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I
got this next pic at the same spot I took the previous pic, and as you
can see, it's of some kids on some old-style fairground swings. I noticed
a bloke with a professional-looking camera taking pics (compared to him,
I guess I'm a point-and-press merchant!). He preferred to snap away in
black-and-white ("the negatives don't fade as quickly") and we discussed
the merits and debits of digital cameras alongside old fashioned reel ones.
It was just then that I saw a bloke I knew of, but never really spoke to
who lived in an old church down Kentish Town way that I'd go to quite regularly
some years ago. Back in the day, he ran things in his own way and had numerous
people running around, doing his errands (as you do, when you're an aspiring
"don"). But looking at him now, eyes dulled, face slightly bloated and
puffy ("Too much cocaine and other things," I was told by someone later),along
with fingernails that were too long and grubby with it, I couldn't help
but remember the closing line said by some actress from an old gangster
film ('The Roaring Twenties', I think) with James Cagney and Humprey Bogart
I saw years ago that went, "He used to be a big shot." Just seeing him
sitting there behind me, I saw all too clearly the need to know your limits.
This
next was taken in an area of the park with a cluster of tents. As you can
see, there's plenty of people bustling about and enjoying the sunshine,
late in the evening as it was. I had a chat with a bloke I got to know
from the old Rainbow Centre just after it'd closed down called Simon, who
lived down the road from my old house. He'd dyed his hair (and his beard!)
a pale-ish green. He was there with some friends and a flatmate of his
from Somerset who had his girlfriend there, and had decided to enjoy the
day out, taking a break from setting up his very own webpage (amongst other
things). We talked about various things (malfunctioning laptops and cheap
internet access were two things that sprung to mind).
While
Simon walked around, I noticed a tattooed and single-dreadlocked bloke
nearby doing a spot of juggling. Not wanting to break his concentration,
I took a quick snap which came out not too badly.
Walking
into the 'Cannabis Action' tent with Simon (he wanted to know if hemp fibre
grew naturally, or was it processed), I heard some infectious ska playing
in another tent nearby, I went to take a peek and caught the closing moment
of what was a v. energetic performance, it seemed. No-one was doing the
classic 'ska stomp' dance they sometimes show in t.v. documentaries on
black British history. Even more disappointing, I didn't see a single soul
do the 'horsey-horsey' or the 'Lester Piggot' (a dance invented by my brother
Joseph's godfather, Mr. James Thames - pronounced "femmes", in case you're
confused - that he'd do whenever my dad played his old ska and rocksteady
singles on our radiogram when I was little). Anyway, enough of my reminiscing,
here's the pic of the crowd I got (another hand over my head one, you'll
notice).
It
was getting a little late. I only had one snap left, so I used it to capture
the sunset over the festival (the sky in the original pic's much redder
than it shows on the scan you see). I saw the same African drummers I'd
seen when I first arrived at the festival, but by now, they'd gotten a
larger audience. Some people accompanied them on musical instruments of
their while others danced and let themselves go (I broke out my harmonica
and warbled away, as only I can!). I saw yet another person I knew from
a while aback, dancing away in front of me (a lovely young woman named
Jo). As the local plods came to wind down festivities, we talked about
old times, what we were both up to, and swapped e-mail addresses. I made
like a Womble (even though I was in Brixton, not Wimbledon) and tidied
part of the park with the aid of a French girl who saw me clutching a large
black plastic bag, having volunteered to do so at the end. With that done,
I left the park and headed back to Tottenham (someone has to do it!).
