High Wycombe Days

Whilst I lived in High Wycombe I made a friend called Briggy. Briggy was a 40 year old lad, he had a shaved head and worked as an engineer. He’d never married, but had a history of one or two girlfriends and was open about his attraction to women. However, Briggy could often be a little camp; his turnout and his home were always impeccable. He was a guy who was very much in control but also who liked to lose control. He always had a bit of cash and so without any children was able to lead the life he wanted. His passions were photography, sailing and socialising, so he had the best camera and was regularly out and about on the town. Briggy had a detached house and so we often went back to his to continue the parties. Briggy and I also befriended Tin Tin whilst out at the Comedy Club. Tin Tin was a fairly curvy, but pretty sexy black girl with multi-coloured dreadlocks, they were bold, well kept and extremely bright, all the colours of the rainbow. Tin Tin was a recently divorced HGV driver from Aylesbury; she never drank, but would drive over to party in Wycombe, alone until she met us. I’d rented a room at 112 Chapel Lane; it was a giant semi-detached house, and it turned out that Briggy’s place was only 100 metres or so down the road. 112 Chapel Lane was owned by an ex-deep sea diver called Yan. He was a top guy, he liked me from the start, but he liked me even more after a time because the house was empty when I moved in and didn’t remain so for long. We shot some pool with my brother at the local, I paid Yan my deposit and first month’s rent, vowing to help sell the place to any possible tenants he cared to show round. Yan had bought the place with proceeds from his diving days and was by then a painter and decorator with an old Volvo Estate full of paint pots, brushes and rags. Soon enough I’d managed to help fill 112; Chris, a contract computer programmer who loved a drink; James, a salesman at the tobacco factory; Vladj, a Czechoslovakian world champion kick boxer with a gorgeous body; Ashley, a mumsey lesbian rugby playing teacher, and; Caz Cape, a raving lesbian and coke snorter. We made quite a team, and had the best house parties in Wycombe. There were never any issues other than the dishes and occasionally Caz spending her rent on cocaine. Because none of us knew one another before 112, and because we all got on so well, we got to meet each other’s friends and went on marvellous jollies together. I will never forget being completely out drank in Northampton by an all girl rugby team; Ash had dragged me on tour as their mascot! Eventually, John also moved in and took the attic; he had a clapped out Mark 1 Land Rover and a crazy ozzy girlfriend, both the Land Rover and the girlfriend spent most of their time in bits on the driveway. He’d been to public school; she’d been brought up on a hippy commune. Together they did all the festivals and drank homemade cider. Last I heard they moved to Australia and had a son. Last I saw was through a jolly cider haze at the Cider Bus, Glastonbury, 2003. In order to subsidise my terrible trainee solicitors wage I also took a job at Wycombe’s most famous new bands venue, The White Horse. Wycombe was into its rock at the time, and rockers far outnumbered fans of other genres. It was black attire and piercings in the city centre pubs, and head banging all the way at The Horse. I’ve never been amongst a more violent mosh pit before or since. The horse was run by a massive, hard, cockney bruiser called Paul. He looked like he’d made his money smashing heads for 20 years for London gangsters, and then ploughed it all in to a pub to lead a quieter life with his much younger wife. Paul ran the door, the bar and booked the bands. I got in for nothing on band nights, and so did my mates, but the main reason I worked there was so I could ogle the strippers whilst pouring pints on a Saturday morning. At 11:30am on Saturdays the place filled with perverts, as enthusiastic about tits and arse as the kids were for drums and guitars. There were usually three strippers who danced individually and then a floor show. The stench of testosterone was almost sickly, but the birds were gorgeous and I’d heard they shot porn movies upstairs; I never got to take part if they did, but it was certainly an ulterior motive for doing the job. All of this set the stage for a most interesting year and a half. Indeed it was Briggy who lent me the ‘Chaos Theory’ by James Gleick, a defining book for me. My best friend Nicky from school met his match when he came to visit and met Caz, they were peas in a pod, I’ll never forget the pair of them hanging out of a window of the Hob Goblin shouting at the Muslim Procession to enquire if they wanted any bacon sandwiches. Nicky also fell in love with Vlad. I on the other hand had the chance to sleep with Vlad, and her equally gorgeous and sporty friend, I blew it with Vlad because I’d just eaten a load of Marmite and was scared to kiss her, I blew it with her mate because she arrived late to one of our parties, by which time I had two girls on the go, one in my bedroom and one in a tent in the garden. With a girl like Vlad, I guess when you live in the same household, likelihood is, there’s a chance you might be in the right place at the right time, which I was, it’s just I wasn’t in the right condition. The same thing happened with Tin Tin, it was 5am this time, and so once again I wasn’t in the right condition, of course subsequently nothing ever happened when I was ready and raring!