by Nathan Davey
“Of course you’d like it” said the taller lad that David was telling us about before, “you’re just a dirty Chav. Your used to this kind of squalor, it’s where you belong! Us on the other hand deserve much more than this”
“Aaron’s right” said Joe, coming to my rescue but still hugging that horrible book of his, “It isn’t all that bad. This place has . . . character, that’s right it has character. It’s got that lovely “lived in” feel to it”
“Nice to know that someone likes it” said the girl from the train again, her nose was raised and her arms were crossed, “I hate it. If living in here makes me sick, I’ll call daddy and he’ll sue you he will!”
“No need to be so dramatic” said Joe, “save that until the show. The rooms are up the stairs, which are through this corridor here”
Joe pointed towards a doorway that we hadn’t noticed before. It was on the opposite side of room where the door leading into the activities room was. The young actors filed into the room, all of them looking more disgusted then the last. I didn’t understand what they were moaning about, it wasn’t all that bad after all. I could see why poor little David found it hard to make friends among such judgemental people.
The actors went upstairs to their rooms. All the crew and creative team were to stay in the rooms on the ground floor. We went through the doorway and into a long corridor. To the left of us was the staircase where all of the young actors had disappeared to, in front of us was a collection doors just like in the hotel back in Epping.
Lizzie and I said goodnight to David who went up stairs with the others. Even from the ground level we could hear an awful lot of shouting. They were fighting over rooms, screaming about how “disgusting” the place was and a lot of spoilt kids screaming about suing Joe for child abuse. They were screaming about the smell, about the toilets and about everything that they could think of.
It was pretty revolting to hear them acting in that way. I guess that’s what happens when you’re born with everything. You always expect that you’re going to get everything by default. If you don’t get everything then all hell breaks loose. That’s why I’m glad that I was brought up on basic needs, so when I grow up all I shall ever want is basic needs. That was probably why I didn’t see any real issues with this dormitory. To me it was fairly warm, spacious, had indoor toilets, a kitchen for cooking, many bedrooms and shower rooms on every floor (which we found out about, from hearing the kids upstairs moaning about no fresh towels).
I was happy with the place as it gave me and Lizzie somewhere comfortable to stay. It meant that we wouldn’t be sleeping out in the cold. For me, that was all that mattered.
Joe showed us to our room. It was a room with two beds, a sink, a mirror and a shelf. It was small and plain but served its purpose.
“Under there” said Joe, pointing towards a tiny wooden door underneath both beds, “are lockable safes which come with their own locks. It would be a good place to put any valuables”
At that time, the only valuable objects we had were the £20 that Ritchie gave us and the keys to the Moped. The Moped had only just begun to run low on petrol, so we knew that most of that £20 was most likely going to go on that. Whatever the amount was left over would go straight on food.
We used the little safes underneath the beds to put both shares of money into. The bike’s keys also went into my safe. We closed them, locked them and placed the keys into the draw underneath the sink. It was bit of an obvious place I know, but there wasn’t really anywhere else we could put them.
Content that we were both settled in, Joe left to unpack his massive suitcase in his own room. Both me and Lizzie got changed and went to bed instantly. Even though he had a long kip on the train up there, we were both still utterly exhausted. We went into our separate beds and began to relax. I was just about to nod off when the cover lifted from me and I could feel Lizzie getting into my bed with me.
“What are you up to?” I asked,
“I was lonely over there” said Lizzie, “I like it when we snuggle”
So once again we slept in the same bed together. Before you even suggest it, no, we didn’t have sex. It wasn’t the right time or place at that point. Living under the same roof as a bunch of spoilt brats and man who was putting on an offensive play in a selfish attempt to gain fame, wasn’t exactly the most romantic of locations. It wasn’t the kind of place you wanted to get intimate, if we were alone that would be a different matter.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, because I really did. Lizzie was fit. Nothing else could have been better, to express how much I loved her. Lizzie was still a virgin, as was I, so I wanted our first time to be something truly special. I wanted it to be beautiful and romantic, not just for the mechanical desire for pleasure. I was still waiting for the perfect setting and situation to try it. That abandoned school wasn’t the right setting at all.
I closed my eyes and wrapped by arm around Lizzie’s shoulder. The last thing that I can remember before going to sleep was the feel of Lizzie’s lips against mine in a surprise kiss. We kissed. During the kiss, we opened our mouths and allowed our tongues to get involved. It was my first French kiss, it was a whole new league for me. It was a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting it.
We parted and Lizzie rested her head on my bare chest. I stroked her hair gently. Soon I was asleep and dreaming. I can’t remember what it was I was dreaming about, just that it was a good dream. It’s a shame I can’t remember what the dream was about. I think I can make an educated guess of who the dream was about.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We were awoken the next day, by Joe screaming numbers out in German. It gave us quite a start. He was being loud. I looked over at the clock and it said “6:00am” in red digital lights. Our sleepy heads were having a problem understanding what was going on. All we could hear was Joe’s voice shouting like a madman. It sounded like he was in the corridor. The sound of his thudding feet suggested that he was marching up and down at a steady pace.
