"The Bus Driver's Knee" (part four)

I am the one that waits by the end of your bed whilst you sleep. I wait until you notice me standing there in all my grotesque beauty! I shall wait forever for you!



"Part Four"




As I stepped out from the hot but glorious cabin of Rob's boat, I noticed Beechams look up from his silent, sun induced sleep and turn around to see us.

I thought Rob said his dog was deaf? I said to Neil.

He is deaf, he can feel us through the vibrations of us walking on the deck, said Neil as we walked side by side to the shop. It is only about one minutes walk away. All the people that own boats in the marina shop there. We passed their very nice looking boats along the way, but none as cool as Robs boat.
After jokingly looking at all the beers and spirits on sale we opted for several cans of Shandy Bass "British style lemonade mixed with the world renowned Bass Beer" it said on the side of the can. The fridge they came from was very cold and hummed steadily like a little twin prop plane a mile up in the sky at three in the morning. Along with the shandy, we also grabbed a couple of packets of Wine Gums. On our way to the cashier I took a quick look up at the top shelf of the magazine section. The dirty mags displayed there looked promising, like a bottomless bag of sweets or a big box of colourful fireworks. I thought how much I would like a pile of those under my bed for later on when I was alone. The one thousand butterflies in my tummy felt as though they were all holding hands and kissing. Erections came and went like the 281 bus in those days! It didn't take much either. The sound of a womans high heel shoes clicking along the pavement and I was there peeping through the curtains to see. The underwear section in my mum's catalogue was my favourite section, not the bikes nor the toys.

Neil soon dragged me away from the magazines and we made our way to the man behind the till. He was Indian and wore a turban on his head. After we bought our stuff we made a b-line for the exit thinking that we had just bought real alcoholic drinks. In fact, it had only 0.05% alcohol in it but that didn't stop us from gulping the stuff down with great speed, as funny as it seems we really honestly began to feel more and more drunk by the second. It was a great feeling as we ran back, frothy shandy spilling down our suntanned knuckles and down onto the sun scorched concrete of the ground. We skipped back like a couple of little girls, burping like mad and enjoying every second of it.

But before we made our way back to Robs, we went for a little walk to Radnor Gardens which was right by the shop. It is a kind of fenced grassy area wedged between the main road and the River Thames, used mostly for fishing, taking your dog to shit and where old people could play lawn bowls and get bitten by red ants! There was also a playground for kids and a sort of old concrete gazebo thing where heroin addicts would go to eat their sweets.
Also in one overgrown and well hidden corner, by the road, was a man-hole cover where, if you lifted it up and crawled down inside, you could creep along the pitch black tunnels that stretched under the main road to Twickenham and Popes Grotto. We had been down there before with only a box of matches and an old newspaper for light and only had the courage to get to the first corner after spotting a strange man hiding down there in the dark, before running back the way we came at record speed and scrambling back out of the hole back into the safety of daylight. We scared each other even more by convincing ourselves that he wasn't a man at all, nor even human, who would wait for small vulnerable but ultra curious children to walk into his lair where he would grab you, undress you and cover your mouth with a strip of smelly, dirty old rag and then hang you up on rusty old meat hooks that were screwed into the dark damp walls of the tunnel like trophies. Sometimes he would sit you up by his side whilst he held a match close to your naked trembling body and stare at you! And when he'd finished with you he would cut you up into tiny little bits and at midnight would climb out of his hole and feed you to the ducks in the Thames! We didn't go in there too many times!
As we walked along the foot path right next to the rivers edge, we came across a fisherman sat by the steep sided bank. The concentration smeared across his face was almost as still as the float that was attached to the end of his line. He jumped and quickly looked around at us, almost breaking his neck as Neil said to him, Oi mister! Caught anything good?
No, not yet!, said the fisherman, as he looked back at his dead still, bright orange tipped float. Just a maggot. he sarcastically went on to say.
Alright Grandad, keep your fucking hair on! Neil burped back as he grabbed me by the arm and said Come on! lets leave the old bugger to play with his maggots.

With our bellies full of shandy and our gobs stuffed with Wine Gums we bloatedly walked back to the magnificent torpedo boat.





Jason








(C) JPT 2008

"The Bus Driver's Knee" (part three)

All action takes place, so to speak, in a kind of twilight, which like a fog or moonlight, often tends to make things seem grotesque and larger than they really are.





"Part Three"


Was this torpedo boat in the war? I asked, as I tried to look past the bus driver and into the kitchen to see where Neil had got to, but found myself strangely drawn to his eyes.
Oh yes Jason, it most certainly was, he said smiling. Although there are no torpedoes on her anymore. I still use her to sail across to the French coast and pick up cheap alcohol on occasion.
I didn't know whether he was smiling about the trips to France or maybe because he was pleased to have two young boys inside his spectacular boat? But he didn't take his eyes off me the whole time. I could see the tiny red veins inside the yellowing whites of his eyes, we were that close to each other. I imagined he was a smoker, although I could see no ashtrays or smell anything.
I knew all too well the signs of a smoker as my dad smoked and although he didn't seem to have yellowing eyes like Rob, he did have dark brown stains on the fingers of his left hand. As he held his roll-ups the grey white smoke would seep out in a steady stream and pass over the skin of his fingers and eventually turn them brown. They reminded me of burnt sausages!
Wow! I said while trying to step back a little. France is miles away, I thought. Although nothing was physically stopping me, I couldn't move an inch and breathing a silent sigh of relief as I saw Neil come back in from the kitchen holding a single cup of tea. I could see the steam rising up from the top of the cup. He handed it to his friend Rob and then asked him where his partner was.
Oh, yes, he isn't here at the moment. It's just the three of us and Beechams, He is on the buses all afternoon. he said.
Beechams was the name of his deaf Dalmatian dog who was lying outside on the deck of the boat enjoying the wonderful sunshine.
As Rob took hold of the boiling hot drink around the thin china sides of the liquid heavy cup he grimaced from the pain he felt from the intense heat and rapidly grabbed the handle that Neil had let go of. I noticed the hand that had been burned was down by his side, his fingers rubbing against each other to calm the pain.
MMmmm, Lovely cuppa Neil, as always. Aren't you and Jason going to have one? he said, looking at me as he supped the hot brown liquid.
I looked at Neil to see what he was going to say. I certainly didn't want a hot drink. A cup of tea on a hot summers day is just mental, I thought! I knew Neil pretty well and reckoned on him not wanting one either. I looked at Rob to make sure he had looked away before looking at Neil again and nodding towards outside, whilst pretend wiping sweat from my forehead and blowing air up the front of my face. I was hot, but I wasn't sweating. Neil used to sweat quite a lot in those days. I often wondered when I would sweat like that. Although he was just a year older than me, I saw him as a Man and was in awe of his ability to be able to produce such manly things as spunk and sweat. He even had pubic hair around his cock!

No thanks Rob, said Neil. We fancy a cold drink actually. I don't see any in the fridge...

Before Neil could finish, Rob had set down his steaming cuppa on the side and had his wallet in his hand. He was leafing through his money.

Hey! Why don't you guys pop around to the shops and get yourselves whatever you want? Said Rob as he eventually handed us a brand new crisp ten pound note. He handed it to Neil, who said thank you and stuffed it into his pocket without even looking at it. I hadn't seen too many ten pound notes in my life. Just the ones that I would occasionally see my Mum and Dad handle in doors. None of them as brand new as this one. The ones I had seen before were normally very tatty and covered in numbers written in biro and felt tip pen. I wished how much I had been handed the note. I would probably have made a fool of myself by just staring at it and feeling it, taking in that strange but rather enticing smell too! I would try and get to hold it once we were outside and on our way to the tiny row of shops by the entrance to the marina.

Thanks Rob, we'll just pop down to the shops then, we won't be long.




Jason








(C) JPT 2008

"The Bus Driver's Knee" (part two)

Slowly, I turn to stone and set upon you as a long lost anchor might in the sands of our vast empty oceans. My face is a blur as I encase you with my Love and never ever let you go!





"Part Two"


This is Rob, The owner of this fine looking boat, said Neil.


The boat was indeed a fine boat! All shiny, where there was brass. And beautiful bright paint that covered the rest of her. Well hidden from the river Thames proper. One couldn't see her if you were to find yourself passing by on a leisure boat or maybe if you were taking a stroll along the tow-path across the other side of the river.

I just looked at the ground and went all shy. I was a very shy person and would always look at the ground when confronted with new people. When I was very young and my Mum had visitors in the house, they would think there was something wrong with me! Why doesn't he talk? Can he talk? What does he do there hidden away between the wall and the sofa?
I couldn't move. If I moved so much as an inch then my presence would be detected and my cover would be blown! I would then have to say hello or even worse sit on someones lap or have my cheek squeezed or god forbid, kissed! I was good at keeping still. I don't need a solid wall to Hide behind.
In fact, I would on occasion go back to my hiding place there behind the sofa when I was all alone and play with matches! I used to Love playing with fire! I still do.

This was a man who I admired already though! He was the owner of an actual WW2 torpedo boat and to top it all off, he was a fucking bus driver too! I have caught a few buses in my pre-car years and I would either be found up stairs on the top deck, right at the front sitting right over where the driver would be. I would look down into the little glass window that the driver would use to see if someone was being murdered or was smoking up on the top deck or drawing on the windows. I could just make out the face of the driver through the numerous prisms and mirrors that joined up the two windows. And if I wasn't upstairs, I would be down stairs actually watching the bus driver with my very own eyes. Especially his arms and hands steering the giant bright red machine around the tight narrow streets of Twickenham. It always amazes me how they get those things around those tight little corners. I imagined I would be a fantastic bus driver!

Come in, come in, said Rob the bus driver, as Neil & I both stepped onto the deck of the boat. Make yourselves at home.

Yeah right, I thought. I'll go up to my room and have a wank shall I?

I could never make myself at home in a strange mans house, let alone a strange mans boat! What if it floated away downstream and ended up in the middle of the ocean! As I looked at the floor I did manage to see that the brass that was so magnificently displayed on the outside of the boat had also exquisitely crept into the cabin area too. Amongst all the brightly polished brass and various post cards from all over the world that were neatly displayed on the shelves and sort of Dashboard area, were a whole bunch of circular glass dials about five inches across set in beautiful frames of more brass. I didn't ask, but I presumed that these were the dials that told the Skipper how fast or how slow he was going. The rest of the room looked dark in comparison. Almost black. Coming inside from the bright sunshine made everything apart from the brass quite difficult to see.
Neil had gone off into the kitchen area, I could tell it was a kitchen because I heard a kettle switch on and start boiling and the sound of metal tea spoons clinking against china. I just kept looking between the floor & the brass and saw Rob had shuffled over to my side and asked me what I thought.
I said that it was quite impressive. As my eyes got used to the light change I saw that he was not wearing any shoes but still had his socks on that were white. His trousers were the distinctive light grey colour of a bus drivers uniform. He said, Impressive only?, it takes hours of elbow grease to keep that brass as shiny as that.
I eventually looked up from the dark coloured carpet, polished brass in my peripherals and up along his legs, past his belted waist to his face. He was jacketless and just had a crisp white shirt on, just like the kind a bus driver would wear, although I had seen some of them wearing grey shirts. I always thought the white ones much better.
His hair was grey and neatly cut, his chin covered in a whitish prickly stubble, which reminded me of my dad.

So this is what bus drivers looked like when they weren't driving buses I thought.



To be continued...





Jason








(C) JPT 2008.........

"The Bus Driver's Knee" (part one)

Come, child. Come sit on my knee!



"Part One"

What's it going to be then, eh?

They were the words that were left floating around my empty mind!

I can't decide, I thought to myself. You decide for gods sake, decide!, I said out loud.

Well, I know this bloke who owns this WWII torpedo boat. He lives with another man down by the marina next to Radnor Gdns and he says I can come round and see it anytime I want, he's well generous and said he might even take me up the river in it.

What, near where the old bags play bowls?

Yeah, thats the place, You wanna go?

Fuck Yeah!

Well that was enough for me! We were halfway through our Summer school holidays and bored shitless. I had know idea how Neil new this man with the torpedo boat, but how on earth could I turn down an offer such as this. I couldn't wait to see it. It certainly beat setting fire to railway embankments and spying on homeless weirdos who live in secret tunnels under the roads of Twickenham. Not to mention the hours wasted talking about American custom cars, reading BMX magazines, talking about kissing girls, tits and wanking.

I found out the owner of the torpedo boat was called Rob and he was a bus driver. He always wore his grey uniform. The man that lived with him, I didn't know his name, was never there when Rob was in. Just Rob and his Dalmatian dog, who was as deaf as a post.
The first time I saw that boat I was speechless! It was immaculate! The brass that covered the boats wonderfully preserved surfaces, inside and out, were always polished and although it didn't have any torpedoes anymore, it did have a history in that it used to ferry supplies over to the French coast for the men fighting in the Second World War. I have always Loved battleship grey. It reminds me of the ocean. I could only stand in wonderment as to the sorts of magnificent ships that this tiny little boat had chugged between. The sun was high in the sky and made a b-line straight for the shimmering brass fixtures & fittings.

I was very young at the time, maybe about 9 or so. Neil was a year older than I, but much more mature and unlike me, he could already produce something called Spunk from his penis. He once showed me a polaroid of his Mums boyfriend. He had an erection in it! I never looked at the man in the same way again! I was quite jealous that Neil was able to do this kind of stuff. He also showed me what this spunk looked like once whilst he was showing me his penis. He had an erection, bigger it seemed than mine would ever be, and pulled his foreskin back, something else I couldn't do! He pointed to this tiny amount of white stuff that resembled cotton fluff around the edge of what he called his German helmet. I was amazed at what I saw and wondered when I would see some of my very own. Much later on, about three or four years, I came to realize that it was in fact cotton fluff from his pants that he was showing me and not spunk at all! Real spunk was, still is a wonderful substance that if it were humanly possible one would continuously spray it over anything and everything, including oneself! I never saw my German helmet until I was circumcised some 20 years later! I wasn't allowed one because of my bleeding disorder! Of all the many trips to hospital over the years, I often found myself wondering if my foreskin would ever grace the inside of one of those 'Hospital Waste! For Incineration Only' skips outside the back of the hospital. And then, when I finally did have it cut away, I imagined what a thousand foreskins might look like all in a single pile, with mine flopped on the top like someones discarded chewing gum.

Thats all we did back in those days. Talked about erections, spunk, cocks, girls and wanking and listening on his record player to the sounds of drag cars screeching their way up the rubber scorched, twin black strips of Santa Pod's 1/4 mile stretch on a flimsy 7" record that he'd gotten free with an old copy of Custom Car magazine.
But a trip to see Neil's new friend Rob and his amazing torpedo boat seemed like a wonderful idea. Something different. Something to boast about when we eventually went back to school later on that year.


To be continued...



Jason

P.s. Happy Birthday to my best mate Lee tomorrow:)








(C) JPT 2008.........

"The Little Runner"

The Green Box at the end of the Meadway, Twickenham today.



I tried running away but my ankles said no,
I tried sitting still but told to get up and go,
I tried to face it head on and look into it's eye,
I tried to welcome it too, but that just made me cry,

I run in my dreams and I ran in my past,
I ran all the time and so bloody well fast,
I ran from my Dad and the back of his hand,
I ran to my Mum and her arms so tanned,

The run in my park until it was dark,
The run at school whilst the others played ball,
The run to spurs then right back to earth,
The run down the stairs, from all those nightmares,

I wish I could run, just a little bit,
To the green box and back where we used to sit,
Long gone now, it had to go,
The fast turned to pain and my ankles said no!




Jason


Happy Birthday to Tania tomorrow:)








(C) JPT 2008.........795.41 miles.

"Dear Deirdre"

These granite walls gave birth...


