up to her, so we were face to face. \u201cDo you want to fuck me?\u201d She said wrapping her legs around me. I said yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Slowly I pushed my penis towards her vagina. But instead of it going in I felt a painful sensation, so stopped pushing. \u201cI don\u2019t think I can,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay, it\u2019s okay,\u201d she said. \u201cThis is nice, just hold me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We started to kiss again, and I rubbed my penis on her thigh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet me hold it,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So, I sat up and she placed her fingers around it and gently pulled downwards on it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOuch,\u201d I flinched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She let go. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d she said looking at me like she\u2019d done something awful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wasn\u2019t sure but I suggested that if she didn\u2019t pull my foreskin back it shouldn\u2019t hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLike this?\u201d She asked as tenderly as her fingers touched me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, that\u2019s nice,\u201d I said, moving towards her to kiss her again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Within a short while, I ejaculated and some of the semen fell right between her legs. I immediately panicked and as romantically as possible grabbed her pyjamas which were lying on her bed and tried to wipe it away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Within that moment of coming my whole being seemed to change. Firstly, I was worried about even the slightest risk of getting her pregnant, and secondly, I didn\u2019t want to be close to her anymore. It was as if someone had pressed a button and my real feelings had been released while those pretend ones, the ones that feigned interest, evaporated into the universe, forever gone. Only, as I would find out in time, they were never gone for long and often I\u2019d come to wonder which set of feelings and thoughts were my true ones. But at this moment, I was introduced to just how split I was when it came to these sexual situations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n These wouldn\u2019t be the only type of sexual scenarios I would find myself in, but they were ones I\u2019d repeat continually throughout my life. There were many other times when I didn\u2019t want to pull away after I\u2019d orgasmed, but as I was to find out later these would most likely be with women who I\u2019d want to be with properly, only to find that they weren\u2019t into me as much as I was them. So, maybe subconsciously I\u2019d picked that up, so it allowed me to feel connected because I knew it was still part of the pursuer-distancer dynamic which I seemed so attached to. Or it could be something else, for instance, maybe deep down I did believe they were the one, but I would later come to sabotage the situation as I couldn\u2019t deal with such a balanced relationship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Anyway, this was my introduction to a part of myself I hadn\u2019t previously known existed, and it did not fit neatly with my beliefs about romantic relationships, at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n April 1982 – Regret<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n For the next week, I felt very worried that I might have impregnated Anya. No matter how unlikely it could be, there was still a microscopic chance, and that played on my mind. \u201cFrom now on I\u2019m going to be damn careful,\u201d I told myself. Okay, it\u2019s easy to laugh now, but at that moment I meant it. I hadn\u2019t got my head around just how easy it is to go against our principles when lust raises its head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wrote in my diary, \u2018If she\u2019s pregnant I may as well have no legs either as I won\u2019t be going anywhere. I\u2019d be damned on earth.\u2019 I was so worried that for a few days, I flagellated myself (metaphorically speaking \u2013 I\u2019m not that kinky). I went to the park and thought hard about not only being more careful but putting more important things ahead of sex, which no longer seemed worth the hassle. \u2018It\u2019s time to move on.\u2019 I wrote \u2018Get that Brown Belt, finish unfinished work, practice painting, and focus on my schoolwork\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n About two weeks later, I spoke to Anya on the phone. She wasn\u2019t pregnant. It was then I truly understood the significance of the grand celebrations at the end of some of the Star Wars movies, as well as how people felt when they reached for the heavens in films and shouted \u201cFreedom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Five days later Anya asked if I wanted to come around. I said yes. We ended up in bed. But this time I made sure I didn\u2019t come anywhere near her vagina. That night though, her mother rang me up. I wasn\u2019t in at the time, so Mum took the call. Anya\u2019s mother said I wasn\u2019t to see her anymore. Anya had left some incriminating evidence which meant her mother worked out what we\u2019d been up to, and that I was a bad influence. My mother said, \u201cIt takes two to tango,\u201d and things got left like that. Yet again it was the parents who brought one of my relationships to an end. But this time I was slightly relieved. It gave me an excuse to get out of a relationship I knew wasn\u2019t good for either of us. Without rejecting Anya directly, it also gave me a bit of kudos, at least in my deluded mind, and Mum\u2019s, who thought it was quite funny.