“Eins! Zwei, Drei! Vier! Fünf!” he was shouting, “Sechs! Sieben! Acht! Neun! Zehn!”
“What the bloody hell is going on?” asked Lizzie, who had a serious case of bed hair, and looked like Russell Brand in his early years, “who’s that yelling?”
“It’s Joe” I said in a yawn, “we’d better get used to stuff like this. Let’s go and see what’s he’s up to”
We got up, put our shirts over ourselves for decency and went out into the corridor. What we saw was beyond shocking. It gave us a full portrait of what Joe was all about. What we saw made us realised that this man would stop at nothing, offend anyone and be the biggest dick that he could be if it meant giving him fame and fortune. This one image alone captured the very essence of Joe Pepper.
He was goose-stepping up and down the hallway in a full Nazi uniform! His jack boots were smacking down on the floor with great power as he marched along. His arm was held upright in a straight Hitler salute. There was a massive humorous grin on his face. He was doing this horrid little performance as if it were all just a joke. It was as if he didn’t realise how offensive he was being.
This wasn’t like that film The Producers where they put on a show called Springtime for Hitler to try and make more money from a flopped show. That was a funny movie, with Gene Wilder at his best. The Springtime for Hitler part of the movie, has become an iconic comedy moment with reason, it’s hilarious. It wasn’t offensive, it was just very funny. This was because of the context in which Mel Brooks put the Nazi satire in. What Joe was doing was nothing like that. He was just a sad old man being a dick. It wasn’t funny and it wasn’t clever. It was just bloody stupid.
I remember seeing Lizzie’s eyes being wide open from shock. I knew exactly how she felt. I couldn’t believe how insensitive this man was being. I just hoped that he wasn’t planning on going into the city like that. The thing is if you don’t see messed up stuff like this for yourself, then you don’t believe that it’s real. I know that’s
real because I remember watching it happen before my eyes.
Soon the kids came down, saw what he was doing and were laughing their heads off. Some of them even began applauding Joe’s horrible impersonation and praised him. This made my blood boil. It made me so mad that a man as deranged as this was allowed to influence children in way he did. I was so furious by the idea that he was showing these children that such behaviour was ok.
If you do a Nazi joke within context, then that can just about slide. A “sort of” acceptable Nazi joke is like when you give a Hitler salute to a Teacher who’s ordered you to do something. It’s still politically incorrect but within context you can just about get away with it. To just get into a Nazi uniform, start marching up and down a corridor, doing the salute and shouting things out in German not only isn’t funny, but makes you look like a complete arsehole.
What we found most disturbing about Joe was that he was, at heart, a nice guy. He paid for us to come here, has promised to pay for our meals on top of the money we earn from the job and gave us a room to stay in. He defends out honour when people get arsey with us and makes sure that we’re ok.
Everyone has a dark side. That’s a known fact. Most of us try to keep the darker parts of our personality to ourselves. Joe was one of those people who couldn’t keep that side to himself. Usually that isn’t too much of a problem. The issue was that he was looking after children. I won’t be surprised if Joe’s Jekyll and Hyde personality has had some scaring effects on his young actors. It’s strange isn’t it? That most of the people in the world today who work with children, are almost always the complete nutcases.
After having his daft little joke, Joe went back to his room, got changed and came back out to lead us all to breakfast. He led us all out into the courtyard, down some steps into a tunnel that went under the main road, up into another courtyard and over a field towards another castle like building. It was freezing cold. I could feel the wind going against my face and making my nose turn red. When I thought that the oldness in England was bad, I was introduced to the coldness of Scotland.
We arrived at the building where Joe led us through some double doors. Inside was a canteen lined with massive oil paintings of landscapes and past head masters. We had a Full English Breakfast with a choice of hot tea or orange juice. I sat with Lizzie and David on a table all by ourselves right at the back of the hall. While we ate we could see the young actors chatting among themselves and occasionally give us dirty looks.
Once we’d finished our breakfast, all of us headed back across the fields, through the underground tunnel and back into the first courtyard. The others went off out of the archway and down the street to catch the bus into the city. The three of us went straight to the Moped. Since Lizzie drove the night before I volunteered to drive that morning. David sat behind me and hugged my middle, while Lizzie sat in the sidecar with a look of fear spread across her face.
I put on my helmet. Since Lizzie was less likely to fall off as she was strapped in, she gave her helmet to David to wear. I felt a little bit bad then as I hadn’t offered to do that myself the night before. I popped the key in the hole, turned it, kicked the engine into life and we were soon zooming down the many roads which led to the City of Edinburgh. We caught up with Joe who was still leading his actors like a General leading his soldiers to war. I slowed down the bike to a walking pace and rode alongside him.
“Where’s our destination?” I asked,
“The Royal Mile” he replied, “I printed off the map for you last night off the school computer, I found it in the room next to my mine. We’re going to do some publicity there and then head off to the venue afterwards. The venue is The Edinburgh Arts College, I’ve also printed you the map which tells you how to get there from the Royal Mile”
He gave Lizzie the two sheets of paper with the printouts. She took the papers and looked them over with much concentration. After confirming to herself that the places were going to be easy to find, she turned her head to Joe and nodded in the affirmative. Joe was happy with that and smiled at us with that horrifically creepy grin.
