Beau Nash Cinema, where Francis John "Nobby" Ashdown (half brother of Paddy) worked as Commissioner. Red coat, moustache, once a confirmed bachelor, but now under some voodoo spell cast by my Mother. He was due to become my stepfather soon. Their wedding was a quiet affair, Charlotte St. Registry then onto the pub in Monmouth St. My little grey rubber feet were wearing out fast, adept now with "crutching" at speed on my low-line alloys, (sometimes on no feet at all). I have a very blurred picture of that day, but I do remember vividly that my best leather jacket sleeve was torn off when I was dragged out of the fireplace where I had come to rest in my stupor. I was now officially relived of my post as front line provider. Time for more lessons again.

 

The Regency Ballroom; where I was introduced to three dustbins and Bud Godfrey. Mick Ringham had carefully transported me to this entertainment edifice on his Triumph Tigress Scooter. We all huddled in the little room halfway up the staircase. "Mad Mick" was invented at this moment, my role was to bring to life the electronics that would assist this to happen. It was too soon to know if Mick was really "Mad" at this time, if so, perhaps it was the Coke & T.B. tablet mixture he took after having one lung removed. Maybe it was the itchy sideburns or too much exposure to non-kosher Co-op meat in Westgate Buildings at such an early age.

 

Exposure to all this new music and talented musicians meant that my portable recording services were in demand. Also by now the "Mad" Mick was intent on becoming a professional Broadcast D.J. So, many demo tapes and live gig recordings quickly followed. My 18th party was held on the floor of my parents front room. Linda White played on my upright organ (really a portable Pedal Harmonium) whilst her sister Carole toyed with my mind. A good time was nearly had by all, until the Cider Flagon fell into the fireplace with a resounding and fatal crash. Enter older people: I was becoming accustomed to these interruptions in my early life. "Day Tripper" visits to Hospital dressing still weeping wounds disgorging grit & bone were sweetened by a promise from Mr. Hedley Hall (my surgeon) to bridge the gap in my Tibia with a sliding bone graft next year. Would be nice to wear two shoes again soon, and besides, my shoulder muscles could do with a break as well.

 

I overdosed on the exposure to the pressure wave generated by the P.A. column speaker, my "comfort zone" on the right of the raised floor that passed for a stage in the Regency Ballroom. Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett soon replaced the comfortable and familiar Liverpool Sound. "They think it`s all over" wasn`t a big hit for Germany that year either. Still; I had by now learnt to manipulate a full pint of brown split (without spillage) whist "crutching" it from the bar to the Ballroom balcony. My feat was/were being observed by one Yvonne Ostler. She became my "steady", by now I really needed stability, so she stayed in my clutches, while I remained stuck on crutches, until she got too close, I didn`t do close anymore.

 

So to life came the "Silver Spur" Café, the "Regency Palace" bar and the Hot Dog van, all grouped next to the Seven Dials Car Park. From my early beginnings in Westgate Buildings, to Westgate Street then The Sawclose, I was still moving up in the world.

 

(or was it round?).                                 

 

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