Mark's Party London 1970

I remember the party in Mark’s house. (The night before me and the ‘Old couple’ were heading for Spain to the holiday home for a month).
I watched her come in;
Those hot pants!
I tried to maintain the posture;
Hard man, trying not to choke on the ‘Tizer’ that had gone down the wrong way.
“Watcha Sharon, aright then”, I spluttered wishing I hadn’t eaten the peanuts that, made my mouth feel, like someone had scraped the Thames at Woolwich at spray painted my teeth with the gunge.
I had all the gear on; paper and milk round money for six months, gone in half an hour at the market. Doc Martins, shining like glass - ox blood of course. White Levis Stay-press, with a crease you could shave with - or could, if you had anything to shave.
Ben Sherman shirt, with the button down collar and the pleat and hook on the back which I casually gave her a squint of, as I turned to get more K.P’s to ram in me gob.
Mungo Jerry, telling us that, in the summer time, ‘We had women; we had women on our mind’.
He was reading mine
“Good song!” I ventured, through a mouthful of salty marbles; moving my arse in a
seductive manner, while looking very nonchalant.
“Your Y-Fronts to tight or somefing?” she screeched with what looked like real concern on her gorgeous face.
She was like a Magpie; lovely looking bird, ‘till she opened her gob.
“No! No, I was just getting into the music”, I stammered.
“What? this load a’ shit?” she cawed.
“Yea, well, it’s not the best but what can ya do?” I wriggled.
“Put on somefing decent, like Desmond Decker and them Israelites. Whassat song they got out; Get up in a’ morning for breakfast, innit? She queried, sounding impressively like Tiny Tim, tip-toeing barefoot, through the garden of broken glass, while carrying Hattie Jakes on his back.
“Oh! Yea, sounds familiar, I know the one you mean alright”, thick bitch!
“Wanna dance?” I ventured
“What? …With you?” No, with Albert Steptoe…
“Well, yea, if you’d like. ‘Course if don’t wanna…”
“You just wanna getchyer mitts into my drawers, dontchya?” …She wasn’t as thick as I thought.
“No...‘Course not!” I gasped, looking hurt.
“Why? You Queer or somefing?” She asked, looking stunned and stunning in the same instant. “Only I thought you looked like a bit of a ‘rear-ender’, what wiv them white slacks an’ all.”
I’ll fucking rear-end you, ya dozy cow!
“No, I’m a raving heterosexual”, I assured, trying to look like Errol Flynn on speed.
“Fuck off...you mean you gotta cock AND a cunt? FUCKINHELL!”
“What...No...I only like women”, I blurted.
“Oh right, like a Lesbo?” she asked, open mouthed.
“No…what? No, I’m normal…I mean, I’d love to fuck your brains out!” fucking mission impossible there anyway.
“Yea, well that’s bin done already”, she stated looking smug.
I rest my case.
“Come on then, let’s go out round the back for a quick shag, I aint had one today!” she said matter-of-factly.
What? A whole day? ‘you on a diet or something? My Y-Fronts were tight now aright!
Sharon grabbed my hand and pulled me after her; out of the room, through the kitchen and out through the back door. There was a tree down the garden, next to a wooden fence that separated next door’s garden from this one.
“That looks like a good spot. Watchya fink?” she asked.
“Err… yea, great” I said, trembling
Without any ado, let alone ceremony, she backed up to the fence, whipped off the hot pants faster than a rat going up a drain pipe, lifted one leg and rested her foot on the tree and said, “Go on then, get stuck in”
“Fuck it, I haven’t got anything to put on!” I said, rubbing my pockets willing a Durex to appear like a genie.
“Why? Is it gonna rain?” asked Sharon
I looked at her for a minute…no, make that a second and started fumbling with the button on the Levis, my hands shaking so much that I could have creamed milk, let alone her. I couldn’t get the fucker open. I gave one almighty tug and there was a ‘PING’; the button left the trousers at the speed of light, caught Sharon on the forehead, propelling her back into the fence.
There was a horrible cracking noise, which I figured was either her skull or the fence behind her. It was the fence.
It was like a slow motion film; the fence seemed to open behind her and swallow Sharon up. She went backwards, I seen a bush flying through the air…I think it was hers. There was a muffled crash and then; then the screaming started.
I tottered over to the edge and discovered there was a 3 too 4 foot drop into the neighbors garden. I looked down and observed Sharon, buried in a huge Rose bush, howling like a …well, like only she could.
“Help, help…I bin shot in the head and me cunt’s be-in stabbed by some kinky fucker who says he’s a Lesbo, I think he setting fire to it” she shrieked.
“Shut up ya silly mare, it’s only a rose bush” I shouted down to her.
“ONLY...ONLY A FUCKING ROSE BUSH? She howled “MY FANNY’S GOT MORE HOLES IN IT THAN A FUCKING WATERING CAN, YOU FUCKING LESBO SHIRT LIFTER, and ARGHHHHHHHHH….HELLLLLLLLLLP”
The lights started going on in the neighbor’s house and someone had turned down the music in Mark’s house. It was time to be somewhere else; anywhere else. Call me a coward but I thought I could hear sirens in the distance and in the split second that it took for me to imagine, me telling my story to the fuzz; then Sharon telling hers….

I rang Mark the next day from the airport.
After he had called me every name that he could think of; and a few he made up, as he went along, He informed me that Sharon had been kept in hospital overnight for observation. They had removed all the thorns and as soon as the swelling had gone down from the nettle burns, she would be right as rain. They had also told her that the crest on her forehead, spelling a back-to-front, kind of mirror image of LEVI JEANS would fade in time.
He advised me to stay in Spain, at least until Welling United, won the F. A. Cup.