Infinite Sky!

Infinite Sky!

“Above us only sky” they were the words from a song by that lad who used to belong to that group in the sixties what did they call themselves? The Earwigs, no that’s not right, was it The Caterpillars? No. The Bed Bugs? No… but I know this much, they were called a pain in the posterior by me, always singing about ‘A Hard Days Night’. As if they knew what a hard day’s night was really like? I knew, oh yes, I knew, dressed in a skirt so short the bottom almost fell out of the market so to speak and a top so tight it left nothing to the imagination. Middle of winter but no coat, not allowed, had to keep the goods on show.

Anyway, I remember the name of that group now, it was The Beatles. Four kids with funny haircuts who wore funny clothes and when I was walking the streets in freezing weather tottering along on four inch heels looking for punters all I ever heard belching out of the late night shops was that bloody song ‘A Hard Day’s Night.’ In front of me was a hard day’s night all right. Not for me a clocking off card. No, I had to walk the streets all night long or else he wasn’t satisfied. My job was to keep him in beer and skittles or he turned nasty.

But, going back to the group, they eventually split up and that song ‘Imagine’ hit the streets. I often did imagine what it would be like if I didn’t have to earn my living consorting with kerb crawlers, and the like and for what? I never saw any benefit from all this night time pounding the pavements trying to attract punters while he was at home in the bosom of his family. Oh, yes, he was a family man, surprising isn’t it, but I found it hard to imagine his wife.

Did she wear a frilly apron and have his dinner on the table the moment he stepped through the door? Did she put on a slick of lipstick and pass a comb through her hair because that was what the magazines of the time told women they should do if they wanted to keep their men? The woman must look good, have a meal on the table and a subservient smile congealed on her face. Oh, yes, she had to be careful with her appearance but the husband could nurture a careless disregard for his; she also had to be good with money, never spending a penny on herself; a clever cook in the kitchen, producing a nourishing meal from a bone and a whore in the bedroom but I don’t think that is something I want to go into. All useful accomplishments, however, if one wants to stay unhappily married under the guise of domestic bliss.

Anyway, I remember one particular night, I’d not done well at all because I was trying out a new location but I didn’t get so much as a sniff of a punter until it was almost daylight. My feet were killing me, I was freezing cold and my skirt had ridden up to the point where my bum was making a guest appearance and my boobs had broken free from their restraints and were heading south. Then, I noticed a car coming towards me and it looked like I’d got a punter. Yes, this was definitely a punter because his brake lights went on as soon as he went past. I ran up to the car and the door was quickly opened and a disembodied voice said hoarsely from the gloom of the car,

“How much for the full works, luv?”

“What, you want the lot?”

“Yes, everything…what you offering?”

But then I recognised the voice

“Is that you Super? What are you doing round here?”

“Um…um...just having a ride round…nothing wrong with that, is there? Anyway, what are you doing here WPC Ashton I told you to keep to Market Square?”

Just having a ride round…who’s he trying to kid? I knew then promotion was in the bag because he’d just given me ‘A Ticket to Ride’!

Retired now of course and I’m sitting here with my feet up and watching a bit of afternoon telly and since I had that satellite dish fitted, I’ve also got infinite Sky!