Aftermath 6

[GACoelho@aol.com]

Kevin,

I’m sitting in a hotel in Beijing today, what better time to prepare a post?
I started this flying back from Beijing a couple months ago when I had a very
nice, short, (two-day) trip to China and met with the Ministry of Silly
Walks.  Anyway, the listers always view my travels with trepidation, since
they think I’m at FL 35 preparing a new treatise to unleash on the list.
Well, actually, I am. I’m preparing the mother of all posts, a post that will
capture the poxy posting crown from the White Fang, if only for an instant.

Someone asked about Paul Townshend some time back. Was that you Susan? He did
bear a striking resemblance to his brothers. I think the Townshend’s have
patented that famous visage.  Now if we could club together and get a sperm
bank going, we’d have it made. Getting the initial deposit could prove
tricky, however. Paul is a very nice chap, I can say.

Day 6 started with me sleeping in. I was at Dip’s ‘till late the previous
night, drinking as usual. More on that another time. I made my way to
Victoria Station after waking up. Victoria is an old haunt. This is where the
train would leave for Brighton and Paris (in the old days). But I go there
now for the Uppercrust’s sandwiches on a baguette. I take others there too.
Americans always go for something with huge meat and cheese and insist on
having it nuked until it is a warm mess. Why they always want something super
cold or hot is besides me. Those cold drinks always hurt my cavities. Nuking
is the last thing you want to do to French bread anyway, it becomes rubbery.
I always get something like tomato and egg. Their sandwiches are wonderful
although it’s difficult eating standing up. I sat on some stairs. I like
toasted cheese and onion sandwiches the most however, the kind one gets at
air shows. And sausage rolls and Lyon’s fruit pies and Cadbury’s Shortcake
Snack...ah rapture!

I then made my way to Hanway Street, right behind the Tottenham Court Road of
Idi Amin fame. Isn’t this where he planned  to launch the Ugandan Navy on
Lake Victoria?  I remember him canvassing for an aircraft carrier. Good luck
getting that in the carry-on. Hanway Street has a number of vintage record
shops. I called on “On the Beat” thinking Matt Kent of Who Convention fame
must hang out there. He doesn’t, but Andy Neill holds court and he’s ever so
nice. He closed up the shop and we adjourned to the local to talk about The
Who and other groups I had seen: The Soft Machine, Hollies, Hendrix, Taste,
etc. I promised him copies of articles of NME in the 60’s (yes, I still
remember them) for a new book. The articles are really fab, by the way. His
book “A Quick Sell Out” is a underrated gem. It really details the early Who
in a way that no one else does. He even has the correct date of my first
espying of them in 1966! I bought a couple copies at Vinyl Experience next
door, the publishers.

Now, I was getting pressed for time. I was supposed to see Tanya, the
Bulgarian wife of my 23 year friend Barry. Remember him at the dinner,
pulling maps out to show to the Weiners? Maybe I’m confused and he was
pulling out his wiener to show them. He’s well known for pulling things out,
the Wimbledon police probably have quite a dossier by now. Only joking. What
is true is that I can never see both of them together. He married a nineteen
year old high school student at the school he was teaching at in Bulgaria. I
think he was caught shagging her or such. Anyway they are at loggerheads so I
have to listen to sob stories from both of them at different times. Most
inefficient. Fang reports that he hit on his wife. Barry would never do a
thing like that...

We met at Putney Green tube and went to a local pizzeria. I later heard that
Tanya was seen by her colleagues to be with an attractive, young bloke, and
they wondered what was going on. I thought this was a generous compliment but
then maybe reckoned that this was in comparison to Tanya or Barry, I dunno. I
barely had time to get back to the hotel for dinner, Marek was picking me up.
This was a night I had to feign eating twice.

Marek is the most wonderful role model. I met him a couple years ago when I
was trying to sell him a business. He had the good sense to not buy it. We
instantly became friends. He is a madman, he calls himself “the mad Pole.”
 This time he had been ringing me at the wrong hotel all week. Well there are
five London hotels in the Intercontinental chain and I was staying at a
different one from the last time. And this June, I’ll stay at still another
one, returning to my favourite since I’ve now tried them all. It’s nice when
the barman remembers your name and drink order. 

He is descended from Polish nobility and his relations have a whole town in
the Loire valley, complete with Polish street names. We usually met at the
Polish Royal Air Force Club in Kensington where the old pilots or their
widows dine. I love the golabki. He always invites me to go shooting with
him. Last year it was shooting peasants in Yorkshire. This year it was
shooting with the Gurkhas at their base.

He is truly mad. He carries on three conversations at one. He speaks in a
machine gun rapid fire style which I strive to imitate. Ah, er, um tak tak
tak tak tak...can you do it, did you do it, will you do it? Once he was on
the phone with me, also having a conversation with Ron seated in front of him
and then I heard him pick up another cellular phone in the background, hullo!
I realised that this is the way I wanted to live.

Anyway Marek came to London in the late 60’s. He couldn’t speak any English
at the time but his wife somehow got him the job as an editor for
International Musician and Recording World or something like that, a trade
paper especially concerned with equipment and the like. Rod Argent was also
an editor there. There he was reviewing PA equipment like WEM by bringing
literature home at night which his wife would translate into Polish and then
he would review it in Polish which she would translate back into English to
go back the next day! He attended King’s College at the same time.

They’ve lived in Ealing a long time, even when John was the Mayor there, and
I found out that they knew the Townshends quite well. Teresa went to school
with Paul. Paul, a master builder also did some work for them, which they
said was exquisite. Paul reported a recent sighting of Marek, driving around
in a new flash car in Ealing. Anyway he is dead right. Marek recently
imported a vintage Mercedes convertible from California (rostfrei,
naturlich). 

Anyway he and his wife took me to some French place on the South Bank near
Waterloo when the food was OK but the waiter must have been to Basil &
Manuel’s School of  Hotel Management  in Torquay since he insisted on
stepping on my boots and  mucking up the shine. I hate when that happens.

Then I was whisked back to the hotel where I was to meet Joe Grimes. I was
late. Joe had come to the hotel earlier and related that he frantically
banged on the door  in a panic since he needed to shit really badly. He went
downstairs and shat in the Intercontinental’s marble bathroom. Were you
eating that Egyptian food in your hotel again Joe? Joe wasn’t there so I
nipped off in a taxi to Old Shades on Whitehall. Joe was there with the other
lads including David and his Dad. After a few pints we walked back and I
walked towards Hyde Park Corner where my hotel was. The combination of all
the food (two dinners) plus quantities of bitter and wine had started to
reverberate as it does when you’ve indulged too much and walk for a mile or
so at a brisk pace thus churning it all up. As I passed the Hard Rock , I
realised that I was about to blow my bum off myself, so I quickened my pace
and held on for dear life as I walked the long corridor to my room. God, it
seemed like forever...I entered and ran to the loo...

And Captain Picard fired off a long burst of retro rockets and re-entered
orbit...