Hasted

We were up early and went out to look round Hasted which reminded me of a film set: everything seemed staged, false, and unnatural. I noticed how clean the streets were. Toy town. Andrew was looking for his mate Jim but he’d gone into Badon, so after looking at Hasted Hall and tiny Hasted market we followed him.

Bev and her friend Linda were on the bus and while Andrew talked to them I sat, quietly feeling out of it, superb views of distant Badon fronted by rolling green fields and trees glimpsed through the bus windows.

We found Jim playing pool in a pub with friends Danny and Patrick but they came with us as I was lead on an unenthusiastic tour of Badon's highlights, and we ended up in a wide pedestrian precinct, crowded with hordes of people. We stopped at a really good second-hand bookshop and an interesting antiques market that was almost like a museum. At a second hand clothes stall nearby Andrew put down a deposit on a white tuxedo. Sure enough, the posers were there, moths to a flame, browsing serious-faced through the racks of bright vintage fabric and expensive jackets.

We got back to Hasted in time for the soccer results, and watched them at the student lodge on Market Street after dropping in on Ewan for a while. Then it was back to Station Hill and the preparations for Andrew’s birthday party (records, food, lights, etc.) before another friend Dave, from Badon, came round and we went to the pub’ to meet Danny, Patrick and Jim. We ended up on a mini-pub-crawl, the aforementioned acting like absolute head-cases but really funny. At one point I thought we were all going to get thrown out.

Me and Andrew left early to go back for the party. The house was soon packed, people cramming into Andrew’s room and the kitchen, the music going full blast, and I alternated between the two, drinking cider from a paper cup and having stilted conversation with (Three Kings stripper) Steve. But in no time at all it seemed, everyone left en masse except for me, Andrew, Patrick, Danny and Jim . . . vague recollections here. . . .

The police arrived. Someone had complained about the lunacy going on outside and a young policeman, white faced, glasses, was standing in the hall with his WPC companion, his tone soft but firm. “Let’s be reasonable. . . .” Andrew argued with the policewoman: he was fed up about something and kicked the bin across the kitchen, showering everyone with glass.

The police left, Patrick and Danny started booting a football about the kitchen and made cheese on toast. There was much talk of fascists and hippies. After this the only thing I remember is being upstairs in Bev’s room while Andrew argued despondently about someone’s absence.