Oh Fucing Hell!

Let's get one thing straight from the beginning. I'm not gay. I don't have any trouble accepting gays but I'm not one myself. I thought I'd mention that right now so you don't get the wrong idea about me. My mates who are gay say that I'm gay-friendly. Whatever the fuck that means. Are they saying I'm gay friendly like some web sites are AoL friendly. Or are they saying I'm always on the lookout for gays to make friends with them? Fucked if I know. Anyway I'm not one and that's an end to it.

I work in this small pub just off the Portobello Road in Notting Hill, which for those of you who haven't seen the fucking film, is in London. It's not a bad job, as jobs go, and as I had no work references to show the boss I was happy just to be taken on. One trial session so I could prove I knew the difference between a lager and a fucking beer and I was hired. It wasn't the job that was important to me. What I really needed, and got, was a roof over my head.

Before the pub I was dossing down in this crappy squat run by, "run" that's a fucking laugh for a start, a group of pansy students who reckoned they were studying psychology or computer science or accountancy. Some sort of crap like that. I could never work it out as I never saw them studying anything except the bottom of an empty glass. Anyway to them I was definitely from the wrong side of the tracks and the only reason I was there was because Cyril, my cell mate from Strangeways, was living there and he vouched for me. The only reason he was living there was because his moron of a cousin was one of the students.

So there I was, three weeks of freedom behind me and already bored out of my fucking mind. Dole money was no great shakes. The Law knew I was around and kept stopping me to make a search, though I reckon one had the hots for me, the way his hand would slide casually over my cock area as he pretended to look for something I could be booked on. I had no job, no proper place to live and was surrounded by arseholes who spoke in a language I didn't understand. I knew it was English. But that's about it.

So, one time when Cyril had a day off from his own job; lucky sod knew a porter down at Smithfieds Market who fixed him up a day after he left prison, we went out for a pint together. Well one pint led to two, which gradually slipped into three and then, thank the fucking lucky stars, my money ran out. If I could have afforded it I would have stayed all day getting paralytic. But I couldn't so I didn't. Simple as that. And it was as simple as that that my whole fucking life changed. Cyril had gone to have a piss and when he came back he got all conspiratorial.

"Hey George," he said, "I just heard the guv'nnor here is looking for a barman. Offering accommodation too."

"Yeah?" I replied, "and where did you hear this then?"

"Just now as I came out of the khazi. This bloke was saying to his mates that he'd have to put an ad in the paper again because some cunt who'd been working here, isn't any more. If you get my drift."

I nodded. Yeah, sometimes things fall into your lap. So I went over to the counter and said to the young kid standing there, looking as if he was going to shit his pants at any moment.

"Is the manager around?"

"Yeah I'll get him for you." And off he shot like he'd got a fucking wasps nest down his trousers or something. A second later this fat cove came up to me and asked me what I wanted.

"I hear you got a job going. I'm a barman and I'm looking for work." He was silent for a bit just looking me up and down. "References?" he asked. "No not yet but I'm expecting them any minute now."

"Fuck me I haven't got time to wait for a whole fucking minute. Come in tonight, do a trial session, and we'll take it from there."

"OK" I said and off he went.

I fucking liked him. He was my fucking sort of bloke.

That night I swung through the work without even breaking out in a sweat, got the job and moved my gear round the following day.

I sort of fell into a routine after that. The work was easy enough, I had a fair to middling room and I had a whole day off on Sundays when the guv'nor's bitch of a wife came downstairs and did her once a week stint behind the bar. What made me feel good was the rustle of notes in my pocket after I'd been paid. Yeah life was beginning to look fucking sweet.

Then I ran into Wilfred "Psycho" Sykes. I suppose a name like Wilfred would make most people feel a bit odd but when you're well over six feet tall and built like the proverbial shite house door, and with the intelligence of a fucking orang-u-tang , it's going to make you kind of mental, And that's what Psycho was. Mental. I don't know what he was put away for, nobody told me inside and I wasn't going to fucking ask, but I reckon it was for something pretty heavy the way everyone did their best to keep out of his way. But no matter how hard I'd tried to make myself invisible there was fucking Psycho making me his best buddy. I mean life was a fucking cunt inside anyway without having the added benefit of having "Psycho" as a mate.

