Part 1.

In November, 1981 I went to Los Angeles and didn’t come home for a year. Ok, that was the intention. I’d been working for a few years, was bored, involved in a relationship that really wasn’t right (nothing to do with sheep, honest) and I’d always wanted to travel a bit. Unfortunately, the ‘gap yaar’ thing wasn’t invented until 2005 so I was just running away. From reality? From drudgery? From every one of my friends getting married within about a 9 month period? At its most manic I attended 4 weddings in 8 days. No funeral, fortunately. And at each one there were the inevitable, thoughtless, moronic people winking knowingly and saying to me and then girlfriend “oooh, you’ll be next then”. Actually no, ain’t gonna happen.

So instead of a wedding, I planned an escape. My best mate was coming with me, so that’s great, and all he had to do to raise his money was sell his car. A TR7 if that means anything to you. Cross between a sports car and a tragic mistake of design and function. But people liked them so they had value as well as pop-up headlamps. Though less value after its been wrapped round a lamppost. Which is what me mate did. Two weeks before departure date. He couldn’t come. I didn’t care, I was going anyway. There’s 300 million people in America, I only needed one friend. How hard can that be?? My other best mate (I was best man at his wedding, the 3rd of the ‘week of 4’) had an uncle living in LA. He’ll put me up for a bit. Fine, I had a starting point. No plan, no direction, just a one-way ticket on Freddie Laker’s SkyTrain and somewhere to stay for a wee while.

Spurs won the FA Cup in 1981, beating Manchester City in the replay. I was at both matches. They also won it in 1982 but that time without me. Because I was away. Punk Rock was waining and New Romance was just getting its hair gelled into ridiculous shape. Elvis Costello was big. The Clash brought out their Combat Rock album (yes, we bought music on large, circular bits of plastic in those days, otherwise, without their covers, we’d have no-where to roll a joint on), which is still one of my all-time fave albums. Tainted Love came out, Stevie Nicks was solo and simply adorable, musically and everything else-ly. By 1982 we’d gone to war with Argentina over the Falklands but I missed most of it because the newspapers over there were more concerned with buying cheap coke at Ralph’s Supermarket to allow space for non-paying words.

For years I’ve thought about writing the story of that fabulously, outrageously wonderful year. And instead, I’m going to serialise it here. Just because I can. And there’s no football, politics is suddenly boring, apartment buildings keep catching fire and so when nothing lights my fire, I’ll tell a little of the tale of what happened when mild-mannered, timid, quiet man from London went to meet America. And who won.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx