Scrumpy came over on Christmas Day for lunch and still hasn’t left, having taken up residence in my basement. He’s no trouble, and potters about looking after his plants. I don’t venture much into his lair, as it’s rather smoky and smells of old socks, but he pops upstairs quite a bit for meals, to use the internet, and to watch telly. And the bathroom, about once a fortnight. Apart from that, he’s quite good company really and a mine of information - he has taught me a lot about organic food, saving the rainforest, and where to get your mobile phone charged for free. His dreadlocks were looking a bit droopier than usual yesterday. It was coming up to a rather sad anniversary, he explained. Sid Vicious died of a drug overdose 28 years ago, on 2nd February 1979, aged 21, three months after having found his girlfriend Nancy Spungen dead in their hotel room, stabbed possibly by him, possibly by a third party – no-one will ever know. They had spent most of their idyll in filthy sheets shooting up heroin. Now it might not be your or my idea of a fine romance, but they were, apparently, deeply in love. He penned a bad but poignant posthumous poem to his beloved, which you may read on his entry in Wikipedia.
Sid’s death was about as dramatic as his short life. It is rumoured his mother (a former heroin addict herself) may have administered the fatal dose to her son. When Nancy’s mother refused to allow the lovers to be buried together, “Ma Vicious” as she is referred to, allegedly either (a) drunkenly knocked Sid's ashes over in the bar of Heathrow airport or (b) climbed over the cemetery wall where Nancy was buried and scattered them on her grave. As a last hurrah, Sid’s rendition of “My Way” was released just after his demise. He certainly did. Do it. His way.
Had he lived, Sid would have been 50 this year. I imagine he may have grown into a sort of British Serge Gainsbourg with time.
As a tribute to the ultimate rock ‘n roll icon of self-destruction, Scrumpy is holding a “Sid and Nancy Day” today, a bit like the Lennon-Ono bed-in, but not in the Amsterdam Hilton, and without the press. I am taking the place of Nancy. Apparently I don’t have to take heroin or get stabbed, it’s all very symbolic. I just have to leave yesterday’s make up on, not brush my hair, not wash, be hung over and slouch around all day in a dirty ragged old T-shirt. Which, as I am having a day off work today, is exactly what I was going to do anyway.
10 comments:
I'm delighted you're have a day off, milady. I don't like you working and feel the pleasure of your leisure in my hairy limbs. You don't really think Sid had the talent of Serge Gainsbourg do you? I never knew Sid well, so I am in no position to judge.
i take it that lunch is off, then ? i'm not eating with someone who looks and smells like a cesspit.
We have a plant exactly like that in the hall. My son no 2 never fails to point out it looks exactly like pot plant. Well it is. Don't talk to me about ashes. You wouldn't believe the furore about my mother's.
Pat: in case I have to go anon with these wretched comment boxes
Drugs were and are all around us. Your post reminded me of two schoolmates who would have been my age today. One of them died just like Sid in the early 80s and I've been told AIDS killed the other schoolmate in the 90s. What a waste... and I know it could have been me too, so I somehow feel lucky to be alive but most of all, I'm lucky I never found myself messing with self-destruction.
On a lighter note, I'm also glad the week-end is here, I need rest and to 'slouch around all day', as you say, in my PJs, which is my favourite sport. This is a long week-end for you, Daphne, good, very good!
I read your restaurants review in UP Front mag yesterday and as everything you write, I enjoyed it very much. Keep it up!
GB, I just felt a bit sorry for the lad when I read about his early life. He never stood much of a chance did he? Probably a nice boy really. Even if totally lacking in talent.
Zed, you live with the Twat and a 13-year old boy, you should be immune to foul smells by now. (Enjoyed lunch btw, always a pleasure).
Pat, to be sure, pick the leaves off, dry them out and smoke them. If it doesn't have any effect, you're quite safe and can leave it in situ. If it does, take cuttings and plant more.
MK, I am a born soul-saviour, the merest hint of self-destructive behaviour in a young man will bring out my most motherly instincts. I would have taken Sid home and cooked him a nice roast dinner, scrubbed behind his ears and put him to bed with a hot water bottle.
Oh Daphne - forgot to say it's a faux plant - but very delicate and beautiful.
Daphne, I think you should adopt. There's no law against adopting adults is there? Or gorillas?
You got into a bed with Scrumpy!?
Scrumpy rumpy pumpy?
The world must be told.
A purely symbolic gesture, Aunty, and in the interest of promoting culcher and saving the planet (not washing = saving water). Really, I'm old enough to be his mother! Almost.
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