Mind the gap
This reminds me so much of London and the many laughs we had when we were young and enjoying our OE.
About a year ago I took an evening class in creative writing and wrote a short piece of fiction based on some of those laughs we had. Now, I'm no literary genius but here goes, enjoy.
Mind the Gap
I remember lying at the top of the steps of the hotel at which I worked. The words “Mind the Gap” came to mind, they were the recorded words used at the Earls Court and other underground stations in and around London when getting on or off the tube train. I remember wanting to scream and use all those colourful profanities which I had learned. The pain was excruciating, my shin was throbbing where I had bumped it on the top step, and to add insult to injury, my fly had broken on impact. Worst of all my embarrassment was causing me the most pain. Phil and James, my best friends, flatmates and compatriots, were doubled over with hysterical laughter. I however did not share their mirth. I have always wondered how anyone could laugh at another’s misfortunes.
I was 19 years old and on my OE (Overseas Experience) in London. It had taken Phil and James a while to convince me, and a huge effort on my part, to pluck up the courage to take the plunge. I had always been very shy and a bit of an introvert.
Phil and I had met at school when we were both 13 years old. Phil was the exact opposite of me; he was loud, funny, good-looking and very popular. He was also not averse to getting up to a little mischief. I was intimidated by him.
We met one Wednesday afternoon after swimming practice at the school swimming pool. We were fairly accomplished swimmers and had both just been picked for the house team. I was drying off and was about to get dressed when Phil came bounding into the change room.
“Nice swim” he bellowed. “Glad you’re on my team. What class are you in?”
“Standard 6B” I replied quietly.
“Oh, one of the clever ones hey? You got old Big Boobs Bertha as your form teacher”. He said with a distinctly wicked smile.
I nodded, going red and grinning slightly.
“Where do you live?” He asked
“In Y-Yeo Street,” I stammered.
“Oh good,” he smiled. “I live in Francis Street. I’ll walk home with you; Francis Street is the next block after Yeo Street.”
I knew that but just smiled and nodded my head stupidly. I was a little apprehensive and quite nervous about walking home with this boy, given his reputation. However, I did walk home with him and learned a lot about him and his family.
Phil and his older brother James were born in Cyprus to a Greek mother and English father. Their father had abandoned them when they were very young; Phil was only two and James three. Their mom battled to raise them alone in a country ravaged by internal strife and civil war. Cyprus in the 1950’s was not a safe place to live for any one, let alone a single woman with two young children, so scraping together enough money to get them a passage out of the country she packed and left Cyprus and it’s bad memories. Her brother and his family, who had moved to Johannesburg some years before, had invited her to come and live with them. Virtually penniless and with none of them speaking much English they arrived in their new country. Phil was five and James six when they arrived, they were enrolled in school and soon learned to speak English. Their mom managed to find work in a clothing factory as a sewing machine operator earning a pittance but with the help of her brother and his family she managed to feed and clothe her and the boys. They all embraced their new way of life and were happy and grateful to be in a new and safe country.
By the time I got home on that day, I realised that the loud, boisterous and mischievous boy who used to terrify and intimidate me, was actually a fun-loving (albeit a tad mischievous) and friendly kid. And so began a friendship which would continue for well over 40 years.
It was a strange friendship between a shy, awkward introvert and a noisy, naughty extrovert raising many eyebrows amongst not only our peers but our schoolteachers as well. To say that I was not being influenced and led astray by this boy would have been a bit of an understatement, Phil taught me to smoke, swear and bunk school, but most of all he taught me to have fun and laugh. I was having the time of my life and was beginning to lighten up a lot, although it would still take a few years before I would eventually come out of my shell.
Phil’s brother James also became a good friend and the three of us became inseparable. We used to hang out together both in and out of school and became known as the Fearsome Threesome. None of us were ever aggressive; we were just happy-go-lucky kids.
I can remember when we would bunk school and sit on a hill overlooking our school smoking cigarettes and fantasising about girls and what we were going to do when we left school. We were going to buy a Land Rover and find three of the most beautiful girls and the six of us would travel the length of Africa. We would drive from Cape Town to Cairo and then cross the Mediterranean and travel through Europe working at odd jobs as we went, eventually ending in London where we would all find fantastic jobs and all live in a huge house and become hippies. We were still too young and naïve to realise that hippies didn’t have jobs or houses, fantastic or otherwise.
