Kim B redux - crossing the Rubicon
You might want to read part one first.
So, by now I’ve realised that I’ve made an enormous mistake in shunning Kim’s invitation to dance at the school disco. At the very next disco she got asked to dance by Steve W, and after that, they settled into a semi-long-term relationship.
To everyone except me, this seemed like a perfect marriage. They were both good looking - and had both reached puberty years before the rest of us. They were the perfect couple and it made me sick.
Steve was shaving twice a day whilst I was worried if my Sta Pressed trousers made my tiny cock look big enough when I sat down.
Such was the angst of the pre-pubescent teen.
I obviously had to hide my disappointment (about Kim and not my cock) behind a cynicism towards Kim and the fairer sex in general. This helped me to sleep at night, but didn’t stop me holding a candle for her.
In fact, I held that candle most nights if memory serves.
Roll forward 2-3 years, my balls had dropped and whilst I’m still going to school discos, I no longer have the fear of the fairer sex I did in years gone by - I’d become ‘a man’.
I’m also no longer wearing Tonic trousers and tasselled loafers. No, I’m now what you would call a New Romantic. But that doesn’t capture it completely because there is a finer grain definition within that term.
I am, in fact, a massive fan of Japan. This fact sets me apart as an intellectual - a thinking man’s New Romantic if you will. I am therefore predisposed to look down at fans of lesser New Romantic groups, such as, for example, Duran Duran.
Kim - and her friends Jenny * , Sharon and Joanne are all Duranies - fans of Duran Duran. This means that my mates (including Alan Cockhead ** ) and I look down on them.
They, in turn, look down on us and call us queers ***.
Just to set the scene, at this time I am wearing Kung Fu slippers, white socks, Sta Pressed (still), granddad shirts, and old man’s jackets - all topped off with a pair of burgundy **** leg-warmers to match my burgundy fringe *****.
Steve and Kim have split up by now and there is a school disco on Friday. My mates and I lobby Mr Essex, the drama teacher who runs the discos, to play some Japan so that we can at least stand around the edge of the school hall not dancing to something we like as opposed to standing around the edge of the school hall not dancing to something we don’t like.
He is not moved and tells us that it will be the usual chart stuff, plus Hi Ho Silver Lining (which he self-indulgently plays 3-4 times each disco). We sit around and debate boycotting the disco in protest. We lament the short-sightedness of commercial pop, and how young poets like us will never truly be understood. We realise that we’ve got nothing better to do but to turn up, however we agree to boo anything that isn’t intellectual enough for us.
On the night, Kim looks stunning. Properly grown-up, she’s put her hair up revealing a wonderfully smooth neck and just the cutest ears ******. She’s no longer taller than me as my body has started to take on the shape and size that it was meant to be.
Looking at her, I realise there and then that whilst we’re in the middle of the New Romantic Wars, I’d like to do my bit for peace.
And so it was that when this song came on…
…I literally and metaphorically crossed the floor and ‘danced’ with Kim, Jenny, Sharon and Joanne.
It taught me a great lesson in diplomacy, and after some negotiation, my mates joined me and we each paired off with one of the girls - except Brett who was really ugly and very mental. Very mental. Seriously.
Kim and I saw each other for the next six months or so and, despite having an enormous crush on her very sexy Mum, it seemed to work quite well.
It didn’t last, and in part three I’ll complete the story of sexual tension that drove us apart, brought us together and ultimately drove us apart again.
Listening to Rio brings all this back as if it were yesterday.
* Jenny’s brother Andy used to use the most ridiculous similes - once, when he wanted to suggest that his Dad was a heavy smoker, he told me that his dad “smoked like a horse”.
** True story
*** It was the 80s
**** Pronounced Berr Gundy
***** This is hilarious to anyone that has met me via the MDD sessions - as I no longer have a fringe to dye
****** Isn’t it funny what you remember?
