Autobiography Part One
F****** slime bar. Originally from Islington. A place where Frankinstein and Dracula would meet. They would pretend to be monsters. Claiming to be vampires and werewolves. Only they looked the part, the uniform was perfect. The pale faces, dull facial expressions, grey bags under the eyes and white powder on the cheek bones. Speak to them and find them to be highly educated. They know all about academia and less about the craft in which they claim to come from. The Slime Bar attracted a number of young couples romantically attached by a love of grundge. Enjoyed the idea of drinking bloody marys with eye ball gob stoppers but knew nothing about giving blood.
And god forbid the idea of exchanging blood would be parter nosta let alone donating blood. The only guidance they seek is a guide with clear direction directing towards the slime bar.
They come from far and wide and all that they seek is the Slime bar on a Thursday evening. The year is 2000 and something.
Illuminous slime made popular by Keith Chegwin on popular weekend morning TV may have have even contributed to the grundge scenes popularity. The middle class fantasy maybe cultivated by forced entertainment.
It was entertaining at the time, but the effects are showing themselves. Even the strange tattoos suggest these kids have been initiated into a craft of some sort. In actual fact they are more likely influenced by American TV. Buffy the Vampire slayer. Then again it could just be a strong longing to revive a British Broadcasting favourite of afternoon cinema. Where the tattooing effect started.
Its only natural to blame the parents. A Saturday mantinee in the late seventies and early eighties was really popular.
The introduction of the computer, Betamax and VHS video some flattened the playing field. The cinema already effected by the dramatic increase in television. The rights to play movies seemed to increase each year. Four years, two years then it wasn’t long where videos would be distinguished as blockbusters and this would maintain the delay on television.
I used to go to the cinema every Saturday so I am a potential parent of the nostalgic Hammer House Horror kids in 2010.
The tattoos are like the cinema posters. They are still there years after the film. I used to get excited about looking at the snippets contained in the showreel as you got closer in the cue. And as I got older I learned my father was equally as excited about going to the cinema as me.
Perhaps even morso. The afternoon cinema was the best. Although I also learned about getting turned away at a 15 cert movie. I said that to my pops, "pops tell him I am 15". "Here" he said, handed me some change and said go and wait in the arcade. So I did, playing Tarzan, Quebert and the tuppeny slides. The film was Rambo 11 First Blood and I was gutted. Inside the Strand cinema they had a poster of an Olivia Newton John film that looked really Sci-Fi. Jaws, a film about a burning building, American Werewolf in London, Xanadu, Krull and Freddie Kruga.
Years later in London I got to meet a showreel projector man who had shown films to audiences in the city for over 30 years at the British Film Institute (BFI).
I still enjoy going to the cinema, however my good friend whom I went to the last film took his own life with a bottle of paracetamol.
I picked a Marvel superheroes film and he walked out halfway through saying that it was scarey and violent.
He did not like horror films after spending a few years travelling around Africa, I think even before that the effects of being adopted may have also made him shy away from any violent visual entertainment.
A few weeks before he took his own life I met up with him after a couple of years of not hanging out. He just achieved black belt in Aikido, took him seven years a lot of travelling, discipline and perhaps even isolation.
I hardly recognised him under the big ginger beard,. I told him he looked like Belamy of the TV, saying things like "what do we have here", whilst cusping my hands which made him laugh and smile a bit.
The next time I seen him the beard had gone and he was dressed a lot smarter with a hat on his head. So I thought everything was fine. The weekend around about when he must have taken his own life he met up with me and we went for a Chinese in the West End like the good old days.
A couple of years before we went to The Prince Charles Cinema in the afternoon to watch a film. I kept elbowing my buddy to answer the girl next to him, ask her name and get her phone number. He later went to Spain to meet her parents so I was well pleased and proud that I had been part of fixing a date like that for two people.
Back to the last time we met. On the way home he shared his fears and explained his illness, hearing voices. I never heard any of this previously, it was only after his death knocking on doors, speaking to other friends of his that I understood the noise he must have had to put up with for years.
To grow up and learn to discipline yourself, but never underestimate the damage of trying to change things fast.
It has its effects that pile on anything else in this life that we already have. Some seem to think these things are inherited, for others it may have been dumped on them but more than likely its just like to the rest of us, niave and open to gods fruits just like we read in the beginning of the bible.
Adam and eve is a great book, add on top of that The Jungle Book which is another poster that regularly caught my eye in the cinema you have yourself a collage of events that explain certain things.
Its my story Ok mixed with a bit of my friends story but it what has shapened me so I often think about how entertainment has shaped other people.
I think how many relationships are based on these shapes and patterns of the world we live. I think some would say to much. And if I stand behind giants like god, Jesus, Dracula or anyone else I’m in trouble. Focusing on others is good. From what I am learning in media the hyper real is not real but based on reality. Writers and movie makers are influenced by well told stories.
The mundane stories mixed into conversation are the catalyst for great films. Sprinkle in the Robotic and super hero drama and you have a recipe for folks to chew on.
People wait around for years to find this stuff out, just as they probably did at the Slime Bar.
I never did go so I cannot honestly vouch for the evening. I am sure it was good. The young middle classed couple who asked me for directions to the Slime Bar brought the whole topic to my attention.
I told them they should go to the Deveroux Pub in the Strand, directing them to the Moot with no reflection, assuming they were vampires. I often get things wrong even the spelling is probably all wrong.
Like many in the city when I did attend the Moot I was told your not from around here, your not one of us, why are you here?
As far as I was concerned he was being a bit rude.
I mean I had dressed in black, had a blood red firey black and red shirt on and had slicked my longish hair back with Bryll crème. It was not long after I cut my hair started wearing blue jeans again and a decent pair of sneakers.
Two years later I had replaced the pentagon chain for the good old St Christopher's Meddalion which had served me well during teen years and regularly attended church sessions and catacombs after parties.
The real transition happened with a publishing of a book, academia, a couple of groovey relationships and many years inbetween of acting just like a grundge band I imagine would do, only listening to relaxing speakers, meditative music and cooking.