Our dreams and fantasies stayed with us until we finished school. I headed off to do compulsory military training for 9 months and Phil and James entered apprenticeships in the printing industry.
Part of our lifelong dream was eventually fulfilled when, after much persuasion and cajoling, our parents agreed to allow us all to head off to London on our Big OE. My military training had helped with my self-confidence although Phil and James still had to do a bit of persuading to get me to agree to go. The driving through Africa part of our fantasy had to be abandoned but still remains a dream for all of us.
“It’s time to find work, guys.” I remarked one afternoon while sitting in a pub on Kensington high street. “I’m almost all out of cash, and I’ve no desire to go back home.”
We had just arrived back in London after finishing a three-month hitch hiking tour of the UK and Europe and were staying in a youth hostel.
“I was thinking the same thing, let’s head off to the OVC (Overseas Visitors Club) and see if they have any thing for us.” James was up and heading for the door.
“What about a decent pad?” Phil asked.
“Let’s get jobs first and then we can worry about where we are going to live.” replied James, always the sensible one.
I managed to find a position as a porter in a tourist hotel in Earls Court and because I could speak a second language (Dutch), I was able to get a work permit for a year.
Both Phil and James had completed their apprenticeships so were offered good jobs in the printing industry.
We didn’t earn much, but together we could afford a flat in Barons Court, which was within walking distance to where we all worked, and even though we weren’t hippies, we looked and felt the part.
I woke up early on that Sunday morning, the sun was blazing through the window and there weren’t many clouds in the sky. It was one of those perfect English summer mornings; if anyone has experienced an English summer morning they will know what it is like. It made me feel happy to be alive - my spirits were soaring. Phil and James were still asleep. We had been to a particularly good party the previous night and had all overdone the drinking and smoking thing. I was determined not to have a hangover and had drunk a litre of water before going to bed; it was a remedy, which always helped me.
I had heard that there was a tour group of American college girls checking into the hotel that morning, and being a red blooded young man with raging hormones, I wanted to go and ‘check’ them out for myself. Phil wanted to go with me as he was also girl-less at that time. James was the only one with a girlfriend and we were becoming more and more envious.
“Wake up you lazy shit,” I shouted in Phil’s ear, “I am already washed and dressed and we have to get to the hotel to check out the chicks.”
“Fuck off and leave me alone.” Phil mumbled pulling the blankets over his head.
“Come on, you pussy, wakey, wakey, there’s a whole busload of chicks waiting for us and it’s a beautiful day, Carpe Diem”
“Carpe Diem! Piss off with your carpe shit and make me a cuppa coffee and I’ll get up” smiled Phil.
“Get up now and I’ll organise us a nice big breakfast at the hotel” I promised.
“Oh, alright then, you are worse than my mother, you prick” he complained getting up.
“What’s this about a breakfast?” slurred James rubbing his eyes.
“Well, if you move your arse and get up and get dressed, you can join us for breakfast, but keep your eyes off the chicks, you’re already getting your leg over.”
Within fifteen minutes we were on our way to the hotel. It was a ten-minute walk. The brothers were both sporting hangovers and had to wear there shades to stop them looking as though they could be bleeding to death from their eyes.
As we rounded the corner near the hotel we could see the tour bus parked in front of the entrance. There were forty to fifty young college girls standing around on the sidewalk waiting to hear what rooms they were in or maybe waiting for their luggage to be unloaded. They all looked so good, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
Why is it that when a young man’s hormones start to rage and his loins start to stir, he does stupid things like trying to act all macho? Is it because there is a sudden rush of blood to the wrong head? Who knows? I was no exception that day. As we got to the steps leading up to the entrance, surrounded by all those lovely college girls, I decided to run up the steps. Very macho and a huge mistake, naturally I missed the top step and came down like a ton of bricks, banging my shin, splitting my jeans’ fly and really hurting my pride. I heard the “oohs” and “aahs” of sympathy and the little giggles from some of the girls. My face burning red hot with embarrassment.
“Mind the Gap” shouted my friends in unison, roaring with hysterical laughter.