But you play with the cards you're dealt with or some shit like that and I settled down to make the best of it. After I'd got used to the smell, Psycho had this farting problem, and the stupid jokes and being punched on the arm every two minutes which he thought was a sign of friendship, I got used to it. And there was the added bonus of being left alone by the others. Nobody was going to touch me with him around.

Anyway there I was walking along near Paddington Station when suddenly I was lifted high in the air by two massive arms that had grabbed me around the waist from behind. Only one man I knew was that big.

"Hello Wilf," I said as he put me back down,

"George my man!" he roared back, "what's been happening?"

So for the next ten minutes I stood there looking up at this man mountain telling him roughly what had happened to me since we'd last met. Which, considering he'd been released six fucking months before me and I'd only been out for three weeks there wasn't much to fucking tell. But with Psycho you don't just walk away when there's nothing else to say, you do whatever he fucking wants. And that's why I found myself walking into this boozer just off Norfolk Place to meet up with his uncle and aunt for a drink.

Well as I've already told you, I'm not anti-gay, but these two relatives of Psychos took a bit of fucking beating, even for me. Yeah Uncle and Aunt. Right. Well it only took a two-second gander at the "Aunt" to see that 'she' was a he. Some worn out decrepit old queen who'd been around for more fucking years than I'll ever see in my lifetime. Make up put on with a trowel and with a fondness for lavender. Everything was fucking lavender. The hair was dyed lavender, the masquara was lavender, the powder on those sagging old cheeks was lavender and the smell, oh for chissake sakes the smell was the most lavenderish of all. It clung to my fucking nostrils when I was still twenty feet away, walking towards them, escorted by Psycho, with my hand outstretched in greeting and with a fixed grin on my face and I'm fucking sure a glazed look in my fucking eyes.

Well we sat down, with me choosing the upwind direction from the old queen, whilst Psycho's uncle went and got them in. I'd ordered a pint along with Psycho, but these two faggots sat there sipping a couple of fruit filled cocktails from cocktail glasses through straws so fucking daintily you would have thought they were sitting outside some fucking bar on the Cote d'Azure. Not fucking huddled around an old stained wooden table in a fucking back street boozer in Paddington.

So we got talking. The bloke, Psycho's uncle was alright. A bit frayed around the edges and dressed in a stained pinstriped suit. All in all I could put up with him. He had some great fucking jokes to tell and his stories made me piss myself laughing more than fucking once. But the queen. I had to avoid 'her' at all costs. Don't get me wrong. It wasn't 'her' so fucking much. It was the fucking smell.

Anyway we had more drinks, then some more and then some more on top of the more. I was so fucking happy I had some money to spend that even Psycho felt like he really was some old pal from the Nick. His uncle was in top form and kept us well entertained and after a while I could even bear to look at the 'aunt' with a bit of drunken fondness. The afternoon drifted on and though we were well pissed the bar staff weren't going to stop serving us. Not with Psycho sitting there looking as though Christmas had come early.

Then some cunting idiot in a group near the counter made a fucking remark. I only heard part of it but it involved faggots, arseholes and fucktards. That's all I heard. But Psycho must have had sharper ears than me because he carefully raised himself to his feet and started to take a slow, ponderous walk towards the bar. Big as he was he had still put away some ale and it took all he had to put one foot in front of the other. I fucking swear it was like one of those horror movies where no matter how fast the victim runs the slow walking monster always catches up. I was busy looking through bleary eyes at Psycho's feet waiting for him to fall over and I heard his 'aunt' somewhere in the background screaming, "Wilfred! Wilfred! Don't you go over there. Come back here!" Yeah, as if he was going to take any fucking notice of that. When, I couldn't help it. I started fucking laughing. Out fucking loud. It could've been anything that triggered me off but I think it was hearing the old queen shrieking out "Wilfred" at a guy as big as fucking Psycho expecting him just to turn around and come back. I vaguely saw the group at the bar frozen to the ground as Psycho's shadow fell over them. And I vaguely saw that massive fist go through one of the terror struck faces, before I laughed so fucking much I had to breathe in deeply to get my breath back. That's when the fucking smell of lavender hit me like a brick. I bent over and threw up all over the fucking carpet. Then I passed out.