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Still, I felt bad for Anya, so I wrote her a letter and asked one of her friends to pass it on to her. Her friend asked me why I got off with Anya if I wasn\u2019t that interested in her. I replied, \u201cI don\u2019t know, I ask myself the same question.\u201d The simple answer was because I\u2019m somewhat of a prick, but, well there may be other reasons too, but that\u2019d be a whole other book, and the prick answer does the job for most people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n Last Call for Anya<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n About a month later Anya called me, she told me she loved me and asked if I felt the same. I said I didn\u2019t so she told me to fuck off and slammed the phone down. That was the last time we saw or spoke to each other, well, at least, for the next thirty-three years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 2015 – Anya<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I was scanning some of my old photographs and came across the photos I took of Anya the first time we met, the ones in the recreational ground, and the one of her playing the guitar in her room. It didn\u2019t take long to find her on Facebook. She\u2019s got grown-up kids of her own now, in fact, she has grandkids too. When I first contacted her she wrote, \u201cYour name doesn\u2019t ring any bells but it was a long, long time ago. LOL\u201d. I then described what I looked like and she remembered me. She\u2019s still very involved in listening to music but I\u2019m not sure if she\u2019ll ever listen to the songs I didn\u2019t write about her or even remember not to forget me again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n April 1982 – Anya \u2013 Poem<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Here\u2019s a poem I wrote about Anya back then:<\/p>\n\n\n\n In her arms<\/p>\n\n\n\n I may lay using<\/p>\n\n\n\n And in hers<\/p>\n\n\n\n I will dream<\/p>\n\n\n\n The most precious meanings<\/p>\n\n\n\n Catch me<\/p>\n\n\n\n On black and yellow days<\/p>\n\n\n\n Such as these<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moving on \u2013 Girl Friends (Part 2)<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n By late April I had recovered from the emotional wreckage of being in my version of Romeo and Juliet with Jules. Outside of what had gone on with Anya, I tended to be mainly interested in girls for friendship. Some people believe that it\u2019s very difficult for men and women to be friends, however, if at least one of the two is uninterested in the other then that makes the possibility of friendship far greater. Most of the time the girls I became friends with were the ones who were uninterested in the other person (i.e. me). But that often did the trick as far as I was concerned. As long as they didn\u2019t show any interest in me, I wouldn\u2019t get my hopes up, well, not normally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n Jackie and Other Girl Friends<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n In one of the life drawing classes I went to at SCOLA, there was a girl called Jackie. She was very polite, considerate and pretty. She was also very careful not to show anything but friendliness towards me. One day, after the class finished, she invited me to her home where I was welcomed to stay for dinner. At the table was her father who was a university professor, her very friendly mother and her two extremely characterful sisters, plus a few other family friends. This was something that I could only dream of in terms of an image of family life. Of course, I didn\u2019t know what their life was really like, but in terms of an image, it was ideal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maybe because Jackie had a boyfriend that made it even easier to see her as a friend only. In terms of building up a pool of \u201cgirlfriends\u201d who I wasn\u2019t romantically involved with, Jackie was one of the first who I\u2019d see quite a bit and have a relaxed relationship with. It wasn\u2019t a big friendship, but there was a sense of being comfortable around each other, and this added a dimension of connection to my life that had been lacking previously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When it came to female relationships the graduations between the types that existed in my life started to become much subtler. Previously, after I hit puberty, there had been girls I was interested in, most of whom were not interested back, pen friends, girls I chatted to on the bus, and, girls I\u2019d known as a child who I thought might be worth chatting up but soon found out that they felt very let down when I did. So, while a part of me used women for my sexual gratification, other parts started to have genuine friendships with them. As these new relationships became a bigger part of my life, I realised the value of having opposite-sex friendships, but, as I was to find out in time, not everyone would be comfortable with that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1982 – Voyeurism<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n One night as I went to close the curtains to the front room, I noticed the new neighbours across the street in their un-curtained bedroom. I quickly switched the lights off, came back to the window and pulled the curtains almost shut, leaving a gap between them big enough to look through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The new neighbours seemed to have forgotten they were potentially