Birmingham England Nov 1979,a dark and frosty night,lets flit to the north of this wartorn city,a group of angry young men sit huddled round an open fire trying to keep out the chill night air.Not ordinary men these but brave firefighters in the middle of the first national fire strike Britain has ever seen.The handsome one on the left gently prods the embers with his mates packed lunch,he seems deep in analytical thought,lets listen in" Bloody hell I'm bored and I'm fookin cold and if that bastard turns and farts on the fire one more time I shall push the fooker in" and "I wish I smoked like them interesting tossers over there,at least I'd have summat to do,tossers".
Now every morning after picket duty I'd go home(yes I was the handsome one) and eat whatever a kind member of the public had donated the night before,a tin of beans,a bottle of scotch,whatever and watch a series of basil rathbone Sherlock Holmes films on the tv thing,and every morning old baz would have some strange smokin implement hanging out his gob and I'm thinkin,I shall smoke one of them pipe type things.I can smoke round the fire at night and use it to point and look more interesting and warm me hands up.Of course at the disco dressed as Bryan ferry,white tux etc,half a ton of smoldering stink pot hanging out me mouth would be a sure winner with the young chicks!
Christmas came early that year,I think it was on the 22nd December and by then I was a nicotine junkie so my thoughts turned to how can I smoke whilst riding my mobike.I'd recently acquired a big handle bar mounted fairing so it shouldn't be to hardget a good blaze goin then take off,sweet as.So I'm going along smokin a curvy job that exits under me chin guard and its running a bit hot but not to bad.ok you know that funny dead space behind a screen where a receipt or somat slips out your pocket and floats around crazily in the vortices and eddies then pisses off over your shoulder,well that's the bastard I'm talking about here.At a certain speed,duno what speed but there's always a certain speed,there's this slurping wooshy sound and Iz gettin nothing but fresh air through me basil special
Then I saw it, a plug of white hot tobaccy floating at nipple height right in front of me,smoking away merrily to itself,bobbin up and down menacingly but not going fookin anywhere
.Natural reaction to panic on a bike,scrub some speed off but when I did the boiling baccy hovered just above me belstaff wax proof crutch(remember them?)bollocks to that so I speed up and the feckers sizzlin away right in front of me slightly ajar visor.Well I've had enuff of this bastard by now
nothing for it but to gun the throttle and duck.Which I did!The plug of molten lava hit the bride right in the visor and landed right in front of her crutch,right behind my arse,and proceeded to melt its way into the plastic seat.emergency stop,not easy with 70's brakes jump off and twat the bastard with me helmet.lovely big hole in the seat yeah!Rather unreasonably the bride says"YOU FOOKIN C'NT" "you cuda killed me"note the 'ME' not us.
Happy days,I gave up smoking n ridin after a few more attempts and we won the strike and basil can still be seen puffin on tv occasionally and I don't look like Bryan ferry any more,that bastards still got hair,but I miss them stupid young days.I wonder if I can fit a whisky optic to a screen with double sided tape:Sherlock::ROFL:
Bookmarks