THE MEDUSA’S HEAD
I can remember the first time I realised that it wasn’t just men in this world who are fucking scum bags, women are fucking apes too. It’s rooted deep into their DNA.
I had read an article in a magazine which summed up what I had suspected all along. The article explained a basic truth; women deep down want to produce children. They want to produce children with men that can give the child strong genes. The man for the job is what we all know as typical bad boy. The article explained that women cannot resist a bad boy. He gives her everything she requires; good sex, physical protection and a thrill of living on the edge. There is one thing he cannot provide; a steady upbringing for the child he furnishes her womb with. The bad boy is prone to violence and is very promiscuous. He could end up dead or quite simply will not want to be bothered with raising a child as he is too busy having sex with other women. So what does our mother do?
Enter the normal Joe. She is not interested in his weak, under developed genes. No. But she is interested in his neutering instincts and his ability to give her a stable home and income. So in other words, the bastard makes the baby, the geek raises it.
The article had said how millions of children over the years had been raised by men who had no idea that their offspring were in fact, not theirs at all. Reading this piece of writing left its mark. I thought deeply about what I had read. I was left with a conclusion: Mother Nature can be as cruel as it is kind. You must stay one step ahead. The article made shocking reading. Later in life, it turned out to be true.
Like anybody growing up in this modern world, secondary school coincided with puberty. My sexual awakenings happened at time when I was beginning to understand how the world worked through the social politics of my fellow school pupils. It all comes down to the partnership of sex and hierarchy, a nasty cocktail that must be swallowed on the bleak introduction to adulthood.
There was always the unattainable dream. Always in the form of a beautiful girl who you wanted but you knew deep down you could never have.
Martina was one such girl. She was gorgeous and had a string of admirers. She was a year above me at school and had the status of a minor celebrity. I would watch her stroll through the gates in a long summer dress with her friends, flanked by a load of male bullies.
I have so many memories. Hazy memories, dark memories, memories of the bullies getting laid. Memories of how the modern world is unfair, realisation you must take matters into your own hands in life.
My mate Jimmy Brooks was a harmless fucker. We both worked at Diamonds and got on like a house on fire. He brightened up my dull days no end. He was lanky with big feet and had an unruly mop of sandy hair. I would often meet up with him on the weekends to go drinking. I would call him 'The bull in the China shop' because of the mayhem that would ensue when he'd had a few drinks. If there
was a table to be knocked over, a vase to be smashed, you could guarantee Jimmy was the culprit. His grovelling apologies were heart-warming and funny. I remember the time we gate crashed a party in Kensington. It was all fine until Jimmy walked into a room with a flashing strobe light and knocked over a bin full of cold water and bottles of beer. I can remember the host screaming 'MY CARPET! MY CARPET! MY FUCKING CARPET!' as we ran out of the house laughing. Another time Jimmy was playing jokes on unsuspecting motorists by jumping out in front of their cars and making them slam their breaks on and stop. As the driver was cursing and shouting, Jimmy would start doing the silly walk from the Genesis music video 'I can't dance' and singing the song.
I CAN'T DANCE-I CAN'T TALK-ONLY THING ABOUT ME THE WAY I WALK.
I couldn’t stop laughing. I would laugh so much I couldn't breathe. One day it backfired. The car didn't stop. Poor Jimmy went sliding down the road and then leapt up like a jack in the box. He was jumping around on his feet like a drunken kangaroo.
'MY BACK!!! MY BACK!!'
The old Indian man in the car got out looking shocked.
'He's a very silly boy! Why did he run out in front of the car?! I couldn’t see him. He appeared from nowhere.'
I was laughing so much that tears were rolling down my cheeks.
'Call a fucking ambulance Jason. Stop laughing you cunt!' Jimmy said wincing in pain. Even when he being stretchered off, he gave me a weak thumbs up, his big feet sticking out from under the red blanket. He called me a couple of months later to say he was no longer on crutches and wanted a few pints.
We both met up in The Good Times bar just off Kilburn and were laying the smackdown on our Kronenburgs. We would always take it too far on nights out. This was due to our mutual love for getting smashed out of our heads and partying. The Good Times bar was strangely empty for a Friday evening. The cheesy house music was droning away on the wretched sound system and the big television screen in the corner was playing an old Italian football match from nineteen ninety six.
'It’s like a fucking morgue in here.' Jimmy sniggered, his eyes scanning around the empty bar.
'Yeah, weird, this place is usually jumping on Fridays.' I said, catching my voice rebounding around the walls of the empty bar.
'How’s the love life then Jason and the Argonauts?'
'Fucking rubbish,' I replied, irked at being reminded.
'You’re proper crap at getting laid, ain'tcha?' Jimmy said, chiding me.
'I don't see many birds hanging around you mate.' I replied, raising my eyebrows theatrically for good measure.
'No I suppose your right. I tell you what,' he said, finishing his pint. 'Let’s have another brew and we'll go on the hunt for some skirt.’
I didn't much care about skirt that evening. I was more interested in getting tanked up.
'OK, then Don Juan. You can lead way. But first can you do one thing for me,' I said looking