Jam Tops, the Fonz and the Pursuit of Cool

by Kris Lillyman

  “Oh, right. Thanks”, said Gordy.

  “Yeah, thanks”, echoed Daisy.

  “So you two fancy those two, then?” Said Frazer, ‘those two’ meaning Steve Cool and Pippa. “It doesn’t matter, it’s no big deal” he added as again both Gordy and Daisy started to protest. “I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry”.

  Gordy and Daisy looked at each other realising there was no point in keeping up the pretence. They had been caught and there was no denying it any longer.

  “Thanks, Frazer”, they both said a little sheepishly in unison.

  “Hey, no problem”, said Frazer, handing over a crisp new five pound note to Daisy in payment for his LP. Daisy opened the till and gave him his change then slipped the album into a ‘Bailey’s Bandstand’ grey carrier bag (even the bags were dull) and passed it to Frazer.

  “Thanks, Daisy”, he said with a smile, “See you again soon”.

  “Yeah, bye”, said Daisy, Thanks!”

  “Bye”, said Gordy, to his newly found very cool friend (already mentally ticking off item Number 17 on the Cool list - ‘Cool friends’ - which was a definite bonus as he had previously considered this to be one of the hardest items to achieve).

  There was no denying that Frazer was cool as even Steve Cool seemed to think he was (and he should know), but the big punk was cool in a completely unconventional way - if indeed there was such an actual thing as ‘conventionally cool’. He may not have fitted Gordy’s preconceived idea of it but cool Frazer undoubtedly was; razor blades, nose ring and big, red mohawk included.

  At the beginning of the day Gordy certainly wouldn’t have thought in his wildest dreams that he and Frazer would end up as buddies, but they had and Gordy couldn’t be more pleased.

  As Frazer got to the door, he turned and said, “By the way, if you want to see those two anytime soon then they’ll be down at the roller-disco next Saturday night at the Drill Hall if you wanna come. I’ll be going too so I can meet you both there if you like?”

  Again, Gordy and Daisy looked at each other and seemed to telepathically come to the same decision. Then they looked back at Frazer. “Okay”, they said simultaneously.

  “Great!” Said Frazer, “See you about seven then”. And with that he was gone leaving Gordy and Daisy still reeling in his wake.

  Little did they know, but they had just unwittingly signed themselves up for the third and final seriously bad thing.

  The oh so wonderful, oh so harmlessly sounding, roller-disco (which should really be followed by loud ‘dum, dum durrrrrm’ sort of music - a bit like at the end of Batman when the Dynamic Duo find themselves in another fiendishly tight spot at the hands of The Penguin but you’re left dangling on tenter hooks as the end credits roll and the ‘dinner, dinner, dinner, dinner’ theme tune starts and you’re forced to wait until the next episode at the ‘same bat-time, same bat-channel’ to find out if they escape).

  In short, the roller-disco would turn out to be just like being hung upside-down over a shark-tank by The Penguin without your Shark-Repellent Bat-Spray.

  ‘Holy fucking ball-bags, Batman!’ as Robin might say - or at least he would if he knew what was about to happen at the roller-disco.

  Chapter Eight

  Roller-disco, Steve Cool, roller-disco, Pippa Wilson; that was very much the gist of every conversation Gordy and Daisy had over the next week. If the topic wasn’t directly about the roller-disco or Steve Cool or Pippa Wilson it was usually related to one of the three in some way. The roller-disco and all thoughts of it had taken over their lives and become the pinnacle of their very existence.

  Like the Empire State Building for King Kong or the iceberg for Titanic, the roller-disco loomed massively on the horizon for Gordy and Daisy and both desperately hoped it was where destiny was waiting (although that didn’t work out too well for King Kong or the Titanic).

  The only slight speed bump in the otherwise open road to the roller-disco was the fact that neither Gordy or Daisy could roller-skate - which, they supposed, was possibly a ‘must’ when attending something called a ‘roller-disco’. However, both had seen people roller-skating and agreed that it looked ridiculously easy so they weren’t particularly concerned. After all, how hard could it be?