on stage to the likes of me. I waited, hoping to see the woman getting undressed. Given I must have seen tens of women naked in real life already, especially in life-drawing classes, you\u2019d have thought I wouldn\u2019t be interested in seeing another one, especially from such a distance, but I was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At one point the woman switched off the light, much to my disappointment, but there was still some light coming through the doorway from their hallway. As she came out of the darkness, I could see her in silhouette. My heart rushed a little even though I wasn\u2019t sure if she was naked. As it turned out, I wasn\u2019t the only one wondering. At that very moment, the boys who lived two doors up from me turned on a very powerful torch from their attic room and pointed it straight at the silhouetted woman\u2019s body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m not sure if she noticed. But I didn\u2019t see her moving into view again. I couldn\u2019t help but burst out laughing at the audacity of my watch-tower neighbours, even if it was just their way of welcoming the new neighbours to the hood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n Summer 1982 – Routine<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n My life followed an almost regimented routine by 1982. I\u2019d get up late, as usual, chat at the bus stop with Sunil, get the bus to school, and talk to loads of people on the bus. At school, there\u2019d be an assembly, then I\u2019d go up to the sixth form centre, have a cup of coffee made with coffee mate milk powder and loads of sugar, then off to a class if I had one, or spend time either studying or chatting if I had a free period. In the mid-morning break, I\u2019d probably help keep order near the tuck shop and demand a few sweets from those who\u2019d bought too many for their own good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The second half of the morning would follow a similar pattern to the first, but during the lunch hour, there\u2019d be a 30-minute karate training session, usually in the gym storage cupboard. The sessions were intense, often including a thousand kicks or something else that\u2019d test us, and then we\u2019d all go for a quick lunch together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The afternoon would be a repeat of the morning, bar the tuck shop break but if there weren\u2019t any lessons, I\u2019d get out of school early. Then I\u2019d either go home, or to WH Smiths in Wallington to buy a record, or to Sutton Library for a bit of socialising studies, or to SCOLA for an art class.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At least twice a week I\u2019d go to karate at either Tweeddale or Westcroft. The latter had a bar, so after the training session, I\u2019d join the other trainees there for a drink of orange and soda water and a chat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Outside of this routine, I\u2019d meet up with friends, or stay home where I\u2019d listen to music, watch TV and most likely argue with John. Sometimes an opportunity to break the routine would arise, such as going up to London to see Julia, the nurse I\u2019d met at Roehampton, and it was during one of these adventures I went from being a boy to becoming a\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 15th of May 1982 \u2013 Eileen S<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Julia lived in Sinclair Mansions, which was a red brick tenement-style building on a quiet road at the back of Shepherds Bush Shopping Centre. Once through the main ominous door, I\u2019d have to go up a couple of flights of stairs to a flat Julia shared with three other people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This time I rang the doorbell and a short while later a stranger opened the door. There was a sudden sound of music, chatting and laughter. A guy with spikey hair stood there, looked me up and down and said, \u201cHi, are you here for the party?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes,\u201d I said, \u201cI\u2019m a friend of Julia\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, come in sweetheart,\u201d he said while grabbing and pulling me in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJulia, Julia,\u201d he shouted, \u201cYou\u2019ve got a visitor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Julia came over, cuddled me and said, \u201cC\u2019mon I\u2019ll get you a drink and introduce you to a few people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She poured me a plastic cup of cider, which I made last a few hours, (I hadn\u2019t quite got the knack of wanting to get drunk) and spent the night chatting with everyone I could. This was a whole new world to me, but in a way, I still felt more like an observer than a participant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was music, but not a lot of dancing, it was more a case of small groups of people standing and chatting together while wriggling to the beat. There was one woman there with blue hair and loads of dark makeup around her eyes. To me, she was stunning-looking. For this, I could probably blame the film, \u2018Carry on Screaming\u2019 in which Fenella Fielding played a vamp comic femme-fatale. From the moment I saw her in it I had a bit of a thing for vamp-looking women\u2026 I had my camera with me so took a few photos of the party including one of the blue-haired woman, but either I was too scared to talk to her, or she wasn\u2019t having any of it when I did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One of my other enduring memories from the party was chatting to a bloke and his wife, then a bit later watching him pass his number surreptitiously to another woman. I couldn\u2019t help but feel sorry for his wife. I was still quite idealistic when it came to relationships even though I was already witnessing my fall from grace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The party went on till about 5 am, at which point there were just a few people left. I was supposed to have slept in one of Julia\u2019s flatmates\u2019 bedrooms, but all the occupants\u2019 bedrooms were otherwise engaged, so, I was shown how to set up the sofa bed and left to my own devices.