Amphetamine Sulphate

Otherwise known in the early 80’s as ‘Speed’, ‘Billy’ or ‘Whizz’, Amphetamine Sulphate was (and no doubt still is) the poorer cousin of Cocaine in the drugs family tree. With a wrap going for $2.50 at the time, it was as cheap as a couple of pints, certainly lasted longer and was an ideal accompaniment to a night out at ‘The Jazz Rooms’, ‘Cotton Club’ or ‘Ziggys’. Either snorted or taken as a timebomb (a line wrapped in a Rizla and swallowed) the sharp tang made the bristles on the back of one's head stand on end, apparently!

The pleasant rush, kept the feet dancing, the mind racing, the lips chewing and the heart pumping long though the night. Also it was an interesting literary stimulant, speed reading in particular was a very challenging business. In fact the only real downside was a rather melancholic comedown and a rampant sex drive with diminished responsiveness.

Nice to see that some things never change!

British Rail Toast

To be honest, I missed BR toast even when I was living in London. Because for the last few year the only food available on trains has been an 'edamame granary bap with honey drenched quails eggs and steam fried rocket and parmesan dressing'.

That being said, my memories of the perfect round of toast still remain. The toast had become an integral part of the going to London ritual. If it was for a Chelsea game, we'd meet at Eastbourne station at ten to nine and have blagged the 'not really first class' single six-seater compartment, before making our way to the buffet car. For some reason, still unclear even after all this time, the buffet wouldn't open until we'd departed Polegate (waving to Roly the incredibly rotund guard as we departed).

The shutters would open up and we'd all proceed to order, "four cans of Special Brew and four rounds of toast please" much to the obvious annoyance of the buffet steward. You see the problem was that toast took a long time to serve and as soon as the smell wafted down the carriage everyone wanted it. In fact for the last few years they didn't even put it on the menu! It became even more of a secret ritual for the chosen ones.

Once the toast was ready, normally by about Lewes, it was served without a flourish but with the tiniest serviette and we'd return to our compartment and stare in wonder at the piping hot lakes of butter that sat bubbling on the perfectly toasted (and never, ever burnt) thick white slices. After taking the first sip of brew, we'd proceed to demolish the toast with unadulterated joy.

It was then and still remains the finest toast ever made.

When BR was broken up and sold off to Network SouthEast it was one of the first things to go. Sadly but unsurprisingly Roly was next to be shown the door - a rather wide door in his case actually! However, occasionally when boarding the late train from Victoria, we would wander into the buffet, recognise the older style compartment that had yet to be refitted and have the grill removed and nod to each other in complete agreement. Our eyes would meet the Steward's and he would acquiesce gracefully to our simple question:
"Don't suppose you still do Toast, do you?"
"Not really supposed to lads, but if you just give me 5 minutes..."

The sound of church bells in the city

When we were on the dole back in Eastbourne, the bells, the bloody bells used to ruin our precious sunday mornings.

However, once I moved to London I started to enjoy the occasional peal in the heart of the city. Their gentle calling reminded me of my grandparents, even though they were not church-goers particularly. And now when I hear them in British films it reminds me of them and of London and a cool morning mist rolling in off the Thames.

Scritti Politti putting their album release date back

Having been a long-time admirer of the works of Mr Green Gartside, from Skank Bloc Bologna onwards in fact. I always used to love the frequent sightings in the music press of news of the latest release from pop's post-modern master of deconstruction. The date would be logged away and as it approached I would build myself for the inevitable rejection at the hands of the record shop assistant.

A sample conversation would go something like this;
"Hi, have you got the new Scritti Politti album?"
"Nah, the release has been delayed, record company don't know when it's coming out"
"Ok, thanks"

Now of course, being firmly entrenched down under, no point in asking the record assistant a) because they won't know what I'm talking about and b) I can get disappointed online. Green had promised a flurry of activity for 2008 after the joyous success of 'White Bread, Black Beer' and as of today, nothing, nish, nada!

Oh, I do miss Old England!

Welcome to the things I miss about England

This isn't suppose to be a maudlin trawl across the wasteland of my memories, although I can't guarantee it won't be. It just occurred to me that instead of wasting my lunch breaks thinking of things I miss about England that I should write them down. So, that's just what I'll do!

Please feel free to comment or ignore as you wish!