Writing for Fun
May 2016
Metal-heads - Vivian Burdon
Metal-heads 'Look here Jess, the tickets are cheaper if we book for the 'family' field – I reckon at that price we could afford to go . . . the evening 'craic' won't be as lively but . . . hey ho.' Jessica stood behind her husband of 50 years clutching the back of the chair for support.
'What's that say at the bottom Arnie?' she pointed at the computer screen. Arnie took her hand and stroked the faded tattoo of a skeleton riding a Harley Davison poking out from the sleeve of her nightdress. Closing his eyes he saw her, fresh as yesterday, that day in Brighton, when was it? 1968? He'd paid for matching tattoos and silver skull rings – a sort of engagement. He'd been swept along by the pills he'd popped earlier and the great reception she'd got from his fellow Road Rats. The tattoo was more of an ownership thing, like branding, he was ashamed to say. She soon showed him who wore the leather trousers!
He took her hand. At one time he would have pulled her over the back of the chair onto his knee but not now. It took a whole load more delicate manoeuvring to get a cuddle these days. She hadn't lost her sparkle though, she could still hold on with a grip like iron on the back of his bike.
It was he who had eventually let the side down, his gammy leg making his Harley impossible to handle. He had stubbornly refused for months to consider a trike as an alternative. Depression keeping him fixed on the idea that his riding days were over. He had become more and more morose until she had forced the issue and sold his beloved Hog on Gum Tree. Gum Tree for heaven's sake! Then she went and bought the trike behind his back off E-bay. E-bay for god's sake! She had been right tho'. New lease of life. They did the Ace Cafe run again last year and they were welcomed back like royalty. It was her idea to buy that bloody trailer tent thing too. He thought she'd gone bonkers but wow, she was right again. That trailer towed like a dream behind the trike and the world was their whelk! So many festivals, so little time . . . so little money!
He peered at the tiny letters at the bottom of the screen. 'Oh bugger! Apparently the small print says you can only book discount tickets for the family field if you are accompanied by a child under 16. Well that's it girl, we ain't going to no 'Download Festival' this year'. Arnie slumped back in the chair dislodging Jess from her support.
From the floor she looked at her husband, already lost in that tell tale scowl that signals the end of his world! 'Think girl think!' she thought hauling herself up by the sofa.
Jess busied herself in the kitchen making a cuppa. Her best ideas came when she was busy. She glanced at the flyer for the Download Festival stuck to the freezer door with the Harley Davison fridge magnet. She had to admit, this year's line up at Donnington Park was something else. Black Sabbath; Iron Maiden; Megadeath. Lower down the order was the band that made this festival a must see for Arnie – a rare visit to these shores of his favourite Dutch band 'Vengeance'. They had first seen them stoned out of their tiny minds in an Amsterdam Club in '83, just before a mass brawl with the Dutch Chapter of the Black Jackets. A particularly lairy period in their mutual history ending with deportation and a black mark in their passports. Arnie had loved Vengeance ever since and desperately wanted to see them despite the multiple line-up changes making the current band as close to the original as Trigger's Broom!
The light bulb moment occurred while Jess was making a Victoria Sponge to take to Emma's on Sunday. Emma was their only child, the apple of Arnie's eye. He had introduced her to the finer points of motorcycle maintenance as a child but she eventually fled to suburbia with an accountant and a studious daughter of her own. 'Of course, that's it!' she shouted dropping the sponge tin 'Wendy! They could take Wendy . . .'
Diminutive, unsuspecting Wendy pushed back her spectacles and scowled at the computer screen, her online chess opponent had cleverly played through her Albin Counter gambit and she was in serious danger of losing. Her fingers absently worried at a dormant spot pulsing on her forehead, waiting for her to eat the last segment of a Domino's pizza so it could erupt in all its pubescent glory. She picked at the pepperoni topping and licked her fingers. The closing manoeuvres came to her . . . this was going to be fun. 'Watch and learn matey'. She grinned and settled down to play out the intellectual dance that was a substitute for the real thing.
But no . . . her life was cursed. The familiar engine roar and exhaust backfire signalled her descent into an afternoon of hell and excruciating shame. Why do her parents invite them? Can't they see how ridiculous they are? And all the neighbours can hear them arrive too. There is never a surreptitious arrival to save her from the ignominy of her grandparents. On the third time of asking, Wendy stomped downstairs muttering under her breath, 'Who on earth did they think they were?' It was embarrassing enough the way they dressed but they acted like they were still teenagers. They are really, really ancient, it's disgusting.'
