Low life
In the lion's den
Jeffrey Bernard
Iwas walking along Cleveland Street the other day in a cold drizzle when I suddenly came across an amazing collage on the pavement which just about summed up the human condition to perfection, It comp- rised a pool of vomit, an empty beer can, some dog shit and a sprinkling of confetti. I am not a squeamish man and I expect people who drink beer to vomit from time to time and allow their dogs to foul the pavement but there was something so stark about the confetti that it has been in and on my mind ever since. I could stuff a pillow with the amount of confetti I have had thrown at me. And could I sleep easily on that? No. The resultant depression was heightened by walking on past the Mid- dlesex Hospital and so I quickened the feeble steps toward the analgesic. They were unlocking the doors as I arrived and there's a mystery. The timing is extraordin- ary. Take an instance a few weeks ago. I was in Birmingham and caught a train to London. Not a particular train, simply the next one. I got to Euston and then got into a taxi to go to the pub. I arrived as they were unlocking the doors. That wasn't planned but an SS panzer division couldn't have been more precise. Odd, isn't it? I reckon if I set out to walk to Basingstoke or Fort William it would be opening time when I arrived. But of course I wouldn't walk for fear of tripping over the confetti on the way. Why do we do it? Dogs may foul the pavement but they don't presume to get married. Anyway, the analgesic took a long time to work because there was another shock horror awaiting in the pub in the form of a newspaper which informed me that the President of the USA is about to have prostate surgery and that one of his right-hand men has had a brain tumour. These people have their fingers on the button. I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that the lawns of the White House are covered with pools of vomit, empty beer cans, dog shit and confetti.
But, thanks be to heaven, the day had a happy ending. I went to a party given by the CID. I think it rather strange that the people who have arrested me thrice should invite me for Christmas cocktails. What worried me was that I might get arrested again in the middle of the party for being drunk. But I kept my head and all was well. And a funny thing happened on my way to midnight. I found myself sitting next to a charming lady detective and what surprised me was that it aroused strange feelings of masochism that I didn't really think were within me. I know quite well that it is masochistic to eat in the Coach and Horses and to back two-year-olds first time out but I didn't think I was masochis- tic about women. The first time I was bombarded with confetti was a clue I didn't spot. Brain damage and I don't even work for Mr Reagan. Anyway, when I eventual- ly left the police party I took the wrong overcoat. The next day I telephoned Vine Street nick and told them so. The man I spoke to asked me if the overcoat I had taken was better than mine and I told him yes, it was cashmere and mine was mere Crombie. To my amazement he then said, `Well, I should hang on to it if I were you.' Of course, I didn't. I don't want police dogs shitting all over my carpet. Lord Longford is the greatest deterrent since Pierrepoint hung up his rope. And also I think the lady detective might have had a gun in her handbag.
There may be more frightening things than detectives though. As I write to you I am about to depart to the sticks for the Christmas follies and I shall be staying with two women. Two. One of them is a doctor and the other is an agony aunt. Could this be a case of killing two birds with one stoned? A policeman's ball and now this. It's like living in a lion's den. This morning a Christmas card arrived wishing me a merry time and all that and also a PS asking for £25 each way on Legal Bid for the Derby. I really must put an ad in all the papers including the Police Gazette saying I don't take bets any more. But should a two-year-old appear called either Collage or Confetti this year then we will be in business again.
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