After that, I don't know. Didn't remember a thing your worship. All I knew was that I woke up in a dark room that smelt musty. I raised my head and with a small groan quickly put it back down again. I must have drifted for a bit because the next time I woke up there was enough light coming through an old sashcord window for me to see where I was. Not that it mattered where I was, I just wanted a fucking piss. Slowly I got up from the armchair I'd slept in and made my way to the door I could see in the dim light.

It seemed to be an apartment because when I opened the door I couldn't see any stairs. Just a long corridor with two or three rooms running off it. I tried a few as I reached them and finally hit lucky and found the bathroom. Never had a piss felt so good.

After that I could take a bit more interest in my surroundings and thought I heard a muffled noise coming from behind one of the doors I hadn't reached before I got to the bathroom. OK blame the drink, or just say I was a fucking fool to do what I did, but without thinking I opened the door and walked right in. Without a by your fucking leave. Then I sobered up.

There was the queen, on 'her' hands and knees on a big, big bed being fucked up the arsehole by Psycho's uncle whilst Psycho himself dressed in some fucking stupid nappy with a gap in the front had his thick, long cock halfway down his uncle's throat. The tableau froze and was forever burnt into my brain, like an image captured on your eyeball from a flash camera. The queen gave a little scream and fell forward. 'Her' live in lover, or whoever he fucking was, jerked away from Psycho's cock, which left his mouth wide open in a parody of a blow up doll, and Psycho himself fell backwards off the fucking bed to land with a floor shaking impact.

For a moment no one moved. Then I turned on my heels and got the fuck out of there as fast as I could. I for one wasn't going to face up to Psycho when he picked himself up from the floor.

In the street I got a taxi and in twenty minutes had let myself into the pub where I worked and crashed onto the fucking bed in my room. I couldn't fucking sleep though. Not with that image of Psycho dressed in a huge nappy deep throating his uncle. The queen and Psycho's uncle I had no bother with. As I said my gay friends call me gay friendly and though I'd never seen any of them at it before it doesn't take much fucking imagination to guess what they get up to. But Psycho for chrissakes. That I found hard to swallow. So to speak.

I dozed on and off for a bit and then remembered I had to be behind the bar by ten o'clock.

I made it just in time.

For a few days I could hardly think of anything else. But as they say time is a great fucking healer and after a couple of weeks I'd pushed the whole thing to the back of my mind. Life was getting even better. I met Lynne when I went round to see Cyril one day at the squat. She was one of the arsehole student's sister and the three of us went out for a drink. Lynne and me started going out on a regular basis. And the first time we fucked it was like I'd died and gone to heaven. She could suck my cock like no other girl had sucked my cock before. And when I came in her mouth, spurting time and time again she would swallow the lot and then raise her full breasted body up the bed so that we were level and we'd both drift off to sleep in each other's arms. Yeah the future looked fucking rosy.

Then one wet Sunday afternoon, when I was doing an extra shift, Wilfred and his uncle walked through the pub door.

I didn't exactly get frozen to the fucking spot but my heart wouldn't keep still in my chest. I thought everyone could see it jumping around inside me. They appoached the counter and Psycho's uncle said to me in a low voice, "Hello George, can we talk to you for a minute?"

I looked at the big round clock hanging on the wall and said, "Two minutes. I get my break in two minutes. What're you having and I'll come across when I'm relieved." They bought two halves of lager and went to sit at a table by the window. Lucky it was raining. The pub was almost empty. When the boss's cow of a wife came down for her weekly session I opened a bottle of Light Ale and went over to join them.

I was wary. Too fucking right I was. Sitting at the same table as Psycho is not always a good fucking idea but sitting at the same table as Psycho knowing what I knew was definitely bad fucking news.

Without any preliminaries Psycho's uncle said, "Julian died last week." My confusion must've shown on my face because then he went on. "Julian. Wilfred's auntie"

God. I groaned to myself, what the fuck's going on here?

