60 years old and still not grown up
I have never had birthday parties or encouraged anyone to celebrate my birthday. Often when in new towns, new jobs or places I chose not to mention that it was my birthday. The numerical significance never really mattered to me. I drank underage. Drove cars underage. Lost my virginity at the worryingly young age of 13. I didn't know what I was doing and I had sex done to me. I was fully compliant and wanted it but I hadn't a clue what to do. I can still recall the incredible transcendence of being touched and I am so grateful to the beautiful girl, and she was the most beautiful girl in our school and consequently had prior experience though she claimed to have been a virgin too and I really don't care. Her experience was what enabled us to engage. Once our relationship was a sexual one things changed a bit. I wanted it all the time, her less so. And once it was over I was hurt. I did some weird stuff to express my pain. Shaved an eyebrow off. Got a new girlfriend just to show I was still attractive but I wasn't really ready for someone new. I was blessed to have had that experience. My friends didn't have girlfriends or sex for a few years yet. My mother dying and the break down of my family meant I could do anything. My dad was in the pub all the time when not at work, drinking away his pain. Our house became like a squat. Windows would get broken by air rifle games and these were never fixed. My bed was right next to a broken window and in the winter it was fucking freezing. The electric bill was often not paid and there'd be periods where we cooked on an open fire. The idea that in a sooty environment you might produce acceptable homework was never considered. Consequently I went from being first or second in tests to not bothering. I grew my hair. No clothes were bought for us so I improvised by charity shop purchases and washing line thefts. In today's world we would have been taken into care. The fact that this never happened I am extremely grateful for. I could do anything. Stay away for weeks at a time with older friends who had flats. There was a counter culture that included punks, hippies, bikers and we became a hybrid of all these and were referred to as freaks. I took the usual path of the ones who learn early that your perfect suburban family and hopes and dreams is easily disrupted. If my mother had have lived my life would have been completely different. We had everything. Christmas with a tree and presents. A holiday together in the summer by the sea. My mother was the glue of the family. She tamed my dad who was intelligent and had a mind that was different to any other. He worked to bring home the money. But the pub was always calling. My mother was able to keep him on track. But she got cancer. First they cut her breast off. Then the other. Over three years they cut her to pieces and she was in hospital for most of this time. My brother and sister were closer to my dad while I was like my dad. I was a mummy's boy. So we were wild from when I was nine and she died when I was eleven. I took the usual path; smoking at 11, cannabis at 13, acid and mushrooms at 14, speed at 15. I never drank back then. The messy state my dad was getting in going through his own private hell put me off. There was a counter culture that doesn't really exist anymore. The squat scene, whole foods, environmental concern, anti racism, a world of amazing music to explore, the free festivals, new age travelers, support for the striking miners, an empathy for the IRA, a hatred of the changes Margaret Thatcher brought in, countless other things that wove into the blanket that was the counter culture. Despite the poverty the close ties we had with each other meant free festivals had free food places. Hearty vegetable stew meant no one went hungry. The deep feelings of hatred for the Thatcher dream brought out incredible creativity. Herein lies the reason old school travelers despise Michael Eavis. He knew that a gathering of the buses, benders and vans. The culture was used to attract the wider public. Until the late 90s the security were local and travelers and the drugs and music they brought were allowed in basically for free. Stonehenge was the real solstice festival. I went in 81, 82, 83, 84. Over those years it had grown and changed. Given there were no toilets and 30 to 40000 people, no police, it's surprising that it managed a self sufficiency but by 82 you could see it was going to change. Back then there was a rule that no coppers came on site but they could bust people outside the gate. They broke the rule and arrested someone just inside the site. Word got round and an army of angry travellers and hells angels went down to the portacabin which was their headquarters. I was there and watched as the angry people began to rock the portacabin from side to side. The coppers inside were terrified. A man tried to photograph the event but his camera was ripped from his hands and smashed on the floor. This was a serious crime and photographic evidence would have put people in prison. It was hilarious. Finally the terrified coppers made a break for it and ran to their cars. I knew then that there would be a payback one day. You can beat the police in a battle but they will always win the war. It would be a couple of years later that they smashed the shit out of the convoy. Further violence at hostel priory saw the convoy battered. Laws were passed that stopped the assembly of vehicles and people. There was even some law about music with repetitive beats. The variety of psychedelic festival bands had slowly been replaced by techno. Spiral Tribe spoilt it for me though many are fond of them and you have to admire their bravery for setting up when faced with violent police. The more green hippy types mostly left for Spain and Portugal. The remaining traveller scene was and is much harder. The drugs got harder. The greener types were now in Spain and Portugal where the laws about living in a van are more sympathetic. So to the reason I'm writing this piece. The various groups settled in various places and some continued to move around when the mood took them. But the line that came through vegetarianism, whole foods and self sufficiency settled and became communal places where they worked the land or made hand crafted objects to be sold at festivals. It is to such a place that I am headed soon. It is an area of Portugal that I've never been to. Back when I was in my early 20s I had a market stall with a friend I'm still close to today. We used to buy stuff from jumble sales and sell it on Leeds flea market. I had a good line in singer and jones sowing machines which were being thrown out in the late 80s as cheap clothes became more available. These machines were beautiful and I had a couple of Dutch and German customers who couldn't get enough. One day when we were bored we decided to have a sale and get a chunk of money together. Back then there were bucket shops where you could buy cheap flights. I think we paid about £37 for 72 nights. That's another story but the part of Portugal I'm heading for is way off the beaten track.
Oh yeah! I turn 60 this week. I never thought I'd live this long the way I behaved over the years. But it's the first time I've felt that it's a mile stone. I'm done now. Retired. No more fighting and if I make anything it's going to be something I believe in. Though I ran a business designing and making decent furniture I never really got the chance to make what I wanted to. I look back on the things I made as a student and then I look at the stuff I made because someone rich wanted it. I did this for 25 years or so before deciding I'd had enough. I tried working for someone else and though I liked the guy I wasn't happy. We set up his workshop together, worked out how to make the stuff for a reasonable price. But after that it became repeat repeat repeat. I was not well so I packed it in and now I'm 60 I feel able to proudly say 'I'm retired now'. Let's see what the 60s bring. Pain if anything I have noticed speaks. Good night.
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