NOTES
There are no notes for this chapter yet. Some of the notes on other pages are based on info YOU send me. |
There was a heavy fall of snow on Boxing Day, which brought everything to a halt until the New Year. Thus the Jaconelli feast of Christmas Day seemed about to be followed by swift restribution in the form of particularly harsh conditions for dossing. However, as luck would have it, the keeper of the keys (the 'researcher') of Arch 141 disappeared when the blizzard came, and she never returned. Our daytime shelter was thus left locked against us, but good old Charley soon sorted that problem out. We were now free to stay there round the clock, in contravention of the law. |
| This caused me to fall back into the passivity and inactivity of the Malden Road period (see Chapter 46). For a few weeks - I'm not really sure how long - I lounged on dirty mattresses in a fog of cannabis smoke, toasting stale bread with the electric bar fire and dunking it in the dripping from Divall's. My own excursons for broken biscuits and faggots (not the American kind) came to an end, as I had now run out of money. Revolver (see Chapter 40) re-entered my life in a big way, insofar as that Beatles album was played endlessly by someone day and night until it was worn out - and still it was played. |
| The occasional wish to escape was usually connected with a desire to get very drunk and to meet girls rather more alive than those lying around in the Arch. I soon discovered the perfect answer in the large number of student parties going on all over the town, and not just at weekends (actually, they may have been just at weekends - I wouldn't have been aware of the days of the week at this stage). There was nothing simpler than gate-crashing these parties - the front doors were left open and you just walked in off the street. No-one asked who you were or checked to make sure you'd brought a bottle. There would be flashing purple lights, a lot of noise, a lot of booze and a bit of drunken groping that never got anywhere. I would stagger back to the Arch in the early hours to sleep it off. I often bumped into Sidge (see Chapter 50) at these parties. In fact, one night, when I took Geordie (see previous chapter) with me to search for a party, the one we found turned out to be in Sidge's flat. Geordie had brought along a supply of barbiturate, a favourite drug of the beats, and persuaded me to take three or four tabs after a large amount of wine. After floating around the ceiling in deep bliss (I was told later that what I was really doing was walking over couples entwined on the floor), I flaked out and slept very soundly behind a sofa for 20 hours. The reason that Sidge had not called an ambulance, was that he and several others were in exactly the same state - Geordie had distributed the sleepers liberally. I can still remember how wonderfully fit and refreshed I felt when I came round. However, I've never felt inclined to repeat the experience. |
| Inevitably, word of what was going on in Arch 141 (well, mostly wild speculation, actually) reached the newspapers via the neighbouring Arches traders, who were terrified that we would drive away the day-trippers. The Corporation contacted Josie Klein (see previous chapter), causing her to make one of her rare visits to Arch 141. She was horrified to discover that the spy-in-charge had disappeared and that we had all been dossing there round the clock for weeks. I can't report her speech exactly as she made it because of the nuisance of 'family filters' which would automatically deny access to this site in public libraries etc, but it was a robust description of us, our degree of usefulness and the situation we had placed her in. She was not, in a word, pleased. Suddenly, to my alarm, surprise and pleasure, she pointed to me and said: "I'm putting you in charge. I'm having the lock replaced and you will be given the keys. You will keep strictly to the opening times." |
| I did exactly as I was told, causing some rumbling resentment among my fellow Beats, except that I (very secretly) made a single exception to the strict rules - myself! Every evening, after I had turfed them all out and locked up, I would wait for them to disperse to their upturned boats and other dossing places, then let myself back in for the night. In the mornings it was just a case of leaving before any of them arrived, then turning up an hour later to let them in for the day. Some of the beats, led by Shep, had taken to dossing in some sort of drainage tunnel under the Aquarium. There were high ledges running along either side, presumably for workers to take refuge when water came through, and it was on these ledges that the Beats slept. I spent the occasional night in there myself, just for a change. Eventually one or two of them stayed in there too late one morning and were caught. After that a policeman checked it every night. |
| Of course, the power I now had, as key-holder and chucker-out, soon began to go to my head, and I wanted to be closer to the leadership of the project and to have less to do with the Beats themselves. To this end I began to visit the other part of the Archways Venture, Arch 167, where I knew Klein, Biven, Jago and Clark were often to be found. As explained in the previous chapter, Arch 167 had become the province, not of the Beats, but of the weird, the crazy, the dangerous and the pathetic among the young of the native population of the town. Many of them even had full-time jobs, but hung around Arch 167 all weekend. I made sure of getting into conversation with the project leaders at every opportunity and was eventually invited to a meeting at Jo Klein's cottage. |
| Two things were discussed - the future of Arch 141, in view of the continuing hostility of the traders (and therefore the Corporation), and the need for an additional 'spy' at 167, for the reports required by the Government (see previous chapter). I quickly put these two items together in my mind but cunningly offered comments
on one only - the future of 141. In my opinion, I said, it was not helping the Beats truly to be themselves (I knew that only liberal eyewash would work). It was trapping them into lying around all day smoking dope and popping pills. Not that there would be anything wrong with that, I was careful to add, had it been what they really wanted to do, but it wasn't. They were very special people who needed to give society the benefit of their minds (I was aware that in the previous year a couple of Beats had been given places at the university on Klein's sociology course, more-or-less for the asking). This devious speech did the trick. It was decided that Arch 141 should be closed down. "Oh, I've got an idea" said Biven, right on cue. "Without Arch 141 to look after, Vic could be our additional research worker in 167, without pay, but in exchange for accommodation. Could anyone put him up?" Leo Jago volunteered. |
| I moved in with Leo and his girlfriend, began spending my days hanging around in Arch 167, and in the evenings typed up my lengthy but totally fictitious reports on Leo's typewriter. These were duly despatched to the Government research centre in Leicester (see previous chapter). However, it wasn't long before Leo's girlfriend became unhappy about the lack of privacy caused by my presence in their small flat, also my inability to support financially my voracious appetite. (Leo, do you remember when I denied with great indignation knowing anything about the mysterious disappearance of that very special cake you'd brought back from Czechoslovakia? It was delicious). |
| I solved the financial objection to my presence by going on Social Security (now possible because I had an address). The Portslade office (which covered Hove) was extremely liberal and, very much against the rules, agreed to accept my unpaid spying in 167 as my excuse not to be looking for paid work. In effect, they were now paying my salary, albeit a very small one, on behalf of the Archways Venture. But even with this sudden income, it was obvious that I was still causing tension between Jago and his girlfriend, so I used the money to rent a bedsit in Buckingham Road, back over the border in Brighton. The snag was that I now had to apply to the Brighton Social Security office. For some extraordinary reason I took it for granted that they would continue the illicit policy of the Portslade office, and pay me every week to work in 167, but they were horrified at the suggestion. I got very angry, shouted and swore and eventually stormed out, banging the door so hard behind me that the glass cracked. The next day an official from the social security came round and asked me what was the problem. When I explained he said "I'm sorry about the misunderstanding. Some of the interviewers are a little over-zealous. I'll see to it that your payments resume straight away. They did, and I was even issued with a pension book to save me the bother of reporting to the office very week. It could only have happened in the late sixties. The rent was £2 a week. This left me with three or four pounds - ample for rediscovering curry houses and Tamplin's mild. |