  Nevertheless, regardless of their lack of roller-skating ability, they optimistically decided that it was a golden opportunity to make Steve Cool and Pippa Wilson finally notice them at last and one way or another that was undoubtedly going to happen.

  Daisy’s plan for the roller-disco included wearing her new contact lenses (which would be ready by then) plus an outfit from her new, very trendy wardrobe (which would most definitely include her prized new high waisted Brutus jeans). In addition to the contacts and the clothes, Daisy was also going to go to the hairdressers to get a radical new ‘doo’. She was thinking something along the lines of Farrah Fawcett-Majors from Charlie’s Angels - whose hair she had coveted ever since Gordy had introduced her to the TV show. ‘Hair-Bear’ would soon be gone for good, replaced forever by the flicked flowing locks of Jill Munroe (Farrah’s character in the show) and Daisy couldn’t wait.

  Steve Cool wasn’t going to know what had hit him.

  Gordy was also planning a change of image and decided that the roller-disco would be the ideal opportunity to re-invent himself. As David Bowie had morphed from Ziggy Stardust into The Thin White Duke, Gordy was going to morph from The Portly Four-Eyed Geek into a modern day ‘Fonz’. He, too, was going to have his hair cut and in his mind’s eye he could see it being something like Steve Cool’s, which was sort of quiffed and flicked back over his ears (he didn’t know exactly what the style was called but was certain that the barber would know exactly what he meant). Either way, he would finally be rid of the basin-cut that Barb (his mum) had been inflicting on him with the kitchen scissors ever since he could remember and for that alone he would be truly grateful.

  Gordy also decided (after seeing Steve Cool modelling a pair the previous Saturday) that he wanted to wear a pair of Levi jeans to the roller-disco. However, upon buying some 501s (for an extortionate price) at his local Debenhams, he was told by the totally bored, yet surprisingly stylish sales assistant that they were ‘shrink-fit’. After further investigation, Gordy discovered that this meant having to sit in a lukewarm bath whilst wearing the jeans, thus ensuring a perfect fit as they shrank to the wearer’s body shape. Gordy didn’t like the sound of this one bit and when he suggested to Barb that this was what he intended to do she didn’t like the sound of it either and banned him point-blank from doing it. She did, however, have another idea which Gordy thought made much more sense. His nan was a dab hand with a needle and thread and a whizz with a sewing machine, so rather than sitting uncomfortably for God knows how long in a cold bath and getting dark blue dye all over the bathroom as the colour washed out of the brand new denim, he would just get his nan to take them in instead. Simple.

  ***

  After the shop closed on the Wednesday evening before the much anticipated Saturday night, Gordy, accompanied by Daisy, took his newly purchased, highly expensive Levi 501’s down to his nan’s house to ask her to work her magic on the aforementioned garment.

  Unfortunately, just as Gordy and Daisy walked up the street away from Bailey’s Bandstand in the direction of his nan’s house, Trevor, dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi, was just making his way up the street towards the shop. His plan was to surprise his best friend by meeting him after work, but as Trevor saw Gordy walking away with Daisy his heart sank and he turned on his heels and walked away feeling vaguely idiotic and very much like The Force wasn’t with him - which seemed a little unfair considering the way he was dressed.

  Indeed, The Force was not with Gordy either because he didn’t feel his friend’s presence and had no idea of the rejection poor Trevor was feeling.

  It wasn’t Gordy’s intention to hurt Trevor or for Daisy to tag along for that m
atter, but his nan lived en-route to Daisy’s house and it was difficult for him to say that he’d rather she didn’t come. So come she did, although it would prove to be a mistake in the long run for reasons that had nothing to do with Trevor and everything to do with Nan’s next door neighbour, Madge.

  ***

  Gordy’s nan and grandad were marvellous grandparents but were also what most people would describe as ‘colourful characters’.