"We've come to see you to explain."

"Look, I don't want to have any fucki…" I stopped short as Psycho placed a massive hand on my arm and pinned it to the table.

"Maybe you don't want to hear an explanation. But we want to give you one. It's like a cleansing of the soul. And it's for Julian. So that you won't feel to badly about us."

"I don't feel…" a slight pressure on my arm and I shut the fuck up.

"When Julian and myself were young we knew we were attracted to each other. Well you can't really hide your true feelings can you? But in those days we not only risked the wrath of God," he smiled slightly, "or so the Church told us but we also risked the full force of the law. To be a homosexual back then was a criminal act and you went to prison for it. We hid it from the rest of the world as much as we could of course and it was quite common for young men to share apartments together. Nothing was thought of it. If homosexuality was thought about at all in the public's mind, it was relegated to the public toilet or the park bushes. Nothing that normal, decent people would ever dare contemplate.

Julian and myself set up home together in the mid 1950s up in Hampstead and for a long time we had a good life. Rumours spread around a bit, but that was our own fault. No matter how hard you try you can't stop yourself from a small touch or a more than casual leaning towards each other when you're having a conversation. It's love you see George."

I opened my mouth to say something but another squeeze from Psycho made me shut it fucking quick.

"During the 60's things relaxed quite a bit. Danny la Rue, he was a drag act George but you'd be too young to remember him, became a very famous stage act, appearing in the West End and even in front of the Queen at the Royal Variety Performance show." He must have seen my small smile at the mention of the Queen, because he gave a small smile back. "Oh yes George all we queers saw the funny side of the Queen of the West End appearing before the Queen of England but you see things were getting better all the time. Even the Laws were changed. Not much, but enough to make the future look hopeful."

I knew most of this, my gay mates had told me the whole fucking history of the gay movement but with Psycho's hand getting very heavy on my arm it was better to let him talk and get it over with as quickly as possible.

"I suppose it was because of the success of Danny la Rue and others like him that other homosexuals saw a way to express themselves in public without making themselves a target for people's contempt and even hatred. Yes George although things were getting better a lot of people still hated us. Julian was one of those who took to wearing women's clothes in public and managed to put together a drag act and performed in pubs and small theatres outside the centre. He had always been the feminine side of our relationship and now he could almost flaunt it without too much concern."

He took another sip of beer.

"Don't worry George. I've nearly finished and I want Julian to hear this, wherever he may be, as much as you. As I said it's a cleansing. Sometime in the 1970's we met Wilfred here. He had taken to appearing at Julian's shows so often and he was so big that he couldn't be missed. So we became friendly and when we found out he was alone in the world and that he had suppressed his homosexuality for so long, it only seemed natural that he move in with us. They were good times weren't they Wilf?"

I looked at Psycho who was looking down at the table nodding. And I fucking swear I saw tears rolling down his cheeks. I looked away quickly.

"Well then the queer bashing started, and the queer burning, when a few poor gays were set alight and burnt alive. It hit the headlines alright. There was enough of it happening for it not to be ignored. But the police never caught anyone, no one was brought to trial and nobody cared. You see George in people's eyes we were still queers. Living in Hampstead as we did we felt especially vulnerable. Most of the attacks were happening on the Heath, which started not fifty yards from our apartment.

Then one evening I was just walking up to our front door, I even had my keys out to unlock it, that's how close to home I was, when I was attacked myself. I don't remember anything really except the massive blow on the back of my head and choking on the petrol and fumes as it was poured all over me. I have a vague memory of someone screaming in terrible agony and a bright light through which I could see what looked like arms and legs thrashing around. But that's all. The next thing I knew I woke up in hospital.

I was unharmed but Wilfred here suffered the most. He caught them you see, just as they were about to set fire to me. He got hold of one of them, poured petrol over him and threw a lit match at him. That was the screaming I had heard. Wilf was sent to Strangeways Prison for twenty five tears, where you met him, but was released on review of his case after fourteen."

He paused and looked vaguely into the middle distance. Psycho was openly sobbing now, not even bothering to hide his tears with his hand, It was only then, with a small start, that I realised I was no longer pinned to the table.