Always Read the Label Chapter 18 They Walk Sideways

I'm scratching my head about what to do with this upcoming eviction. I'm also scratching my balls so much that I'm gonna have to pay a visit to that horrible looking hospital that I pass on my way through Homerton. Something's wrong down there.

I've had a scout about for other empty flats and there's a few but it feels like time for a change. Or maybe I'm being forced to think like that. Whichever, I'm gonna dig out Johnnies number and see if he knows anyone with a room. I'll give him a call on my reluctant walk of shame to the clinic this afternoon.

The coin drops.
"Is that Johnnie?" There's a grunt as confirmation. "Listen I'm a bit stuck for somewhere to live - do you know anyone who has anywhere?"

"Oh it's you. How've you been? I was still asleep. When do you need somewhere? There's someone moving out of here in a fortnight. It's the smallest room and needs a bit of doing up. But I don't really like you anyway".
I ask the dedicated charmer how much without trying to sound really interested.

"£150 a month. Areas a bit dodgy, like the landlord, but it's OK. Chalk Farm tube is 5 minutes away. Want me to have a word with him?"
After forcing myself to stop scratching I say yes.

'He'll be round on Friday for the rent. Has to be paid in cash each month. I'll tell him you're interested. You can come and have a look on Saturday. About 3? Yeah, 28 Southfleet. Gives us a bell if anything changes. Don't call so early next time".
Result. Now I have to go and get some other results.

The main entrance to the hospital is grey and without a hint of welcome, contrasting horribly with a bright blue sign that says it's name and states it's commitment to 'community health'. There's a big signpost just inside the gate with directions. STD Clinic to the left. Boy am I glad I didn't have to ask. The trail leads me round the back of the decaying building to a Portakabin with grilles on the windows. I stop and have a fag while I watch the door clang open and shut with people keen to get either in or out without being seen. There's a lot of people wearing hats. It's boiling inside with all the generated anticipation and a clear lack of chatting. I guess we've all made friends previously which is why we're here now. At the reception I get given a sheet to fill in and warned that they're very busy so it might take a while to get seen. I don't even bother looking for a magazine to read, just look for the least prominent seat, which is next to a Chinese guy with a hat that doesn't fit him. I manage to poke a few holes in the form while trying to fill it in balanced on my knee. I really don't want to put my real name so fill in all the rest intending to ask the receptionist if I have to.

"Mr Phooey" shouted by a nurse decides it for me. The guy next to me gets up and I complete the form with the name Don Keydick. I hand it in and sit back trying not to laugh when a Mr Duck, Mr Popeye and two Mr Smith's in quick succession are called. Just when I'm bored of that game a Mr Keydick gets called and I shuffle embarrassed towards the voice.

Inside the room, where there's two men in white coats, I explain the problem and start to shit myself when the doctor asks 'so no protection?' It was stupid, but how many people have ended up here cos of that?

"Right lets have a look. Take your trousers off and hop up on the couch. Underwear as well please".
I feel myself shrink at having to do this and the Doctor notices.

"Don't be shy. You're obviously not usually. We've seen it all before here. You don't mind if my colleague here, who's a student, has a look first do you?'
I don't reckon I have a lot of choice so find myself lying rigid with embarrassment with my pants down and two blokes studying me intently and making comments about where no man has ever been before.

"Looks like a simple case of Phthirus Pubis. Crabs to me and you. Not technically related to the sort that you see at the seaside, but they do walk sideways. We'll do a few more tests but it looks pretty straightforward. Itch like buggery don't they?"
I nod in silent relief while the student proceeds to swab me clumsily and ask a few more questions.

"I'm going to give you some cream to rub in every day for a fortnight, but I do recommend you shave your pubic area as well. Helps to catch any immune blighters left hanging on".
Oh good I get to walk around like a skinned rabbit until it grows back. I reckon it's a preventative measure making you too ashamed to have sex. Must remember to thank Helen.

I pull up my pants and try to stuff the cream out of sight in my pocket while ignoring a lecture on the importance of safe sex and how I have to inform any other sexual partners. I shoot out of the door and leave the portakabin like a burglar and head straight home to find a new razor. It's more difficult than you think when you're more used to a chin, neck and cheeks. A whole new terrain which leaves me looking like a plucked chicken. At least it's covered all day. And the itch has gone.

I'm half-dressed and washing my shame down the plughole when a key in the door announces the return of Simon and his backpack.

"Wotcha. What you up to in there then?'
"Just washing my..." I start to say hair but realise it's dry,"face".
"Why you not at work?"

It's a good question that reminds me I really should have phoned Scottish Paul, I've not been in this week. Fuck. "Nothing down this week. Lucky really - cos we need to find somewhere else to live sharpish", handing him the letter from the kitchen.

"I wanted to talk to you about the flat anyway. I'm thinking of living with the missus and didn't reckon you'd be happy if I did that here anyway".

He's obviously been forgive his misdemeanour with Polly. Or is sneakily being watched more closely.

"Whatever we do we've got less than 3 weeks to do it, so we need to get a move on. I've just gotta pop out to the phone".