“Very good” he said, “Carry on, we’ll see you there”
“See yah!” I replied.
I twisted the bike’s handle and very soon Joe was nothing more than a small dot in the distance. We passed all of the same sights as the night before. We recognised some of the same shops and landmarks. When we turned a corner to head towards the Royal Mile, we passed some new places. We passed the legendary Edinburgh Dungeon and came upon something that made me look upwards in awe.
We stopped before a huge, tall and wide staircase. It was unbelievably high. There was a sign on the wall just to the side of the staircase which said: “The Royal Mile”. An idea for a bit of fun sprouted in my mind. I think you can probably guess exactly what the idea was. The idea was a race. One man on foot, verses a woman and a boy on a Moped. When I got off the bike and stood at the foot of the staircase, without needing to say anything Lizzie knew what I was up to.
She unbuckled herself from the sidecar, to her relief, and climbed up onto the Moped. I steadied myself at the foot of the stairs and looked upward at the daunting height. I knew I was mad to think that I was going to be able to run this monster of a staircase, but I same time I knew it was going to be a right laugh.
I crouched down with one leg in front of the other, imitating the way that professional runners start races at the Olympics. Lizzie was leaning forward on the bike in readiment for the challenge ahead. David even got in on the act by doing a countdown for us:
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” called David.
Once he uttered the number “one”, the game was on. I began to run up the steps as the Moped zoomed off in a screeching ball of exhaust fumes. At first I thought I was doing quite. I was speeding past slow climbing pedestrians with a silly grin on my face.
Then the tiredness settled in. I was only a quarter of the way there and I felt my legs begin to buckle. I didn’t stop though, oh no, I kept on trying to run up those stairs in a stubborn manner. Half way up I was wheezing and panting as I climbed up while holding onto the handrail, which stood in the centre of the staircase. Sweat was pouring down my face. I could no longer breathe and my legs felt like jelly.
It was at this point that an old man dressed entirely in tartan and tweed came by me. He was walking up the staircase with much power and force. There was no strain on the man’s bearded face. He was breathing at the same rhythm as you normally would when you’re walking. He took one look at me and grunted.
“Bloody tourists!” bellowed the man, he spoke with strong Scottish accent and a slight growl, “it seems that everyday we get more weedy little Englishman trying to get up these here stairs. When will they learn? Bloody English, they always have to put on a bloody show and be the big I’m. “Look at me” they’d say, “I’m from England and watch me make a complete twat of myself on those stairs”. Twerps the lot of them, why if I could get my hands on one it’d . . .”
His voice trailed away, as he kept on moaning to himself as he climbed further up the stairs.
When I finally reached the top I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. I was so tired from the climb that, at first, I hadn’t noticed that Lizzie and David were standing right in front of me. I looked up from where I was crouched, to see Lizzie face smiling down at me.
“You took your time” she said, “How do you feel?”
“I want to die!” I shouted,
Lizzie helped me up. We sat on a bench for a few moments just to catch my breath. While we sat there, Lizzie told me that she parked the bike just at the bottom of the Royal Mile. Feeling a lot better and well rested, I got up and went with the others through an alleyway onto the Royal Mile.
The Royal Mile is a very long street, which goes from the bottom of a hill all the way up to Edinburgh Castle at the top. I’ve always thought about how fun it would be to ride down that hill on a bike without pedalling, as it gets steep towards the bottom.
This street has become a famous location for the festival, as this is where all of the performers come to play. Some were doing their full shows on the street, while others were advertising their shows by doing different publicity stunts.
There was one boy who was starring in a production of Lord of the Flies. He lay in the street on his belly and stayed completely still. His torn up school uniform was covered in fake blood and gore. All around his motionless body were leaflets for the play. People would come along, look at the boy, take a leaflet from under him and then walk off reading it.
There was a troupe of actors who were promoting a production of Oh What a Lovely War! These guys were in full World War One uniforms and were marching up and down the street. Many of them had instruments. One had a trumpet, one had a guitar, one had a trombone and another had a marching drum hung around his neck. All day long they were walking up and down the street. They were playing songs from the show with a man, dressed as General Haig with a bushy moustache, leading the procession.
My favourite performer was a man who was trying to promote his company’s stage adaptation of Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. The man was dressed as Hunter, with the Hawaiian shirt and orange aviator glasses, and was going up to people and telling them about the show. He would tell them about the show in character and acting like he was on a very bad acid trip. I just wished that those young actors from our show could have seen him, maybe then they’ve have understood what “real acting” actually meant.
We were stood there waiting for a long time. We’d wondered where the bloody hell Joe had gone to. All the while we just stood there and watched more madcap performers come by, doing clever stunts and funny tricks. In fact, we were actually having a good time. We saw magicians, musicians, street dancers, puppeteers and, at one point, we even saw some Bollywood dancers. Of course the fun couldn’t last for long, as we began to hear complaints among the crowd, about a certain performance.