FEAR & LOATHING IN LONDON

Well, you know sometimes I think that's been the defining question of my entire life. And the one I've been unable to quite answer.... maybe because there IS no answer, maybe because there is, in reality, nowhere to actually GO.

But I digress with pointless theology.

Ahemm. The "reality". The way it was then.....
I was dating a seriously hearty lady from SE London, around 1985/6, when my mobile in-car entertainment business ( car stereo-fitting, in case you get the wrong end of the snorted-through rolled-up pinkie idea )was in full sub bass-infested Brixton rude boy swing. I'd sometimes stay overnight at girlfriend's brother's house in Bexley to babysit his two daughters - one from each of his disastrous marriages.

On one particular evening it was arranged we should stay there again, as said brother & wife were on a short long weekend break in Spain, so I got to reacquaint with Dawn, the 15 and a half-going-on-30 yr old daughter by the brother's first. And again the impression was confirmed from the previous visits... that as all the household had secretly commented.... " Dawny loves anything in trousers". But the other part of her story was also told... how her natural mother used to hold swingers' parties and how an 8 - 10 year old Dawn used to sit on peoples' knees......

So quite the forward little madam she was. And apparently un-traumatized and freely happy-go-lucky, she'd casually amble into the living room, piping up " CAN YOU FEEEEL IT ? " and screeching Aceeeeed!".. as was the cool trend during those early days of acid house and follow-on from Dirty Dancing.
Dawn would slouch on the couch opposite, legs apart and with hand over her Denim-ed crotch while pretending to watch television with us.
My girlfriend would soon enough spit at her to GET TO BED, however.

And so she did, this one particular evening.
And when we retired later on I thought nothing of it, tired as I was from the days driving about Fear and Loathing land, securing my tax-free 200 notes for the day ( it's called survival folks, don't tell!).
Dawn's room happened to be in the adjoining room separated from our main by a slender plasterboard partition... and of course she knew of my movements as it was common knowledge I'd have to be up early and on my way into town to work.

Thing was, in this part of Bexley there were two routes possible to be taken into London - the A2 over Shooters Hill ( near my house) .... or the main dual carriageway route in through Catford.

The night was hot and I wasn't sleeping too good. At around 3am I was quite startled to distinctly hear through from next door, the words of a child, as though spoken in a dream.... " Which way you going? Which way you going? Go back to your place. Go to bed" "
I looked at my girlfriend laying there beside me, sounders and snoring gently away, her features glowing orange from a nearby sodium street lamp. She remained asleep. But I knew what I heard and from whom it was from.

The next morning, after breakfast in bed, Dawny casually sauntered into the bedroom dressed in her navy blue schoolgirl uniform including pleated skirt up to her ass, and gave me the thumb-sucking evil eye whilst seeming to linger some as if waiting, waiting, for me to suggest....... Which Way I would Be Going into work that morning......?
The chance was definitely there, and being offered up front, to " Go back to my place"... to " Go to Bed".. with a willing but just and so underage girl.

The lust I felt was truly terrible and loathsome !

Did I resist? Sure - but that doesn't mean to say I don't understand the lyrics...
As Johnny Lennon sang " Well she was just seventeen, you know what I mean"... or more aptly, as Lemmy from Motorhead croaks.. " You're jailbait..... and I just can't wait. "