THE END
About a year ago I took an evening class in creative writing and wrote a short piece of fiction based on some of those laughs we had. Now, I'm no literary genius but here goes, enjoy.
Mind the Gap
I remember lying at the top of the steps of the hotel at which I worked. The words “Mind the Gap” came to mind, they were the recorded words used at the Earls Court and other underground stations in and around London when getting on or off the tube train. I remember wanting to scream and use all those colourful profanities which I had learned. The pain was excruciating, my shin was throbbing where I had bumped it on the top step, and to add insult to injury, my fly had broken on impact. Worst of all my embarrassment was causing me the most pain. Phil and James, my best friends, flatmates and compatriots, were doubled over with hysterical laughter. I however did not share their mirth. I have always wondered how anyone could laugh at another’s misfortunes.
I was 19 years old and on my OE (Overseas Experience) in London. It had taken Phil and James a while to convince me, and a huge effort on my part, to pluck up the courage to take the plunge. I had always been very shy and a bit of an introvert.
Phil and I had met at school when we were both 13 years old. Phil was the exact opposite of me; he was loud, funny, good-looking and very popular. He was also not averse to getting up to a little mischief. I was intimidated by him.
We met one Wednesday afternoon after swimming practice at the school swimming pool. We were fairly accomplished swimmers and had both just been picked for the house team. I was drying off and was about to get dressed when Phil came bounding into the change room.
“Nice swim” he bellowed. “Glad you’re on my team. What class are you in?”
“Standard 6B” I replied quietly.
“Oh, one of the clever ones hey? You got old Big Boobs Bertha as your form teacher”. He said with a distinctly wicked smile.
I nodded, going red and grinning slightly.
“Where do you live?” He asked
“In Y-Yeo Street,” I stammered.
“Oh good,” he smiled. “I live in Francis Street. I’ll walk home with you; Francis Street is the next block after Yeo Street.”
I knew that but just smiled and nodded my head stupidly. I was a little apprehensive and quite nervous about walking home with this boy, given his reputation. However, I did walk home with him and learned a lot about him and his family.
Phil and his older brother James were born in Cyprus to a Greek mother and English father. Their father had abandoned them when they were very young; Phil was only two and James three. Their mom battled to raise them alone in a country ravaged by internal strife and civil war. Cyprus in the 1950’s was not a safe place to live for any one, let alone a single woman with two young children, so scraping together enough money to get them a passage out of the country she packed and left Cyprus and it’s bad memories. Her brother and his family, who had moved to Johannesburg some years before, had invited her to come and live with them. Virtually penniless and with none of them speaking much English they arrived in their new country. Phil was five and James six when they arrived, they were enrolled in school and soon learned to speak English. Their mom managed to find work in a clothing factory as a sewing machine operator earning a pittance but with the help of her brother and his family she managed to feed and clothe her and the boys. They all embraced their new way of life and were happy and grateful to be in a new and safe country.
By the time I got home on that day, I realised that the loud, boisterous and mischievous boy who used to terrify and intimidate me, was actually a fun-loving (albeit a tad mischievous) and friendly kid. And so began a friendship which would continue for well over 40 years.
It was a strange friendship between a shy, awkward introvert and a noisy, naughty extrovert raising many eyebrows amongst not only our peers but our schoolteachers as well. To say that I was not being influenced and led astray by this boy would have been a bit of an understatement, Phil taught me to smoke, swear and bunk school, but most of all he taught me to have fun and laugh. I was having the time of my life and was beginning to lighten up a lot, although it would still take a few years before I would eventually come out of my shell.
Phil’s brother James also became a good friend and the three of us became inseparable. We used to hang out together both in and out of school and became known as the Fearsome Threesome. None of us were ever aggressive; we were just happy-go-lucky kids.
I can remember when we would bunk school and sit on a hill overlooking our school smoking cigarettes and fantasising about girls and what we were going to do when we left school. We were going to buy a Land Rover and find three of the most beautiful girls and the six of us would travel the length of Africa. We would drive from Cape Town to Cairo and then cross the Mediterranean and travel through Europe working at odd jobs as we went, eventually ending in London where we would all find fantastic jobs and all live in a huge house and become hippies. We were still too young and naïve to realise that hippies didn’t have jobs or houses, fantastic or otherwise.
Our dreams and fantasies stayed with us until we finished school. I headed off to do compulsory military training for 9 months and Phil and James entered apprenticeships in the printing industry.
Part of our lifelong dream was eventually fulfilled when, after much persuasion and cajoling, our parents agreed to allow us all to head off to London on our Big OE. My military training had helped with my self-confidence although Phil and James still had to do a bit of persuading to get me to agree to go. The driving through Africa part of our fantasy had to be abandoned but still remains a dream for all of us.
“It’s time to find work, guys.” I remarked one afternoon while sitting in a pub on Kensington high street. “I’m almost all out of cash, and I’ve no desire to go back home.”
We had just arrived back in London after finishing a three-month hitch hiking tour of the UK and Europe and were staying in a youth hostel.
“I was thinking the same thing, let’s head off to the OVC (Overseas Visitors Club) and see if they have any thing for us.” James was up and heading for the door.
“What about a decent pad?” Phil asked.
“Let’s get jobs first and then we can worry about where we are going to live.” replied James, always the sensible one.
I managed to find a position as a porter in a tourist hotel in Earls Court and because I could speak a second language (Dutch), I was able to get a work permit for a year.
Both Phil and James had completed their apprenticeships so were offered good jobs in the printing industry.
We didn’t earn much, but together we could afford a flat in Barons Court, which was within walking distance to where we all worked, and even though we weren’t hippies, we looked and felt the part.
I woke up early on that Sunday morning, the sun was blazing through the window and there weren’t many clouds in the sky. It was one of those perfect English summer mornings; if anyone has experienced an English summer morning they will know what it is like. It made me feel happy to be alive - my spirits were soaring. Phil and James were still asleep. We had been to a particularly good party the previous night and had all overdone the drinking and smoking thing. I was determined not to have a hangover and had drunk a litre of water before going to bed; it was a remedy, which always helped me.
I had heard that there was a tour group of American college girls checking into the hotel that morning, and being a red blooded young man with raging hormones, I wanted to go and ‘check’ them out for myself. Phil wanted to go with me as he was also girl-less at that time. James was the only one with a girlfriend and we were becoming more and more envious.
“Wake up you lazy shit,” I shouted in Phil’s ear, “I am already washed and dressed and we have to get to the hotel to check out the chicks.”
“Fuck off and leave me alone.” Phil mumbled pulling the blankets over his head.
“Come on, you pussy, wakey, wakey, there’s a whole busload of chicks waiting for us and it’s a beautiful day, Carpe Diem”
“Carpe Diem! Piss off with your carpe shit and make me a cuppa coffee and I’ll get up” smiled Phil.
“Get up now and I’ll organise us a nice big breakfast at the hotel” I promised.
“Oh, alright then, you are worse than my mother, you prick” he complained getting up.
“What’s this about a breakfast?” slurred James rubbing his eyes.
“Well, if you move your arse and get up and get dressed, you can join us for breakfast, but keep your eyes off the chicks, you’re already getting your leg over.”
Within fifteen minutes we were on our way to the hotel. It was a ten-minute walk. The brothers were both sporting hangovers and had to wear there shades to stop them looking as though they could be bleeding to death from their eyes.
As we rounded the corner near the hotel we could see the tour bus parked in front of the entrance. There were forty to fifty young college girls standing around on the sidewalk waiting to hear what rooms they were in or maybe waiting for their luggage to be unloaded. They all looked so good, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
Why is it that when a young man’s hormones start to rage and his loins start to stir, he does stupid things like trying to act all macho? Is it because there is a sudden rush of blood to the wrong head? Who knows? I was no exception that day. As we got to the steps leading up to the entrance, surrounded by all those lovely college girls, I decided to run up the steps. Very macho and a huge mistake, naturally I missed the top step and came down like a ton of bricks, banging my shin, splitting my jeans’ fly and really hurting my pride. I heard the “oohs” and “aahs” of sympathy and the little giggles from some of the girls. My face burning red hot with embarrassment.
“Mind the Gap” shouted my friends in unison, roaring with hysterical laughter.
THE END
posted by Alf | 7:52 am
1 Comments:
Thanks my boy, I love you too. :-)
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