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I started to get the bed sorted out when a woman came out of the bathroom. She was about 34, my height, had long black hair and wore a long hippie-styled skirt and a light loose-fitting blouse. She looked at me looking at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you want me to help you with that darling?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cErm, okay, I was only shown how to do it a few minutes ago but I\u2019ve forgotten already.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She laughed, \u201cHave you had too much to drink?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stood up straight and turned towards her. \u201cNo, I don\u2019t drink\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She came over to the sofa bed instead of helping to unfold it sat down and patted the seat next to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s a bit strange, not drinking I mean,\u201d she said, \u201cWhat\u2019s your name then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSimon, what\u2019s yours?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m Eileen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We chatted for a while, and then without any warning, she gently slid towards me so her back came to rest at my side. We both went quiet. She pushed her head towards my face. I gently stroked my nose and lips against the back of her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s nice,\u201d she said, \u201cReally nice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She then turned around, so she was facing me and slowly brought her mouth to mine. We kissed gently for a while and then the kisses got deeper and more passionate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suddenly she stood. \u201cLet\u2019s turn this into a bed then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stood up too, \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n So, we pulled out the mattress and threw the bedding over it. Eileen stood up, kicked off her sandals, and took off her shirt so she was bare-breasted and with her skirt still on, she lay down. I on the other hand took all my clothes off as quickly as I could. At that point, Julia came out of her room to go to the loo. On the way back she looked at me as if to say, \u201cWhat the fuck are you doing with her\u201d, which might mean that Eileen wasn\u2019t as good-looking as I remember, but for the purpose of this story, she was stunningly beautiful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After a few minutes of us kissing and me spiralling my face around her breasts towards her nipples then back out again \u2013 something I\u2019d read in a book was supposed to be a good technique \u2013 I still hadn\u2019t got to the point, nor would I for a long while, where technique would be less focused on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I said, \u201cCan you take your skirt off, I want to feel your legs?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n This wasn\u2019t the whole truth, but I was sure she\u2019d understand what I meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOkay\u201d, she said, \u201cbut I\u2019ve got my period so we\u2019re not going to have sex this time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s okay,\u201d I said while thinking, \u201cThanks for mentioning periods.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I had a bit of an issue with periods, partly because Mum occasionally left her used sanitary towels in my room because she\u2019d come in to get things from the airing cupboard and then forget to take them to the bathroom to be disposed of. Plus, I also had some issues to do with blood that would be talked about in therapy a few years later. But back then, thinking about periods was a bit of a problem for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Anyway, it couldn\u2019t have been that much of an issue because I was still up for it. What I hadn\u2019t counted on though was her underwear was made of a rough golden sparkly material which had similar sensual properties to sandpaper. She grabbed my penis and started rubbing it against her golden vulva of death, at which point I began to think this wasn\u2019t quite going to plan, and my penis thought the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She stopped grinding my cock and pushed me onto my back. Putting her head near my groin she started speaking as a children\u2019s presenter might start talking to a glove puppet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh dear, are you feeling a little shy? Do you need a kiss hello?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Part of me wanted to answer, \u201cNo, he just doesn\u2019t like having his head reshaped by your sandpaper knickers,\u201d But instead what came out was, \u201cYes,\u201d and an accompanying realisation that TV presenter voices were, surprisingly, quite a turn-on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She then put my penis in her mouth, \u201cFinally, I thought, a real blow job, this is going to be fantastic\u2026 Here goes\u201d, but then all I could feel were her sharp teeth digging into me. Within seconds, I lost my erection and realised that my belief that blow jobs were one of the most pleasurable experiences in life, turned out to be a fallacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She then guided me on top of her, where she got me to position my hip between her legs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJust push there darling, just rock gently there, yes that\u2019s it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I did as I was told. We kissed and stroked each other, and even though to me as a 17-year-old, she was quite old, she looked beautiful (remember, this is my version, okay?). I began to feel something of a connection with her. That was until she decided to dig her sharp nails into my back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOuch!\u201d I yelped, \u201cThat hurts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She paused, looked at me a bit sternly and said, \u201cDo you want me to carry on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes,\u201d I said a bit doubtfully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen stop being a baby,\u201d she said as if she was talking to a child, which unfortunately again was a bit of a turn-on. \u201cHow old are you?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSeventeen,\u201d I said, slightly hesitantly, wondering whether adding \u201cand a half\u201d might help matters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t be seventeen with me,\u201d she said, then repeated it about five times, looking slightly disturbed. Which again added a slightly seductive quality to the situation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eventually, I came, and she said she did too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI always feel very horny when I\u2019m having my period,\u201d she added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s so nice to hear,\u201d I thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cListen,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019m going to go off now, do you want my number?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes definitely,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The morning light was coming up. She gave me her phone number, kissed me goodbye and as she let herself out whispered, \u201cI\u2019ll see you again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n If I were to write a song about this experience, it would be one where at the beginning of the night I was a boy, and by the end of it, I was a mouse. I expect for her too, this may have been a memorable experience for all the wrong reasons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knew we weren\u2019t ever going to live happily ever after together, or apart, but for a 17-year-old boy\/man\/mouse, it was a pretty cool experience, even if I did feel a little depressed about it the next day, which was probably because I realised that none of this was in the service of me meeting the love of my life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nowadays she\u2019d probably be locked up for abuse, but back then it wasn\u2019t seen as such, because it wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n Diary Entry 17th May 1982<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I told the blonde girl on the bus, Phil, Cameron and Allen the caretaker about Eileen. Her words were echoing in my head. She was like a witch. I reckon that\u2019s why she turns me on. I phoned her today. I hope I\u2019ll see her soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n 1941 \u2013 Moshe and Battiya\u2019s Story Part 1<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n My father was the youngest of five. Bettie was the eldest, she stood with a straight back, would look anyone in the eye when they spoke, and had an inner strength about her. Then there was Rue, acting responsibly was his guiding principle, no doubt a reaction to his father\u2019s failure to do so. He would eventually become a successful businessman and world-class long-distance desert runner. Battiya was the middle child. She had eyes full of sadness, but still, there was a fortitude in her weakness. After her came her two brothers, Eliezer, the artist, and then my father, Boris. Boris and Battiya were opposites in their approach to life and personalities, but they were still very close.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moshe was from the same hometown as Boris and his siblings. He was one of the few people who\u2019d beaten my father in a fight. Boris was always quick to remind me that they were \u201cjust kids then, and anyway, Moshe was older and had cheated by using a stone to bash\u201d him into submission. When it comes to childhood fights it\u2019s hard to forget the ones we lose. Moshe and Battiya had known each other since their early childhood often sitting next to each other in their classes in R\u0113zekne. As they grew up, they lost contact but in their early twenties, in a social club for young Jewish people in Riga, they reconnected and later, fell in love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By 1941 the war had engulfed much of the world and Riga was just about to become one of the latest flashpoints between Germany and Russia. The encroaching threat of death posed by the Nazis focused the minds, and hearts, of all those who lay in its path. This wasn\u2019t the best of times to get married, but for Moshe and Battiya, the perilous nature of their existence tilted the balance, so, with just her sister Bettie and a couple of friends, they made their vows and became husband and wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Barely a week after the ceremony the Soviet authorities ordered Moshe to relocate to Siberia. The German army was just days away from occupying the city, and the future was terrifying for all the Jews who remained. Siberia was known as an ice-filled version of Hell, but to anyone trapped in Riga, it was a Godsend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With just one hour\u2019s notice to get to the station, Moshe and Battiya packed whatever essentials they could. What becomes essential when you\u2019re only allowed to take one small case each? If you had to make that choice right now, what would you choose?