SF. Pt.13. Bagels and bubblegum.

Simon enjoys writing for the underground press. OZ are receptive and Miles takes everything he writes for International Times. Editorial policies tend to be lax and Simon finds he can adapt easily to whatever is required. You want radical? Power to the people, legalize pot, smash the system, free everything? Right on man! OK how about something on Che? The fiery piece on Michael X he wrote for Black Dwarf will come to be regarded as a classic of the genre. It’s still used in journalism courses today. But there’s no money in it. Tariq Ali just hands him a bundle of magazines and tells him to go out and flog them. Keep half he says.

He discusses all this with Samantha. She is very encouraging and has some ideas for articles. She also has connections in the publishing business. Not least her own father, Monty.

Samantha takes Simon to meet Monty in his Denmark Street office. The office isn’t very large but it’s a hive of activity. A woman is typing. A small man in a gangster suit is playing an upright piano in the corner. Phones are ringing. There are pictures of Frankie Vaughan and Petula Clarke and other people on the walls…people Simon normally can’t get excited about but he’s too polite to mention it. The focal point is a large desk covered in sheet music, contracts, 45s…even some 78s. Behind the desk sits Monty, who it transpires, damn you Moffat, is a figure of some substance in the world of popular music. He publishes sheet music, makes records, acts as agent for various artistes and produces Tin Pan Times, a weekly publication for people who like to keep up with the music business.

‘Things move fast in this business,’ says Monty between, and during, bites of bagel, ‘if you’d told me last year I’d be doing promotion for a bunch of scruffy scousers I’d have laughed you out of the office. And now look. Top of the hit parade. Money rolling in. Nice boys they are too. That Paul’s a real charmer. So you’re the boyfriend I’ve been hearing about? Sam tells me you’re a writer?’

‘I try to be,’ says Simon which is pretty much what he tells Arthur when he sees him. ‘How about you? What are you up to?’
‘Oh you know,’ says Arthur, ‘running the shop. Reading a bit. Watching telly.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Pretty much. I know what you’re thinking. Why doesn’t he sell the shop? We’ve talked about it…but what would we do?’
‘Sounds as if you quite like the security and routine.’
‘In a way I do.’

And, in a way, he does. He’s a father now. Alice spends a lot of time with baby Cynthia. The shop takes all his time. Newspapers keep coming, headlines keep blaring…’CLAY BEATS LISTON!’, ‘BEATLES INVADE AMERICA!!’, ‘TEXAS SNIPER KILLS 12!!!’, ‘MINI-SKIRTS ARE IN!!!!’ They all have to be sorted. Shelves have to be stocked. Inventories kept.

It’s irritating too the way the sales reps keep coming round with new products. The problem is finding enough counter space. And it’s not easy to predict what the children will go for. Things like Mars Bars and Smarties are always popular but some of the newer confections just seem to sit on the counter for weeks. Nobody even wants to try them.

Flying saucers, sherbert dips, gobstoppers, glow worms, jelly fish, black jacks, cherry lips, sugar mice, spearmint chews, jazzies, rolloes, mintoes, teacakes, fizzwizz, Pontefract cakes, aniseed balls, bulls eyes, licorice torpedos….where is he supposed to put all the stuff? Too high and they can’t see it…too low and the little buggers just help themselves.

All the cardboard promotional material that comes with them just seems to add to the confusion. The cut-out displays aren’t always easy to assemble. And what to do with all the old cardboard boxes? It occurs to Arthur that recycling might be the way of the future.