On the Thursday I reach the grand old age of 19 or if you believe my birth certificate 21. I along with many others doctored my certificate - and even if I say so myself I made a very neat job of it - a few years back to enable myself to gain entrance to the Wigan Casino and the notoriously meticulous Hilda Woods. A woman who could spot a young bum-fluffed 16year old 200 yards down the queue. Amazingly she accepted my falsified birth certificate as legitimate and at the age of "18" I was a member of Wigan Casino and would go there every so often.
Initially, I was never a huge Northern Soul fan; from the moment I passed my 11-plus examination it was decided for me that I would enter the worlds of Rugby Union, Heavy and Progressive Rock. I was to embrace rugby but would fight back against the world of Led Zeppelin, Genesis and Tangerine Dream by losing myself in the world of Glam Rock. David Bowie, Cockney Rebel, Sparks, Mott The Hoople and Roxy Music were my idols. When the third year was headbanging to "Paranoid" and "Smoke on The Water" I was dreaming of characters such as Judy Teen and Ziggy Stardust while doing the Honaloochie Boogie with another ten or so like-minded citizens. Hair was sculpted into a "Ziggy" haircut with various degrees of success and even the odd bit of eye shadow appeared before the school disco. From David Bowie I discovered the world of Lou Reed, Iggy Pop et al.
Yet somewhere into the conscious came this great stomping, driving music. A music that shook the walls, that smelt of talcum powder and glamorous drugs, sweat and adrenaline, rhythm and soul. And some more. It was still on the periphery of our musical lives but slowly and surely all the Casino classics became embodied in our genes.
And on the day of my 19 th birthday it is reported that a Granada TV crew has filmed a Casino All-nighter for the 'This England' programme. The hoi polloi of Wigan are up in arms due to the programme - as well as showing shots of inside the Casino - have also focused on images of what remains of derelict property around Wigan. A report in the Observer has these people up in arms about this and point out that Casino regulars were pleased that they didn't focus on the drugs. Which is all well and good but the Observer itself ends its report by mentioning that a Welsh girl was fined £100 on charges relating to possessing amphetamines outside the Casino on 23/9/77. What's the difference? Granada doing a piece about Wigan and showing slums and the Observer always linking drugs with the Casino.
Since Punk Rock exploded all other music has took not the back seat more the boot. It has blown everything away. Whilst Kraftwerk and Deaf School are hanging on in there the rest can go and do one! With this in mind a gang of us spend the Friday celebrating my birthday at Bluto's rather than the Casino or anywhere else. The music policy in Bluto's is in no way punk. It was a punk-friendly club in the fact that it would actually let us in! Both the bar downstairs and the two floors that represented the club upstairs. So after the usual "freebies" in the Delph, the "quick short" in the Station and the train journey to town, the games of pool in the Vic and the "stand-off" with the hairies in the John Bull we hit Bluto's. Just in time to hear the bell go for last orders. What? Well it turns out that they have had their late-license revoked as they haven't been selling enough food to justify the late bars. I'm not sure how they can say that as I know for sure we once had burger and chips in there. And I had seen others munching chicken and chips in the basket. Admittedly this was on the odd occasion and was probably a guilty afterthought from somebody on their way to the allnighter realising that their only chance for food after this was one of the Casino's notoriously rancid pies. There may have been many drugs casualties at the Casino but I'd hazard a guess that more hours were lost and lives ruined by the affects of copious amounts of Coca Cola and pies.
Of course this was the period before Gastro Pubs and Wetherspoons' "Curry Nights". Food in pubs consisted of the odd crusty cheese roll and a visit from the prawn and cockle man from Kershaws. It is surprising how popular bags of cockles and prawns in vinegar were back then. It certainly added to the taste of a pint of mild. It was also reassuring to know that at least one person in the pub would always shout "Have you any crabs on you cock?" In one of our locals, The Queen's Arms in Tontine, the local delicacy was a pastie. Despite the fact that everybody called them Agnes' Nasties (after the landlady) they filled a hole after playing football. Back in the day Egg and Chips in The Clarence was as haute cuisine as it got in Wigan. And in my book there's nothing wrong with that.
All this didn't help the fact that there was no late bar at Bluto's and we filed out with the rest of the gobsmacked punters. This is the best bar in Wigan. It's got a great jukebox, Thwaites Bitter, a Space Invaders machine and loads of gorgeous girls with Purdey Haircuts. The DJ even played The Ramones and Talking Heads for us. What more could a young man (a day over 19 years of age) want? Well at least another two hours drinking would be nice. The three beautiful girls we are with - Susan, Angie and Stephanie - tell us they can get into Pemps and we are willing to join them. The walk from Bluto's to Pemps is a treacherous 100 yards at the best of time but at "chucking out" time it is akin to walking down the Falls Road in Belfast. Dressed as I am in drainpipe jeans, brothel creepers, an old suit jacket festooned with badges and a jauntily positioned Trilby Hat it is suicidal. Oh and Paul's plastic sandals aren't helping matters. The reason for the downright fear is that as you come out of Bluto's and turn left you are faced with the Crofters' Arms. This is the pub in which Wigan Athletic was formed in the aftermath of the collapse of Wigan Borough football club and since that date has been home to every hooligan, vagabond, thief and complete fruitcake that has lived in Wigan. We were in one Christmas when full bottles of brown ale were being hauled across the bar between two gangs of lads. With claret everywhere one fella at the bar simply caught a flying bottle, took the top off with his teeth and poured it into his pint making in his words "a cracking brown and bitter". It was not a place for the faint-hearted. If you got passed the Crofters you then had to get passed the notorious Bricklayers' Arms. This was where those that were banned from the Crofters' drank! On this occasion we made it in one piece. As the girls promised they got into Pemps. Needless to say we didn't and had to settle for a flipped burger, tomato sauce and half an hour wait for a taxi. Happy Birthday!
'PUNK: FOOTBALL' IS PUBLISHED BY MUDHUTS MEDIA www.mudhutsmedia.co.uk
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment