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I've started putting a few tales together, imo what I've been up to is nothing special, I'm sure everybody could relate some interesting tales - and they should.
But let me run this one by you, one tale of many, boring or not boring?
Here we go:
Here’s a tale of how a guy, a guy with an ego, doesn’t always see things pan out the way he planned. 1970, I’m working as a reporter on the local newspaper and they have a deal with a local car hire company cos the newspaper boss owns it and I can get cheaper rates.
I’ve met two ladies, both a bit posh, private houses in Orpington, when nearly everybody I know was raised on a council estate. We have arranged to visit Hastings on a Thursday evening in Spring, meeting two of my friends, Bob & Phil, at a pub named the Pump House. The girls’ names are Penny and Alison. We call Penny ‘Lady P’ cos she looks a little like Lady Penelope from Thunderbirds. And she’s gorgeous.
So, around 18:30 I pick up a very new Austin Cambridge from the car hire firm which is based in the garage near Cobb’s corner in Sydenham. I drive to Orpington and pick up Alison and Penny and start driving to Hastings. We talk.
‘Nice car Tony, you had it long?’ asks Alison. ‘Just a little while’ I reply. ‘Doesn’t seem like the kind of car you’d pick Tony, but it’s nice’ Penny said.
We drive and about halfway to Hastings I reach a long stretch of dual carriageway and open the car up. The car drives so smooth I don’t realise I’m still in third gear and I’m hitting speeds up to 85mph.
This doesn’t agree with the car. The engine is running at such a high rev the vibration shakes loose the nut on the alternator tensioning bolt and we break down. Embarrassing.
Luckily for me the car’s breakdown kit had a few spanners and I’m able to re-tension/remount the alternator and off we go, carrying on our journey. We arrive in Hastings and I park outside the Pump House. In 1970 you could park more or less wherever you wanted to, you could even park on London Bridge, which definitely seems weird now.
The three of us go into the pub, we spot Phil & Bob, smiles all round, drinks are ordered, it’s good. The first thing Phil says to me, in full earshot of the ladies, is ‘So how’s the hired car then Tony?’
Ever wanted the ground to open up under you? Serves me right for telling porkies I suppose. The girls, to their credit, don’t laugh out loud or berate me, they just look mildly amused.
We all have a nice evening, drinks consumed, then head back to the caravan that Phil’s parents own at Combe Haven Caravan Park. It’s a big caravan, two double bedrooms at each end and a big living area in the middle.
Fast forward to around 1.30am and there I am, alone, sitting in the caravan’s middle area, drinking a bottle of wine. Considering the circumstances I am so glad there was a bottle of wine in the fridge, I needed it.
From one end of the caravan I can can hear heavy breathing and detect a rocking motion and from the other end of the caravan I can hear even louder squeals and detect more rocking.
I think ‘Where did I go wrong?’ But, then I started laughing to myself, that’s just the way it goes sometimes. Hey, I was only nineteen, not as if I was going short, but sometimes, sometimes, things don’t go the way you expect.
I lost touch with Alison but stayed in touch with lady P for about the next four years, I liked her, we were friends though never an item, much to my dismay.
We all went to see Pink Floyd at Earls Court in ’73, that was a magical evening.
Lady P ended up living in a posh flat in Maida Vale, it was a block of 8 flats in a detached building, Penny had the front ground floor flat. At the time I was driving a Transit van for a living delivering smoked salmon to restaurants and places of distinction around London, one of the smoked salmon customers was The Royal Opera House.
I used to visit Penny in my van on my travels, quite often, we got on famously, good friends, sometimes we’d go for a drink, but never any nooky took place. Didn’t matter, I was getting enough elsewhere and I liked her.
It was only some years later that it occurred to me that a girl living in Maida Vale in a property probably way beyond her budget was probably doing something else to supplement her income, Maida Vale is also the favoured dwelling location of rich arabs. I’ll leave you to gather your own conclusions.
I’d like to think that wasn’t the case but I’ll never know. Lady P and myself lost touch, we do that, don’t we? Lose touch. I heard later through the grapevine she’d died of cancer in her late twenties, but I don’t know.
Just another of life’s stories I guess.
Relevant pix:
This is Bob and Phil coming out of the caravan the morning after, the girls are walking together in front of me:
Alison:
Penelope:
But let me run this one by you, one tale of many, boring or not boring?
Here we go:
Here’s a tale of how a guy, a guy with an ego, doesn’t always see things pan out the way he planned. 1970, I’m working as a reporter on the local newspaper and they have a deal with a local car hire company cos the newspaper boss owns it and I can get cheaper rates.
I’ve met two ladies, both a bit posh, private houses in Orpington, when nearly everybody I know was raised on a council estate. We have arranged to visit Hastings on a Thursday evening in Spring, meeting two of my friends, Bob & Phil, at a pub named the Pump House. The girls’ names are Penny and Alison. We call Penny ‘Lady P’ cos she looks a little like Lady Penelope from Thunderbirds. And she’s gorgeous.
So, around 18:30 I pick up a very new Austin Cambridge from the car hire firm which is based in the garage near Cobb’s corner in Sydenham. I drive to Orpington and pick up Alison and Penny and start driving to Hastings. We talk.
‘Nice car Tony, you had it long?’ asks Alison. ‘Just a little while’ I reply. ‘Doesn’t seem like the kind of car you’d pick Tony, but it’s nice’ Penny said.
We drive and about halfway to Hastings I reach a long stretch of dual carriageway and open the car up. The car drives so smooth I don’t realise I’m still in third gear and I’m hitting speeds up to 85mph.
This doesn’t agree with the car. The engine is running at such a high rev the vibration shakes loose the nut on the alternator tensioning bolt and we break down. Embarrassing.
Luckily for me the car’s breakdown kit had a few spanners and I’m able to re-tension/remount the alternator and off we go, carrying on our journey. We arrive in Hastings and I park outside the Pump House. In 1970 you could park more or less wherever you wanted to, you could even park on London Bridge, which definitely seems weird now.
The three of us go into the pub, we spot Phil & Bob, smiles all round, drinks are ordered, it’s good. The first thing Phil says to me, in full earshot of the ladies, is ‘So how’s the hired car then Tony?’
Ever wanted the ground to open up under you? Serves me right for telling porkies I suppose. The girls, to their credit, don’t laugh out loud or berate me, they just look mildly amused.
We all have a nice evening, drinks consumed, then head back to the caravan that Phil’s parents own at Combe Haven Caravan Park. It’s a big caravan, two double bedrooms at each end and a big living area in the middle.
Fast forward to around 1.30am and there I am, alone, sitting in the caravan’s middle area, drinking a bottle of wine. Considering the circumstances I am so glad there was a bottle of wine in the fridge, I needed it.
From one end of the caravan I can can hear heavy breathing and detect a rocking motion and from the other end of the caravan I can hear even louder squeals and detect more rocking.
I think ‘Where did I go wrong?’ But, then I started laughing to myself, that’s just the way it goes sometimes. Hey, I was only nineteen, not as if I was going short, but sometimes, sometimes, things don’t go the way you expect.
I lost touch with Alison but stayed in touch with lady P for about the next four years, I liked her, we were friends though never an item, much to my dismay.
We all went to see Pink Floyd at Earls Court in ’73, that was a magical evening.
Lady P ended up living in a posh flat in Maida Vale, it was a block of 8 flats in a detached building, Penny had the front ground floor flat. At the time I was driving a Transit van for a living delivering smoked salmon to restaurants and places of distinction around London, one of the smoked salmon customers was The Royal Opera House.
I used to visit Penny in my van on my travels, quite often, we got on famously, good friends, sometimes we’d go for a drink, but never any nooky took place. Didn’t matter, I was getting enough elsewhere and I liked her.
It was only some years later that it occurred to me that a girl living in Maida Vale in a property probably way beyond her budget was probably doing something else to supplement her income, Maida Vale is also the favoured dwelling location of rich arabs. I’ll leave you to gather your own conclusions.
I’d like to think that wasn’t the case but I’ll never know. Lady P and myself lost touch, we do that, don’t we? Lose touch. I heard later through the grapevine she’d died of cancer in her late twenties, but I don’t know.
Just another of life’s stories I guess.
Relevant pix:
This is Bob and Phil coming out of the caravan the morning after, the girls are walking together in front of me:
Alison:
Penelope:
