Кен Бруен - The Hackman Blues

He had a point there.

They say the difference between having a single friend and no-one is immeasurable. Oh yeah, I’ll go with that. Or, to really put the boot in:

‘No man can be considered a failure who has one friend.’

Well, what can I say? I’d fucked up big time.

At the Departure Lounge at Gatwick, I was examining my duty-free purchase. Carton of cigs and a bottle of Glenfiddich. They didn’t have my usual and time it was to let sippin’ whisky go. I chose this one cos I liked the name — ‘A Glenfiddich please, straight up.’ See! You sound like you know yer stuff. In the grand scheme of things, it rates zero but right there, right then, it was a notion to cling to.

As I clung, a bloke came and plonked his self beside me. No by yer leave or anything, just sat on down. He was wearing a crumpled safari suit. There’s a place in Jermyn Street they cater to exactly that kind of thing.

You go in, bang down a shit pile of readies and say, ‘I want clothes that mark me out as an old India-hand, or old anywhere-hand; that make me look like I was there in the early days. But primarily I want to look like an arse-hole.’

You say that, they fit you out in one of those.

He extended a hand, said gruffly, ‘I’m Ross.’

‘Painful... is it?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I’ve read my Evelyn Waugh.’

‘Cheeky blighter.’

Did he mean me or Waugh. He looked at my purchases then asked, ‘Might I give you a tip?’

‘If you have to.’

‘Skip Athens — it’s too much for a first timer. Go straight to the islands, get acclimatised.’

‘How d’ya know it’s my first time?’

He gave a patient smile, said, ‘You bought cigarettes.’

‘That’s not on?’

‘Cheaper in Greece, all your internationals, cheaper than duty free.’

‘Oh.’

‘How’d you like to be a New Warrior?’

I laughed out loud. Jeez, you’d have to.

He wasn’t fazed and continued, There’s too much feminisation of modern man. Our virility is being eroded but now, we’re taking it back.’

He was in full mouth and I had to block, said:

‘Iron John lives, yeah.’

‘You read that! Splendid... truly capital. You are already initiated.’

‘Whoa, Toss.’

‘Ross actually.’

‘Whoever. Hold the phone, I heard of it... okay... I didn’t read it.’

‘No problems, as we warriors say. We’re having a three day fest on the Island of Kithnos for a select band of twenty candidates.’

‘Fest?’

‘We live off the land in a ragged terrain. Only our wits and abilities to sustain us. It’s a cleansing... a return to our ordained nature.’

‘Jesus!’

‘I like you sir, you have fettle.’

‘Listen Doss, I grew up in Brixton... how much more of a warrior could I be?’

‘You’ll like us... pick up the standard... rally to our cry.’

‘Jeez, keep your voice down. I do like a man, a pick-up’s even better... and this is free... is it?’

Conspiratorial look as he bent his head in low. An overwhelming urge to give him a big wallop to the side of his head but contained it,

He said quietly, ‘Alas, there are some minor expenses.’

‘How minor?’

‘All told, including literature and tapes, four hundred.’

He said that in a rush. As if a fast figure would appear a low one.

I said:

‘FOUR HUNDRED? You think you saw me coming... that it?’

The boarding call was announced and I stood up.

I said, ‘Abba had a Brixton moment... did you know that...? Yeah... so voulez vous couchez avec mel. You want to feel a man... cop that.’

And I jerked my groin at him.

He was up and gone like a true warrior. I thought he wouldn’t last a spit on a slow night at The Fridge. Jeez, I hoped the rioters hadn’t torched that.

As I walked down the aisle of the plane, I had to pass him but he buried his head in the safety instructions. Possibly made aviation history by voluntarily reading them.

I got a window seat and stared out at the tarmac. Gee, it was interesting. Rain fell and that added variety. A little later we got airborne and I shuffled round in the cramped space to get comfortable.

Blew my nose. A fucking cold was all I needed...

As the plane levelled out from its ascent, I swear I could see the fires of Brixton still burning. Throwing a glow across the London skyline and a shadow across my life. I knew it’s fancy and the angle of ascent ruled out such a view. But the flames of the city would always smoulder in my heart.

If you’ve no-one left to miss, then perhaps you best miss a place. Already I was pining for the midden that is London. So okay... it’s a city on its knees and plagued by all the modern pestilences but there was no place I would rather be... or had ever been.

I was fingering the Zippo and feeling all this loss, when the stewardess came marching down, said, ‘We have a strict policy of no smoking on this airline.’

‘I wasn’t about to.’

She gave me the look says, ‘pull the other one’, and I added, ‘I think I’m going to like you a lot.’

She harrumphed and went off to do airline things. I didn’t think she’d be offering me tips on what to do and see in Greece. She didn’t.

My head was split with a pain that only London flu can devise. I was shredding Kleenex like a woman in a commercial.

Getting off the plane in Athens, I walked into a blanket of heat. It bounced up off the tarmac like a warning. Inside the terminal, I was shooed through customs, fast, furious and unpopular.

I changed a bundle of money and walked outside, said, ‘Flu or not, here I come.’

I had the means, I certainly had the inclination, so to begin I was going first class. Hailed a yellow cab and said, ‘Hotel Grande Bretagne.’

The driver perked up as if electrified and we burnt rubber outa there. No Smoking signs in various languages littered the upholstery. He chain-smoked some foul tobacco. I lit up myself and felt it bounce off my heart. It didn’t help my cold any.

His radio was at Brixton level and it attacked a wall of sound that swept in through his open window. A string of worry beads hung from the mirror and I concentrated on not looking at them. The sound was like chaos and I understood that. I’d lived in it and with it all my life.

No shit, the hotel was grand and then some. I had a balcony overlooking Syntagma Square. I finally got to know what the word opulence meant and the place was reeking in it. The bellboy, who was about my age, told me that Winston Churchill had been nearly assassinated there. I figured they’d do me in with the bill.

The first thing I did was sleep and the nightmares came calling, a mix of Jeff selling the Big Issue , tied to a burning stake and Roz as the twelve-gauge took her apart. Drenched in sweat, I woke with a scream, stumbled out on to the balcony to grab some polluted air. You know how it goes, you see somebody without much awareness and then they keep popping up ’til you finally ask, like the Sundance Kid, ‘Who are those guys?’

At Gatwick two bald blokes had been debating the merits of red versus white wine. They were so alike, they had to be brothers. It seemed odd to me you’d hang with a bald brother, when you were like an egg too... much less go on holiday with him. But, what did I know, maybe they were proud of their scalps?

Now, there they were again in Palace jerseys and shorts right beneath my balcony. I wanted to shout, ‘Baldies... how goes it?’

But then what?

Yeah.

I got a map from reception, sneaked a look at the tariff and shuddered. One night would be my lot, else I’d have to snatch a Greek. Headed for Plaka, the touts waylaid me at every step. My plans for my stay were simple: