Free Getting High by Paolo Hewitt Page A

everyone’s heads. Be fucking top.’
    He said it like a threat.
    At a service station, Liam, Alan and Bonehead discovered a machine that gave the illusion you were being photographed with a celebrity. Liam, surprisingly, posed with Eric Cantona. So did Alan White. Bonehead had his head imposed on a Take That picture.
    â€˜I’ll get the office to do a press release, then I’ll send it to the NME ,’ he joked. ‘Tell them I’ve taken Robbie Williams’s place in Take That. Imagine, Bonehead Joins Take That.’
    â€˜Don’t do that,’ Liam said. ‘The cunts will only believe you.’
    Bonehead turned to Scott. ‘How did you get on with that girl last night?’
    Scott shook his head. ‘Not at all. She said a few daft things. I thought, she’s a spunker, so I went to bed.’
    â€˜Did you have a wank?’
    Scott’s face turned a slight red, his voice a little defensive.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Listen mate,’ Bonehead said, adopting the tone of a sergeant major advising a private, ‘in this band you’re either shagging or having a wank. Got to be done, innit?’ He looked round for confirmation, and everyone solemnly nodded their heads. ‘Got to be done,’ he repeated.
    The coach finally pulled into Bournemouth at about seven. It had been a long drive. Jason, Noel’s guitar roadie, wandered into the lobby as everyone booked themselves in.
    â€˜A very good evening to everyone,’ he announced in his mock toff’s accent. ‘Not a lot doing here, boys.’ The crew had travelled over night and already been round town.
    â€˜There’s some bar which is meant to be good. If you would care to assemble in the hotel bar in about an hour, we can take things from there.’
    â€˜Rightio,’ Bonehead said.
    An hour later, Oasis’s road crew and band members sat in the bar. There were three Birmingham girls sitting close by. They had planned a week’s holiday around the Bournemouth gig.
    Two of them were good-looking. They were the ones getting a lot of attention. Their other friend, having sussed out the situation, had opted to play mother, and look after them. She thought this advisable because Liam was the obvious attraction, and he had just discovered a potent cocktail. In twenty minutes, he had downed three of them and the spirit was with him.
    â€˜Have you ever noticed,’ he said to Bonehead, ‘how letters can become words?’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜Well, check this. U.R.A.Q.T.’
    â€˜Fuck me, so they can.’ Bonehead thought for a moment, and Liam looked pleased with himself. Words weren’t his thing. He hated signing his name, for example. School had done that to him. Made him afraid of pen and paper.
    He could stand in front of 20,000 people and front them out, big time. No problem there. But his achilles heel was words. Words frightened him. Words told him that there were two kinds of people in this world. There were those who could spell music and then there were those who could play it. Liam was the latter. Instinctive, no thought.
    â€˜Liam?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜U.R.O.K.’ Bonehead said.
    Soon after, everyone left the bar. Some went in search of food. Liam and co. stayed with the girls who knew of a bar where the drinks were cheap. When Liam entered, people stopped to stare. But few approached him. Half an hour later, he disappeared into the toilet with Paul, a roadie.
    They had just snorted up some cocaine when they were surprised by a banging on the door. It was the bouncer. He had spotted them going into the gents together.
    â€˜Fuck!’
    Liam and Paul stared at each other. ‘What?’ Liam shouted to the bouncer.
    â€˜There better not be two of you in there.’
    Paul reacted first. He undid the lock and the pair of them stepped out.
    â€˜Look,’ he remonstrated. ‘I know what you’re thinking but it’s