And there she was...all those years ago, sitting at the bottom of those grand stairs spiraling down from the higher floors of the great big granite mansion that is situated on the wind swept & soggy coast of Anglesey in North Wales. Right at the bottom, in the corner, almost facing the large front doors was young Deirdre, the only girl around for a thousand miles, sitting very comfortably in a rather large looking leather armchair right below the bannisters of the staircase. Her denim clad legs were folded up underneath her bottom, her shoes placed neatly side by side just at the base of the chair, and from the warm glow eminating from the table lamp next to her armchair, she was able to immerse herself in one of the greatest inventions of all! A book! Her book! I watched her reading it, wondering what it was that she seemed to find so captivating. She certainly looked as if she was enjoying it....her mind was totally focused on the contents of the book and I could almost make out the text printed inside reflecting from the polished surface of her glasses. I think maybe the book could have been some kind of adventure story...a journey....somewhere cold, dangerous and far away...somewhere where one might need a lot of luck and patience to survive it. Deirdre was certainly ready for such a journey! Keeping her warm was a thick wooly jumper, her long golden hair bellowing up from it's high neck as a result of not untucking her hair from inside the jumper. The extra comfort made from this one single act meant she could stay there for as long as needed.
But just as I was watching her turn from one golden page to the next, I noticed some boys standing directly above where Deirdre was sitting. They were sniggering and pointing at her as if to make fun! One of the boys prodded his friend and whispered 'Hey, watch this!'
He grabbed hold of the bannister and made to lean as far out from the edge as possible, looking down towards Deirdre, and by looking at his face, I could tell that he was filling his mouth up with saliva!
I looked back down at Deirdre....still reading her book, completely unaware of what was about to happen! I didn't move to stop it, nor did I say anything, as it was all over in a matter of seconds! The frothy white globule of spit fell right onto Deirdre's head and settled in the golden locks of her hair. At first she looked as if she hadn't felt it land...but from the salty mouths of young boys also come childish giggles and idiotic noisey smirks. Deridre heard the boys and looked up to see them quickly hide their snigger induced red blotchy faces & instinctively put her tiny hand up to her head to see what had happened. She must have felt a dry patch, because she looked back into the pages of her book to find where she had left the story. But her face had changed a little and I thought I could see, I wasn't entirely sure, but some kind of...hurt seeping from her eyes. Just a little! My heart took a little dive into the bottom of my stomach and all I could do was feel something very special for this innocent young girl!
I wasn't going to stand for this kind of behaviour and walked briskly up the stairs & up to the boys where I proceeded to demand an explanation for their lurid behaviour....specifically the one who did the spitting! A few other boys came over to our small jostling group and seemed to side with me and between us duly lifted the poor boy up off of the floor and proceeded to dangle him right over the edge of the bannister!
Apparently, after what must've been no more than 20 seconds...but to him, it must have seemed a lot longer... he said that he fancied Deirdre and by spitting onto her head from the stairs was his way of trying to tell her so.
I fancied her too, but didn't do anything as I...well...basically wasn't sure what to do. So I left it at that and instead, when I got home, I sent her a photo of myself sitting on a bus! But it was too late...things had already started to change!
One thing I will be forever grateful for though...is that I didn't think of spitting on her...not for one moment!

