Free Heaven's Promise by Paolo Hewitt Page A

dropping one I’d make his life hell rather than ecstasy.’
    â€˜So what had this got to do with Lord Haw Haw?’ I enquired.
    Davey Boy put down the cloth and gave a knowing smile.
    â€˜I’ve got a mate, see, who hires out equipment for weddings and knees up. Anyway, the other day he got a call from some toff who was in a right two and eight because all the gear he’d ordered for some end of term ball hadn’t turned up.
    â€˜So my mate bells me and off we go down to Putney to this really posh college with huge lawns and a river. All the geezers are in penguin suits, the birds have got the gowns on and by the time we’ve set everything up, everyone is on the champers and it’s roaring.
    â€˜Me and my mate have got nothing to do now except make sure that nothing breaks down so we have a few shandies and the next thing I know I’m half pissed and telling Lord Haw Haw that that I could make him a jacket that would piss over any Savile Row job. I give him my card and then I don’t see him again.
    â€˜I woke up the next day feeling like shit and I’m sitting in here drinking coffee, trying to recover when who should walk in but Lord Haw Haw there. Turns out he was one of the organisers of the do and they had run into a spot of bother because some little oik had strolled in there and took a load of happy snaps of them all completely off their nuts and groping each other. I was so pissed I didn’t see any of this going on but the happy snapper has only sold the photos to one of the dailies.
    â€˜If the photos had been in the local rag you wouldn’t particularly give a fuck, would you? But if your mummy and daddies are the ones who are caked up to the eyeballs and running the show over at Westminster, it’s a different story, innit?
    â€˜Anyway, old Lord Haw Haw has had a few irate pater and maters on the phone and the college head is right on his case. So now he’s figuring the best thing to do is get out while the going’s good and find something else to get into. I mean the guy maybe slow on the uptake but he knows one thing, money makes money. So while I’m decking him out, he starts picking my brains for some new angle.
    â€˜That night I go out with my kid brother to that club and I’m sitting there amongst all this madness thinking of some way of getting in with the geezer and, suddenly, it hits me. There it is right, in front of me. Get in on this Acid House thing now. So what I need to know is whether you think this scene is going to last. I mean, look at punk. If you had got in there right at the start there’s no knowing where you’d be now.’
    Throughout this speed spiel Brother P. and I exchanged bewildering glances as we were not too sure where Davey Boy was going but as his verbal jigsaw came together we had to tell truth that we were not particularly sure about this latest development on the teen scene but if we had any thoughts on the matter then Davey Boy would be the first to know.
    â€˜By the way,’ I said, ‘have you had any luck with that original Dormeuil tonic material I was after?’
    â€˜Can’t say I have as yet,’ Davey Boy replied, ‘but I’ve heard about a little warehouse I’m going to have a snoop around soon, so give me a shout next week. see if we can’t come up with something. Here, how’s the club doing? I might pass by soon and shake a leg, you never know. Mind you, the reports I’ve heard about your DJ’ing you’d be better off mixing in the kitchen than on a turntable. See ya next week, boys.’
    Making our exit with Davey Boy slapping us on our shoulders, Brother P. and I ventured onto Oxford St., discussing Davey Boy’s proposal and trying to figure out whether he was onto something, which, to tell truth, we couldn’t really see.
    â€˜Workways is bestways for me,’ Brother P. then announced, ‘I’ve got a few loose