  Gordy’s nan was small and slim with big, grey horn-rimmed specs. She was sweet and good-natured with a penchant for Harvey’s Bristol Cream (which she would often swig out of the bottle when no one was looking because it ‘saved dirtying a glass’). She also had a rather unfortunate habit of unintentionally showing her long bloomers when she sat down, which frequently embarrassed the vicar, who knew not where to look, when he came around for tea and some of her famously tasty homemade cake.

  Nan, for such a small woman, was incredibly heavy handed which often meant her famously tasty homemade cake was served on broken china. Virtually all of her crockery and ornaments either had chips missing out of them or had been smashed and stuck together again (rather badly and very obviously) with Araldite glue.

  Gordy’s grandad was totally bald and had been thanks to a severe bout of pneumonia in his twenties when (according to family legend) his hair had fallen out ‘overnight’. He had a big, loud laugh and a wicked sense of humour and was rarely seen without a huge King Edward cigar stuffed between his grinning lips. He spent most of his time either sitting in his favourite mock-leather wing-back chair watching horse-racing on the TV with an open copy of the Racing Post on his lap or ‘down the bookies’, which annoyed Gordy’s nan no end - and because of it she was a first-class nag - although she loved him dearly.

  The pair of them also loved Gordy. He was their favourite grandchild (or maybe that’s just how they made him feel) and would have done absolutely anything for him. The only downside was that they tended to see him as a young child still and treated him accordingly. This was fine when Gordy was on his own and something he actually cherished but when he was in company it was acutely embarrassing.

  Gordy had a key to his nan and grandad’s front door and whenever he visited their small terraced house which was located in a side-street not too far from the Town Centre, he just rang the doorbell and let himself in.

  Gordy opened the door, his Debenham’s carrier bag stuffed under his arm with his ludicrously expensive Levi 501’s (which he was starting to suspect were sewn together using gold yarn to justify the price) folded neatly inside. He stepped into the narrow hallway and ushered Daisy in after him. “Only me!” he shouted.

  At the end of the short hallway was another door which led directly into living room. Gordy pushed it open and said, “Hello?”

  His nan was sitting there, bottle of Bristol Cream in her hand and a broad grin on her face, “Hello, Oddbod!” she said delightedly.

  His grandad was sitting in his mock-leather wing-back, his flat cap still on (from his recent trip to the bookies) and a half-smoked King Edward clamped between his teeth. “Hello, Woggitt!” he said cheerfully. Quite why his grandad called him ‘Woggitt’ nobody knew - not even his grandad, who had called him it for as long as he could remember - and whose best explanation was ‘because he looked like a Woggitt(?)’.

  Anyway, Gordy only seemed to notice, at that precise moment, that his nan and grandad only ever called him ‘Oddbod’ or ‘Woggitt’ and never by his given name and suddenly he wished that he’d discouraged Daisy from going there with him. Also, judging by the look that was now appearing on his grandparents stunned faces (as it dawned that their ‘little boy’ was, at last, growing up), he realised that this was the first time he had ever taken a girl there with him. Trevor had, of course, been there many times, dressed in various outfits that confused the hell out of Gordy’s nan and grandad - but they had at least known he was a boy and not a girl. A girl was a completely new thing - especially a specky, freckly, ginger one with a hair-do that made her look as if she was a miniature Grenadier Guard wearing a wooly, red, bearskin helmet.

  “Hi, Nan, Grandad,” said Gordy. “Erm, this is Daisy.”

  “Well, strike me up a gum tree!” Said Nan, as Daisy shuffled into the room behind her beloved grandson. ‘Strike me up a gum tree’ - was an expression of surprise and one of Nan’s famous phrases. Another, which meant roughly the same, was ‘I’ll go to the foot of our stairs!’ Nevertheless, whichever of the phrases she used, she was, indeed, surprised to see Gordy being accompanied by a girl.

  However, she recovered well. “Oh, Daisy, is it?” She said conspiratorially, “Hello, Daisy, come in. I’m his nan. Would you like some toast?” This was the standard question Nan asked to anyone associated with Gordy mainly because Gordy, himself, liked toast, particularly Nan’s toast which she cooked under the grill and allowed to get quite burnt before serving it up with lashings of melted Lurpak. Gordy had toast almost every time he visited his nan. It had become their ‘thing’ and one of his very favourite pastimes.

