Millom in the Dock (19 page)

Russell
Harding, Pam Newton (Bell), Dave Guy and meeeeee! In a comedy play.
Not Now Darling!

I was
brilliant; the rest? So, so.

Julie
Clark/Matthews. She changed her name to Westwood, you’ll have seen
her on Coronation Street and Brookside … but only if you have a TV
set. John Eccleson … he went on to present Children’s Disney TV and
work with Jim Henson. George Usher, Lynne McQuire. Lynne is the
dictionary description of talent, she is a stalwart. I find it
extremely difficult to describe Lynne adequately. Maybe the
M.A.O.S. (Millom Amateur Operatic Society) is her soul expressing
itself to a grand level? This grandness spills over into her
family. Two talented daughters, Johanne and Claire. Chris and
Keiran too, Chris is a sportsman and Keiran an actor and musician.
Every single time I’ve banged on her door, I’ve been welcomed, only
because I say … “Here’s a twenty Lynne.”

Dave Guy,
Russell Harding, George Usher, Albert Taylor, Derek Bamber and his
lovely wife Sandra, JR Clarke of HMV and Acapella Karaoke fame. JR
began MAOS staring through the bottom of a quickly emptying whisky
bottle because he was rather fearful about the audience. I know
because I was stood right next to him and worse, I’d encouraged him
to come along. That’s nerves. He became a complete wa … performer,
supported (after the whisky) by his lovely wife Sue and daughters
Laura and Natasha.

I can’t pass
this point without expressing my love for Bridget Ford (you still
around Bridge?) and her (late) husband John. John was Anna’s (the
newsreader) father and rightly was/is very proud of his daughter. I
met John a few times and found him to be a really nice man, the
press called him something like a ‘dirty Vicar’ for marrying
Bridget … his junior. They were happy though … say no more, except
… rare. Bridget had her critics but, she spoiled me and I always
did and always will give her a good write up … whatever the
circumstances. I had a few after show dances with this talented
lady, the memories of which I will treasure … thanks Bridge! Hey!
Come to think of it … John did have some nice antiques!

Bridie Boyle,
Laal Viv Birkett, David Cooper (the six foot odd cop), Gogs, Midge
Cairns, Kevin McNally (Bill Sykes, never mind Oliver Reed … Kevin
is wasted, he is a De Niro). Kala Shaplin, Cybil Shepherd
lookalike, great actress (now on a radio station in Brighton).
Jackie Moore, Jackie is the manifestation of what this
entertainments game is all about. If you are going to put her in a
box and limit her in any way … use inexpensive material because she
will smash the sides down and dazzle anyone within a hundred miles
… brilliant! She was working with Johnny Vegas last time I spoke to
her, she should be famous herself. And there are possibly another
hundred who I can’t recall. All of them magic. And all of them
together with the rest of the town deserving a break. They would
appreciate their hall of entertainment refurbishing; they would
like a proper cinema, a swimming pool, electricity. They have been
turned down by all money sources every time. Can’t some money be
injected into this great little town? All in all, not bad for a
little END OF THE LINE community with no prospects is it!

But now … 10
May … sorry 23 August … sorry 15 November (these books take time)
2003, the town is suffering (as I type this for the last time, it’s
October 2012). It’s grey when it should be rainbow coloured. It now
has young muggers thanks to the policy of ‘protect the criminal’
this deplorably run country now possesses. Thanks very much ‘Law’?
Millom has tons of potential; it is on the edge of the Lakes,
forget the iron ore, that’s history. Millom is a potential goldmine
and I ain’t talking pyrites. Thanks Terence McGlennon for
highlighting this fact.

And that M’lud,
ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear, dear reader is that. I have
nothing more to offer in the defence of Millom.

Thank you very
much.

***

SUMMING UP

M’lud: “Well Mr
Lassut, Jury and reader. Millom seems like a talented child that
hasn’t yet been noticed and, as you say Mr Lassut, thanks to PC
McGlennon, that time may be on the horizon? Let’s hope so. I’m not
going to ask the Jury or reader for a verdict … any results of this
case will speak loudly for themselves. I myself find the town not
deserving of punishment for simply being located in a picturesque,
if out on the limb, area.

Therefore … Not
Guilty!

As for Sharpo,
what a characteristic hero! A scotch bonnet chilli in the mild
curry that is Millom.

I wish the
people there all the best fortune which fate may bring and I am
putting a Court Order that God gets his finger out and remembers
Millom.

