theaceface

I pissed off after I'd slept off the come-down. I got me suit cleaned at the automat and spent two hours pressing the pissing thing. It never did look quite right. I took my parka as well, in case I had to sleep rough. I got a shitty couple of nights under the Hammersmith flyover. There only seems to be about five minutes in the night when there ain't some flash bastard in a sports car going round and round with his tyres screaming and a police car coming up behind. On the second night I saw the posters going up outside the Odeon for a High Numbers concert. I'd seen them down at Brighton. They were a mod group. Well, mods liked them. They weren't exactly mods but mods did like them. They had a drummer who used to play with his arms waving about in the air like a lunatic. The singer was a tough looking bloke with really good clothes. If I hadn't seen him near home I would have said his hair was gold. Real gold I mean, like gold paint. The guitar player was a skinny geezer with a big nose who twirled his arm around like a windmill. He wrote some good songs about mods, but he didn't quite look like one. The bass player was a laugh. He never did anything. Nothing. He used to smile sometimes, but the smile would only last about half a second then it would switch off again. My friend Dave said he smiled a lot more at his sister, they were engaged I think. His bass sounded like a bleeding VC10.