  “Er, toast?” replied Daisy, a little taken aback by Nan’s opening gambit, “Um, no, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Oh,” said Nan, sounding slightly disappointed. “Maybe later then, eh?”

  “Yes, maybe,” said Daisy with growing confusion but sensing the strange importance of toast in the old lady’s life.

  “Hello, Daisy!” Chimed in Grandad, as if greeting an old friend he hadn’t seen since the outbreak of World War II, and rescuing her from the slightly awkward ‘toast stand-off’ which had unexpectedly arisen before making things much worse by adding to Gordy, “You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend Woggitt!”

  Both Gordy and Daisy coloured up (which had been a rather annoying and regular habit of late).

  “She’s not my girlfriend, Grandad. She’s just a friend, that’s all. We work together at Mr. Bailey’s shop.”

  “Oh, just a friend are you Daisy?” Said Grandad, clearly not believing a word of it.

  “Oh leave them alone, Sid, you interfering old man!” Snapped Nan. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

  But Grandad just grinned and puffed knowingly on his King Edward. “Sit down, Daisy, take the weight off, any ‘friend’ of Woggitt’s is a friend of ours. Ignore that old biddy,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at Nan, she’s only ever ratty with me, no one else - so you’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, be off with you, you silly man!” Said Nan, clearly nowhere near as angry as she was pretending to be and guiding Daisy into one of her ‘best’ chairs (the one which was reserved for the vicar, the Avon lady and the nice man from Prudential Insurance who came around every Wednesday evening to collect their contributions).

  “Now, Oddbod,” she said, as Daisy made herself comfortable, “I’m sure you’ll have some toast, won’t you?”

  “Yes, please, Nan, two slices,” replied Gordy relieved that the topic of conversation had moved on from ‘girlfriend’ and back to ‘toast’.

  “Daisy, you sure I can’t tempt you?” Said Nan, “I’m making some anyway?”

  “Oh, okay then,” said Daisy finally caving into what she assumed was some kind of important initiation ritual, “I’ll just have a slice, thanks, if that’s alright?”

  “Of course it is, sweetie,” said Nan visibly brightening now Daisy had accepted the traditional welcome gift of toast.

  “I’ll have a cup of tea, Gert, if you’re going out there”, piped up Gordy’s grandad, winking at Daisy (‘out there’ meaning the kitchen, which wasn’t really ‘out’ anywhere other than about three feet away through an open doorway.

  Gordy’s grandad had called his wife ‘Gert’ to be purposely mischievous. It was her name but she hated it. She had been named after three aunts; Gertrude, Ada and Florence and she despised each one (the names, not the aunts). However no one, except her husband ever called her ‘Gert’ or even wo
rse, ‘Gertie’ (which Grandad frequently did when he was feeling particularly naughty). Very few people, other than family knew her first name and even her very best friends, Madge included (her next door neighbour - who we’ll come to shortly), all called her ‘Mrs Lancaster’ which was very formal for a woman of such an amiable disposition.

  “I should cocoa,” said Nan, using yet another of her famous phrases (this one, in this context, meaning ‘you should be so lucky’ - although it was used in a myriad of other ways which were Nan’s to call upon as and when required.

  “Don’t be like that, my sweet,” said Grandad marshalling all his considerable charisma and charm to persuade his wife (whilst winking once again at Daisy and Gordy, clearly delighting in showing off for them), “You know I love ya!”

  “Oh, alright, bloody man!” Nan said, instantly buckling but also happily playing along with her husband’s well practiced routine.

  “Thank you, dear one,” Grandad said with exaggerated affect as Nan stepped into the kitchen and clicked the kettle on.

  “Can I get you a tea, Daisy?” Nan called.

  “No, thanks,” said Daisy hoping that this wasn’t yet another initiation.

  “Coffee?” Nan said.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Milk?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve got some Nesquik, both a banana and a strawberry flavour?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Orange squash then?”