"Can I speak to Paul please". I'm trying to sound like I'm bunged up with a cold when I ask and keep a light grip on my nose while I wait for him to be found. "I'm really sorry I haven't called earlier but I've been in bed with the flu. I know, who'd have thought it in this weather".

It's not cutting much slack with Paul who's whingeing about being left short, but I can't be found guilty in my absence.
"I reckon I'll be alright for next week but I'm suffering still at the minute. I feel bad about letting you down. Yeah, see you on Monday".

I feel so bad about this I go straight to the off licence for a half bottle of vodka and a carton of orange. When I buy these I do feel bad as I realise I'm down to my last note. It's a twenty but it won't last till I next get paid. So I need all the help I can get to forget about it.

"Look what I've got. Picked yesterday. Mushrooms".
In his hand Simon's got a crumpled plastic bag that looks like it's full of slimy mud. When he empties the contents onto the table there's loads of long stems tangled together in a pile with grey coloured nipples at the tip of each. Well I did say I needed all the help I could get. They look too vile to just eat so we do that discussion that comes before any mushroom trip about omelettes and the best way to make tea with them. Tea it is, made in a saucepan, with the water turning a dirty mud colour. Whichever way you do it, you end up holding your nose and closing your eyes.

Acid is like a distortion of the usual lines. A bending of what you know. But mushrooms are like ripping up the rulebook. If it was square when you took acid, there'd still be some squareness. With mushrooms it would be a circle. Then a triangle. Then anything. There's no limits to the illusion. It's witches stuff.

We end up by the canal in a place I'm sure still doesn't exist with a sloping gravel bank and loads of colourful birds landing nearby. I keep thinking I should reach behind me and close the door of the flat in case someone comes in. Then realise we're not in the flat but can't remember leaving. We would have got in the lift but the buttons were too high up to reach. The stairs seem to be leading nowhere. The football pitches look like the moon and we swing from the goalposts to stop our feet burning. Everyone we pass looks alien and scares us until we dissolve into giggles after they've passed realising they were in fancy dress. We find the key doesn't fit the door and plan to sleep in the corridor until we see it open onto an endless runway which rolls out before us. It's the wrong block but we can't find ours and start to cry. By the time we get in the lift we can't remember why we're crying and go to the top floor, watch the lift go and walk down the stairs forever. The goalposts are too high to reach now and the birds are even more colourful. I want an orange and try to pick one from the tree. Simon pours a drink that tastes of orange. How did he reach so high. I've never heard this music but can sing along. My voice is so clear. The gravel's slippery now but looking up there's no rain. Where have the clouds gone? The drink tastes so good. I never want it to end. Where's warm? Somewhere near Italy.

The morning's disappeared when I wake up from dreams so vivid they exhausted me. All the energy left is getting used on worry. Why did I do that, where will I live, what will happen. Just lying about gives all this worry a great big space to take hold. But I can't be bothered to get up, leaving me infested, with things I don't want to think about crawling all over me.

I hear Simon moving about and throw aside the thoughts pinning me down like Gulliver. The pan on the hob contains some more muddy dreams.

"Want another mushroom brew?"
I opt for the more traditional tea while I decide. The letterbox rattling startles us both and Simon grabs the saucepan, putting it in the fridge. I hope it's Helen or Emma. It's Moose. What on earth is he doing here?

"We've got a gig tonight. Someones pulled out and we've been offered the support slot. I wish you'd get a phone. You look like you've been up all night".

"Bit late, but I'm right as rain now," I lie, "Want a brew?"
I turn off the hob that Simon's left glowing red and put together the tea.

"It's only the opening act, but it's at the Town and Country Club. We're on early, but Ray and Howard are inviting loads of record companies. You up for it?"

The Town and Country. It's massive. Yes. I need to wash first as I seem to have gravel in my hair, but we're soon out the door, promising to put Simon on the guest list, on the way to Camden Road and the rehearsal rooms to get the stuff loaded into a van Russell's hired. It's less than a mile to the venue and we arrive to early for the soundcheck so sit outside getting overwhelmed by the intimidating size of the venue.

I watch the headline act Throwing Muses run through a deafening soundcheck without a single glitch. A well oiled machine that's been touring for a few months now. Our bitty equipment looks like it's made out of cardboard next to theirs. When we play though, it's at a staggering volume and fills the room. I could do this all day it sounds so good, but we get told to stop and head off to eat, hoping to suffocate the butterflies.

We've got a tiny room at the side of the stage which all four of us just about fit in. There's no room left for Howard or Ray and his latest snack, who pop their head round the door to tell us there's loads of people here to see us. That's the butterflies back then. I go for a walk making sure the laminated pass I've been given is discretely prominent.

It's not mobbed in the foyer but there's an troubling amount of expectant people milling around. Outside I can see our name in red above the entrance. Much smaller than the headline act, but it's the first time I've ever seen it written anywhere and enough to get me lost in a daydream as I stand looking at it. Perched on top of the sign is a really colourful bird. I'm so spooked I head back into the venue trying to ignore any significance and waiting for showtime.