Back in Streatham and it was time for the night out... Veronica was rested and ready for a night on the town and i was running on adrenaline from the caper i had pulled and a trip to Selhurst. Gulfboot and i cleaned ourselves up. I made a couple of cups of strong tea, with milk and sugar of course, rolled another number and sat back and basked in the glow of Veronica. She was beautiful. I'm sure we were probably bordering on annoying the living piss out of people with the fact we couldn't keep our hands off each other but such is the joy of young love or animal lust or whatever one would like to call it. Dressed and ready we made our way out to the lovely South London night air and headed back to what i've now dubbed (after watching The Gentleman and getting a right laugh when i heard it) the posh part of Croydon.
The whole crew was headed to a certain small club the name of which i forget. Large windows and a long bar lit with low lights and candles down the bar. Tables in the front by the windows, a dance floor and toilets in the back. Why mention the toilets? I'll get to that. Lord Taff, who had let me take my allotment of sweeties when we left the pub after the match, was there with Astrid. The Counselor, the Director, Beanie, Gulfboot, myself and Veronica would commandeer a six seated table near the front of the place with a excellent view of the street and the inside of the club. It was relatively early, 9pm or so and i believe the place had just opened, i was still acclimating myself to the strange laws of the pubs and clubs of En-guh-lan, and who could stay open and for how long. We had all downed a sweetie and were now all sitting back and waiting for the sun as i'm apt to say... and the sun would rise soon enough indeed.
As one can probably surmise i've been experimenting with drugs for a long time. A lover of hallucinogens i can honestly say that Ecstasy was never my favorite thing. Acid, shrooms and ganja were my thing though i was never one to turn down quality gear of any sort. In my ill-fated year in grad school i knew a chemist who would supply us with some of the purest MDMA you could find, call it dumb luck as i was the only weed game in town at Podunk U. and someone brought him to score the shit brick weed i was peddling. Needless to say we hit it off and soon my year in exile at Podunk was made manageable by weekends filled with pure MDMA powder and acid tabs. I can say unequivocally that this gear that Lord Taff had scored was the best Ex in pill form i had ever taken. It was rocket ship shit and once lift-off commenced there was no turning back... but who'd really want to?
The club was still relatively mellow as we all hit the fishbowl and came out the other side. The Counselor was off his tits, repeatedly asking if Veronica was my breadknife, Gulfboot was getting completely twisted, Lord Taff was Lord Taff and Astrid and Veronica were chatting merrily away. I took it all in and listened to the music. What a fucking life, i thought, somewhere in South London with my mates and a beautiful woman, pilled to the gills, excellent music, what more could i need? Veronica was wearing a tight black dress and looked absolutely stunning. I sat back and took it all in, she was getting attention from everywhere, the Counselor was smitten, the club was filling up, the conversations were flowing, at one point Veronica pulled me aside and asked if English people were rather forward, she said she'd been propositioned by three men and two women and for a moment i think she saw some worry flicker across my usually undaunted face. She leaned in and kissed me and said "don't worry, come to the bathroom with me." She took my hand and we made for the ladies room.
At the door i stopped and she walked in. A second later she popped her head round and grabbed me, we began to paw each other on the counter where the sinks were, she was lifting up her dress and unbuckling my pants when i felt a rather large hand on my shoulder, i turned around and had to look up to see a large black gentleman, the bouncer, standing there with a look on his face that did not bode well for the Yank. Being 6'4 myself i can only guess he was about 6'7 and i smiled and sheepishly apologized. He stated he didn't know if this is how shit went down in the States (must of clocked my accent didn't he) but that it was not how it went down in his club. Veronica immediately stepped around me and began apologizing profusely saying it wasn't my fault and that she couldn't help herself and that we were having such a good time we lost our head and it wouldn't happen again so please don't kick us out, all our friends are her and it's our first night together in London. The whole time she smiled and stroked his arm and he smiled and said, i'll let it slide, then looked at me and half-sternly, half-joking said, don't let it happen again. No sir, i smiled back and he looked at us and said, let me buy you two a drink, we all smiled, friends now, and headed back out. He bought us drinks and we chatted at the bar for a few minutes, as Veronica drifted back to the table, the bouncer and i shook hands, i smiled and apologized again and told him not to worry and that i'd behave, he looked at me and grinned, you're a right lucky bastard, she's gorgeous.
The night continued as one might expect a night of Ecstasy filled bliss to go. Talking, drinking (both water and booze) dancing, it was one of those nights you never wanted to end. Somewhere around midnight i was talking to Gulfboot about hoping to hear the Stone Roses. He said we should request it and so i went to the DJ booth and asked to hear something. The DJ smiled and said where you from and we talked for a bit, told him i liked what he was spinning but that back in the day in the States i was a club kid, around the time the Roses first hit, i was a fiend for Madchester and was well into the Happy Mondays, the Charlatans, Inspiral Carpets, Primal Scream, fuck i even mentioned The Farm. We had a laugh and then it was back to the table. The night continued on and around 2AM, shortly before they would kick us all to the street, Gulfboot looked at me and said bummer mate, i was hoping you'd get to hear some Roses, still a great night though... and then, as the clock struck two, it happened.
There was a 2-3 year span where i spent a good deal of my time in the "cool kid" clubs of Cleveland. The place where they'd spin all the latest stuff from across the pond, where i'd eat acid or mushrooms, smoke one hitters on the dance floor and dance until they threw us out, depending on the night, between 4 and 6am. I'd usually bring an extra shirt because i'd be soaked from dancing, my non-dancing male friends tended to marvel at how many women i'd meet, i used to tell them girls like guys who dance. So when that familiar drumbeat kicked in and the bass line started Gulfboot and i looked at each other and let out a collective yell that seemed to be joined by most of the people in the club. Suddenly the dance floor was packed and if one ever wanted to know what joy looks like toss some geezers into a club, fill them with high quality E and booze and play I Am the Resurrection sometime around 2am. Fucking liftoff.
The final half hour was a blur of good tunes culminating in a Beatles mash-up to send us out into the cool Croydon air. We grabbed a cab back to the flat, the whole way Veronica whispering all the things we were going to do when we got back. Lucky for me i didn't have to stand up at the moment because it would have harkened back to my adolescence and sitting in school when the uncontrollable erection popped up. Back at the flat Gulf and the Bean Man adjourned to the living room to play tunes and bullshit while Veronica and i headed straight into the bedroom. If the morning session was something akin to "making love" the late night session was "the show". To refresh, the show was a term devised by the Golden Boy and myself back when i was a migrant beach worker. It was basically a description of the effort and care put in when hooking up so that the said lady friend would be well pleased and want to return, call it wild and intense fun and if everything goes well, extremely gratifying for all involved. It was sometime around 5am when i collapsed in a blissful heap next to Veronica and we fell asleep, limbs entwined and smiling.
This day was what one would call a day well lived. It started around 7pm on a Friday night, a session at the pub, then a session back at the flat, a few hours kip, a taxi ride to Gatwick, the rush of delight as she stepped off the plane, the adventure on a train, sex, a fry-up, pre-match pub session, a trip to Selhurst to see the Palace play, post-match pub session, back to the flat, cup-o-tea, wash and change, head to the club, gobble E, dance and drink and chat, almost get tossed out for loo shenanigans, the end of night bliss of the Stone Roses, and then back to the flat for another round in the bedroom. What started at 7pm Friday night ended at 5am Sunday morning, it began with A Midnight Train to Georgia and ended with I Am the Resurrection... and at that point Jesus didn't have shit on me, the King of North Oakland was being born.