***

The Jury up and
leave, I leave with M’lud and you. We’re walking down the corridor
on the way the bar for a G & T.

M’lud?

M’lud: “Yes
Frankie? And it’s Bob now please”.

Ok Bob, my
friend, the local hero Sharpo ... I’ve mentioned him a few times
but … I haven’t quite given the court enough, so here’s a little
more.

Bob: “Tell you
what, lets you, the reader and myself chat informally over the
drinks. You buy, why change the habit of a lifetime”.

Ok … Erm
Bob?

Bob: “Yes?”

About that
three grand, for the poems?

***

GOOD OLD
SHARPO

Bob: “Well
cheers everyone … (chink!) Okay then Frankie, tell us ALL about
Sharpo?”

Well Bob, dear
reader …

I grew up with
Stephen. We’re from completely different backgrounds i.e. my
parents insisted on using Brylcreem on me (Beckham hadn’t made it
fashionable yet) and, making sure a hot water bottle was in my bed
each night. At school at least, he was always the one for the
women, while I stood back like a wallflower and watched, bemused at
his magnetism. I was infatuated, as were half the school, with a
girl called Joyce Stubbs, one day I had to watch him snogging her
in the cloakroom of the second floor Millom Comprehensive School,
Middle School building. That is still a clear memory, mind you, if
it had of been me in his shoes, the caretaker would have been sent
to mop me up and take me home in a bucket. Fighting too, he was
good at it, I wasn’t I don’t think. When we left school, we both
landed jobs at Sellafield and both ended up in the same trade,
instrumentation. I was told you had to be clever to do instruments
so how I landed that occupation I’ll never know? We were always
mates anyway.

Virginity wise
at this time, the early seventies, I was still innocent! Crazy or
what? My mate though … been there, known her etc.

During our four
year apprenticeship we were required to go on block release to
college i.e. six weeks at a time, to the Whitehaven Science and
Technology corridors of wisdom, to learn such things as calculus,
from a madman teacher called Dave Hill (no, not the Slade
guitarist). The calculus huddled amongst other crazy subjects such
as something un-understandable called ‘Science’ with Mr Wombwell
who told us that “If you dabbuwl the vowltayge the cawwnt
awtomatically dabbuwles”. Yeah ok, thanks, it was never much use to
me. Well at least I remember the guy.

Sharpy also got
kicked out of lesson by a teacher nicknamed ‘The Gentle Giant’ (he
reminded me of Bill Maynard), for throwing used batteries from his
calculator into a tin bin at the front of the room, from the back
of the room of course … with a resultant CLANG! No one in the
history of the world had ever managed to upset this teacher
before.

We were once
sat in a corridor when some girls walked past. Sharpy then came out
with a saying which revealed the reason as to why he had a nice
motorbike, a ‘SHARP’ make stereo system (of course), and why he
could afford cosmetic surgery which gave him delicious Val Kilmer
lips. The bugger was moonlighting, as … a gynaecologist! I just
knew it, call me psychic. Why else would he say to either the group
of ladies, or an individual? “Drop your knic… ‘hemp panties’, let’s
see if I know you?” Memorable indeed. Isn’t it a good job the
Reverend doesn’t know about these things!”

The biggest,
most ironic laugh occurred on the day everyone in the class went on
a drinking spree around Whitehaven. Well why not? Afterwards, I
seem to somehow recall, Sharpo and myself decided to bunk off, you
know, too drunk to learn and too happy to care (good song title for
a working class band). We somehow managed to reach Egremont near
Cleator Moor. Walking through this Northern Mecca, which is about
four miles away from Whitehaven and the home of a few people whose
past lives I won’t go into (lucky you Moggy Moreland and John
Fitz), we were picked up, in a pickup by a guy called Miley Mason,
who owned the Punchbowl Inn at the Green, near Millom. We sat in
the back and froze to death as Miley drove us over the fells. We
didn’t hit the mecca position as our joints had solidified.
Meanwhile, the rest of the class were having a firework display …
IN the actual college. No one in authority could believe Sharpo
wasn’t actually involved. How could he have been … he was with
Mister Innocence himself … how boring. Zzzzzzzzz.