<\/p>\n\n\n\n For their wedding, Bettie had given them a set of three small matching cases. Grabbing them, Battiya packed warm clothes into one, while Moshe crammed money, valuables, paperwork, and a couple of tools for work into the other. After one last check, Moshe picked up his case and then went to pick up Battiya\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d she said, \u201cIt\u2019s okay, I\u2019ll carry mine,\u201d she picked it up, \u201cand anyway, it\u2019s light, see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, I know, you\u2019re a lot stronger than you look,\u201d Moshe said smiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They hurriedly left their tiny apartment and made their way to the station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As the last train out of Riga prepared for the journey ahead, they stood side by side in the queue on the platform. Battiya half knelt to double-check her case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh no,\u201d she said looking up at Moshe. She opened the case wider so he could see that it was filled with scarves and handkerchiefs. Somehow the cases had got mixed up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI thought you\u2019d put the ones we were taking together?\u201d She said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He shook his head, \u201cI just grabbed the case nearest the door in the bedroom and put it in the hallway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Battiya started to cry, \u201cNo, I told you, the one I packed was on the bed!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moshe now exasperated, said, \u201cI didn\u2019t see it, I thought you said it was in the bedroom. I just grabbed the one nearest the door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was a moment while they were tempted to continue blaming each other, but Battiya looked down at the case and put her face in her hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease Moshe, run back and fetch it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Again, he shook his head, \u201cI can\u2019t. We\u2019ll miss the train and they said there won\u2019t be another after this one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looked at him in disbelief. \u201cThere\u2019ll be another. We are going to die without our winter clothes. You have to get them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moshe crouched beside her, he wanted to console her, but his anger was getting the better of him. \u201cWe\u2019ll be okay, it won\u2019t be that cold for months. I\u2019ll make sure we get some winter clothes before then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She could hear the reassurance she yearned for in the words he said but couldn\u2019t feel it in their tone. They both went quiet, looked away from each other and bit their lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can\u2019t believe this,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t worry, I\u2019ll deal with it somehow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Under her breath, Battiya said, \u201cDon\u2019t worry he says\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moshe was just about to approach one of the guards to ask if he had time to get the other case when the guard pointed at them, \u201cHey, you two, yes you, quickly, it\u2019s time, get on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They stood up and walked towards a carriage, the guard barked at them to hurry up. Moshe helped Battiya up the steps first, where a man inside reached down to help her, and then passed the cases up. As Moshe grabbed the step rail the man pulled him up too. Slightly out of breath, Moshe smiled, put his hand on the man\u2019s shoulder, and thanked him. Moshe looked at Battiya because, to them, there was something unnerving about this act of gallantry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Above the sound of the train preparing to set off came the screeching sound of a plane approaching at speed. Those still queueing on the platform ran for cover. Moshe and Battiya were still in the doorway. They were not paralysed by fear but instead entered a different dimension of time. Everything moved at a tenth of normal speed. Moshe pulled Battiya towards him and turned her as if they were dancing, he wanted his back to face the platform hoping this might offer her some protection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A rally of bullets ricocheted nearby as the pilot tried his best to disable the train. A couple of Red Army guards shot back, while the train driver released as much steam as possible in a futile attempt to create a kind of smoke screen. The pilot flew off into the distance, there was a moment of relief, but then he turned around and approached once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/h2>\n\n\n\n
<\/h2>\n\n\n\n