That was around twenty years ago...& I still see her the same way today! You see, I saw her again the other week....Easter Sunday to be precise...the day of ressurection...ironic! She had found my Blog one day back in Feb and recognized me. And didn't even see the part where I had mentioned her! Fate perhaps? She & I had not seen each other for almost twenty years since the week of the spitting incident and nor did we hear from each other for almost the same amount of time! We kept in touch for a very little while once we were back home and once our adventure was over, but even that seemed to die and well, before I knew it I was a different person and my blood was not quite right...maybe this or maybe something else had something to do with it....maybe neither...but one thing is for sure...I have never forgotten that girl, buried in her book, nor the twin boys from Dunstable who I met on another week in that very same house over looking Puffin Island...I was very impressed at them for their wicked sense of mishief that followed them around the entire week and the fact that one of them showed me and some of the other boys his willy in our dorm...just like that...and there I was, secretly astonished that he had a full bush of pubic hair where I only had soft fuzzies! These were real boys, like the Liverpudlian who lost his snazzy digital watch while we cliff traversed somewhere along the Welsh coast, and the highly inteligent chubby blonde boy who was adamant that he was related to Marilyn Monroe because he had the same surname as her. It wasn't even spelt the same way.
But good things...wonderful things...come to those who wait and aren't expecting anything. I had even gone so far as to write her off as dead & buried! Not only Deirdre, but all the other boys that I met in that big stone mansion near the mountains! That big stone house is from a time when I still felt like an innocent boy...I was sixteen at the time I think, but hell, I ain't never gonna grow up...no matter how much they try to make me! And those that I met in that big stone house will be, from those days to the moment that I stop breathing, be forever etched into my wilting mind!



Jason






(C) JPT 2007.........1192.86 miles.

A Profound Longing to Time Travel

The Summer of 1971.


This is the reason why, for me anyway, a time machine would be very much appreciated. This one single photo! The little girl is my eldest Sister Samantha and lying on the blanket are my twin Sister Nicola & I. I am on the left as you look at the photo. And the photo was taken (I just asked my Mum) in Marble Hill Park between the ice cream seller and the river Thames. My Mum says that my face is looking right towards the river. A family friend (Janet "Janet & Brian" Whiting) took the photo. It is quite painful to look at it. I haven't actually looked at it that often, not because I haven't had access to it, because I have. I just think that I have been avoiding it as it seems like it never happened. I often wish I could travel back into time and spy on myself & my family. I would probably be arrested if I did manage to go back to various times in the past. Watching children playing in the playground in Kneller Park (The Rec) down my Mums road. Watching her feed me my bottles and changing my shitty nappies. Listening to me cry out in pain as I was picked up and my Mum so worried as to why! I want to go back to that park when the playgrounds were dangerous and not so sterile and "Safe". Oh how I would Love to split my lip open on the solid steel head of the multi-coloured seated rocking horse........And get my leg caught under the narrow gap between the round-about and the dirty, lolly pop stick strewn, Coke can graveyard that was the ground beneath it. And to pleasantly kick little piles of dried, pure white dog shit around the playground would be wonderful.
My big Sis Manf (Samantha) has had the original of the photo above and my Mum had a copy made a few years ago which is hanging inside of her hallway, which I see every week. I have the original for a week so I can scan (which I did) and touch it up. As you can see, the photo really needed backing up. Here you see it in the original condition, before I have done anything to it. I scanned it 3 times with and without fading correction, reduce dust & scratches, backlight, grain correction etc. One of the scans already looks quite good and has really brought the colour back out. I will post it again when I am done.
It is only a polaroid and the fact it has lasted this long is utterly amazing! I am so glad to have it scanned now! It was so Lovely and also very sad to hold and feel the original.
Why? I will tell you. It is the only photograph of me (and my twin Nicola) as a baby (5 months old) and it was taken before I was diagnosed with Haemophilia and before I was given Hepatitis C and then later on HIV. Although it looks quite grotty and faded, cracked and torn........it means everything that is pure and innocent to me. Even my toy spaceship the Millennium Falcon from Star Wars that I still have was played with by an infected little boy. But please don't get me wrong, I Love all my 70's & early 80's Star Wars toys (most of which I still have) and will die with them by my side! They're just as important as everything like this that I still have. I don't hate anything at all "pre-shit happens", I just needed a little of something that was totally pure. I have it now. And I know that the original is safe and well. But I still feel some sadness if I let myself.
Hey! It's only a bloody photograph you twat!
I know, I know.........It is, but a million pounds is only a bloody million pounds!
You can keep the money!
So what I am going to do is try my best to touch it up on photoshop. I'm no expert on photoshop and touching up (I'll leave that to my Dad;) Although looking at it just now, seems like it will be a very dificult task to achieve! I can only do my best. When I have completed it, I shall show you all the difference that I have hopefully made.

Jason




(C) JPT 2006