'Hello poppet.' Arnie grabbed Wendy before she could escape his thorny grasp. She winced as his old man smell assailed her young nostrils. 'Granddad . . .' she wined and squirmed free. She went to sit next to Nana on the sofa. She didn't look too bad today as it happened. Neat cotton top over an ordinary pair of jeans. An 'OK' look without the ubiquitous leather jacket now hung over a chair, the ridiculous fringes dangling in the pot plant.
She detected something was up. Her parents were sitting side by side on the edge of the sofa, both of them had their hands clasped. 'Oh, oh! What's a matter Mum? What have they done now?'
'No, no, its nothing; come here Wendy.' Her mum patted the spare patch of sofa at her side, she saw the grins on her idiot grandparents' face and the tight lips of her Dad. 'Now then . . . we have a surprise for you. We are going to let you go on a camping weekend with Granddad Arnie and Nana next week! How about that?'
'You are kidding me?' Silence. Her Grandparents still grinning foolishly.
Wendy looked pleadingly at her Dad, he coughed nervously. 'Er . . . me and your Mum think it's a good idea for you to get away, pumpkin, you know . . . take a break from that computer screen and all the homework you've been doing.' Wendy, was bereft of words. She tried her Mum. 'You can't be serious though . . . Mum? Mum you know what they're like. You've told me often enough'.
'Don't be rude Wendy, it's very kind of them. They've borrowed a tent and sleeping bag and everything. And they have promised me that they will take good care of you. And, well . . . it's me and your dad's wedding anniversary and we have an idea to go away ourselves.'
Wendy sat speechless . . . the world had turned on its head, hell had frozen over. 'But I can't go I've got exams soon.' Still no joy. Wendy resorted to belligerent teenager. 'But I don't want to go.' Her mum stood up. 'You're going and that's the end of it.'
Over Sunday lunch Wendy sat morosely while she was regaled with arrangements and tales of all the fun she was going to have. Arnie said he would take her to the super-bike races at nearby Donnington Park, Nana assured the assembled family that there was loads of fun things to see nearby including a cycle route called the 'Cloud Line'. They could hire bikes. Nothing, not a squeak was said about the Download Music festival! As Jess had said when she and Arnie plotted the finer points of their scheme, 'What they don't know, won't hurt them.'
Naughty Nana!
Wendy sat astonished on a camping chair while the grandparents unfurled their trailer tent and erected her little pup tent. Her eyes wide, surveying the scene before her. Every scrap of grass was being covered with old-school scout tents, battered WV Campers, yurts and pop-up festival tents. And the noise! The noise was thunderous, the roar of motorcycle engines, whining guitars and thud of drums as the first act limbered up, the occasional 'One, two. One two,' and feedback screams that sent her hands to her ears. And just when she thought there was a lull to savour – a Boeing 747 from East Midlands Airport roared overhead so low Wendy swore she could touch it.
After a while she noticed that Nana and Granddad Arnie didn't look out of place. She could feel a little puff of pride growing as one group of bikers after another came up and high-fived or hugged the old dears. As each group settled after pitching their homes for the weekend they started to gather around Wendy and her grandparents, bringing their own chairs and bottles of beer. She was offered a small stubbie and looked at her Nana. Just a slight nod of the head and a raised digit to warn just the one and that was it . . . Wendy was well and truly hooked.
The rest of the weekend was lost in the wild abandon of head-banging and loud heavy metal. She absolutely loved it . . . Who knew?!
As for Nana and Granddad, boy were the old dears happy. Granddad went mental when Vengeance were on stage. Wendy marvelled at their sheer capacity to enjoy life. They held their own most of the time but couldn't always keep up and that's when she got the tattoo. It was her homage to her grandparents . . . a skeleton on a Harley Davison! She thought they would be thrilled, welcome her to the fold and all that. Wrong!
On the way home they exchanged fragments of forced chirpy reminiscences of a weekend that was supposed to be their secret. Wendy was to be briefed into not letting on about the Festival and all would be well. But now, now Arnie and Jess had to explain away the frighteningly raw tattoo on their grandchild's arm to her parents. As they pulled up outside the solid semi-detached home Jess squeezed her husband's hand. They felt like naughty children fronting up against the judgement that was about to fall upon them. As they walked up the path the garage door slowly began to rise and the low glorious throb of a vintage Harley engine swam out to greet them. Arnie dropped Jess's hand and made towards the garage dragging his gammy leg. 'That's my bloody hog, I'd know that baby anywhere . . .'
True enough, emerging onto the drive was his daughter astride his old bike with his son-in-law clinging on behind; both were clad in the newest most shiny set of leathers you could imagine. Just as Arnie got close Wendy flipped her lid visor, twisted the throttle, and took off like a bat out of hell. Arnie turned to look at Jess and saw his wife grinning from ear to ear. 'The scheming little minx!'