However, the
whole class was banned from the college for the duration of the
next three big bangs and evolutionary processes at least …
including Sharpo and myself. Halleluiah … at last … I’m BAD … I’ve
SINNED! What am I like?! The first and only time I’ve ever nearly
been a villain, accidentally of course. Well …

Around about
this time I met a girl one night, got drunk, took her home and
something happened … what time is it Bob? because I have to go home
soon to feed my goldfish.

Bob: “It’s
about five thirty Frankie, should we carry on this conversation
some other time?”

Well, in the
circumstances with this story of the girl in public like this, I’d
like to say yes, but that private time may never come. Half an hour
won’t hurt, so to carry on …

There is or was
a little pub next door to the college where we used to go and slake
thirsts at dinner time, it was/is called The Castle. One particular
dinnertime we were all sat in this little watering hole drinking
lots of beer, my recent sexual conquest memory was having a laugh
doing my head in, so, I decided to pour it out, tell my FRIEND …
and cure myself. Yes M’lud, in confidence I told my friend, on the
understandable condition, that he tell no one … to which he of
course agreed, being a man of his word. Back inside the college,
before the lecturer arrived he was up onto a chair (yet!! Still
only 4’6 tall ... four foot five and a half of that, in this case,
being mouth ... I blame his dad’s voicebox and genes), showing a
great talent as a public speaker … tell no ‘one’ person, he kept
his word and just told the whole wiiiiiiiiiide wooooooorld!

Soon, lots of
people knew of the loss of my innocence and much, much worse, the
real meaning of the number 20. T ..
.
WENTY.
But twenty 6 years on, the ‘pen-is’ is mightier than the sword and,
it’s my turn now.

Now remember Mr
Sharp, this is bound to get to you one way or another, so remember
… you’re my mate and importantly, between mates … if you’re going
to give it, you’ve gotta be able to take it. So firstly, well, I
have to stick. Oh, by the way, do you remember that time at the
fair when you snatched my toffee apple off the stick and ran off
with it? Or that time, down the fair again, when we were 17 and you
jumped onto the bonnet of my parents blue Cortina, AJG 581K, which
I had borrowed? I got hell for the dint!

So here goes,
we can argue this in eternity. I must wholeheartedly disagree with
the Millom and surrounding areas opinions. You see, I know for a
fact that Sharpo would NOT deviate from the path of good or say BOO
to a goose … neither would you if you were sneaking up on it with a
club and a sack. The local responsible and well run constabulary
would not get any overtime pay if it wasn’t for him. They would
(maybe?) get some sleep though and even a pot of coffee … Mmmmmm …
during those boring days when nothing ‘seems’ to happen in Millom
(I should write a book and send it to them … one hundred
thumbtwiddlepatterns for bored PC’s).

Naaaa, things
are not as they seem, seldom are, you see, Sharpo is psychic. He
instinctively knows when the officers are about to make coffee and
sit with their feet up on the desk in a state of semi-trance
thinking … “Mmmmmmm this is the life, could do with a good safari
holiday next year. Think I might claim some “End of the Line”
compensation”.

Then he strikes
quicker than a Cobra or Red Bull … ten minutes later the coffee
idea floats aromatically into the ozone layer (it finds a bit we
haven’t screwed up) and theeeeeyyy’re off. Diddleliddle um
Diddleliddle um … the Millomstone Cops … Whhheeee! … Yet their
quarry is nowhere to be found? I can tell you, he is in the well
hidden spaceship with Noddy and the lads laughing at the antics on
the 26” either floating plasma metaphysical screen. Told you he was
a hero. To his advantage he has the fighting spirit of a cross
between Mike Tyson and a Viking and looks a little like Eric
Estrada … the Policeman from the 70’s series … CHIPS (Californian
Highway Patrol … bet he never sued them through boredom). Remember
though, chips in Millom? There is no newspaper to wrap them up in.
Aren’t I being very complimentary about a chap who ruined my
womanising power and humiliated me in front of the whole world …
for years!

Talking of
women, I just haven’t got the time in this life to recount what I
could recount about Sharpo and the fairer sex, as it just wouldn’t
be fair on the planet … knocking down so many trees for the pages …
plus I don’t want his mam to find out anything that her wayward son
has been up to concerning women over the last few years as it would
cause her acute worry, leading to about 500 years sleep
deprivation. I leave it to you the reader to use your imagination …
which I’m sure you will. I will also refrain from telling anything
about a certain Policewoman. I taught this lady officer guitar, she
liked old ‘chisel chin’, very ironic although he didn’t much care
for her (so he said) … yet she told me that …