I don’t suppose you’re interested in the ridiculous, irresponsible tales of a first year University student somewhere in the west of England. But if you’re reading this now, that’s what you’re in store for. A little slice of stupidity.
This was back in October — a month into my first year of studying hard and doing my best to ruin my already mediocre physical state with alcohol and other such trifles. By this point I’d met many of the people I associate with daily and consider great friends. Jazzy Pete, who’s now my boss as a gardener, and also fulfilled the role of a dealer for a time, too. He has a penchant for well, jazz, but also whiskey, gin, foxy babes, marijuana, cocaine, mushrooms, good quality meats, vegetables, the piano and electric guitar, skateboarding, tightrope walking, mischief making and anything else of the weird or wonderful. Not forgetting Tara, Tash, Laura, Luke or Jimmy. They were all there too. And probably a couple of others. But this tale is all about Jazzy fucking Pete.
It was a bleak friday night, and nobody particularly wanted to do anything. Going out was definitely out of the question. Yep, you wouldn’t be seeing any of us on the town that night. Except when it got to 11pm, we all fancied a drink. By 1am we were fucked, and a taxi had been ordered to ferry us into town as soon as possible. The problem was, the taxi was for 6, and we were made of 8. Being something of adventurer and a bit of a fucking idiot, I suggested that myself and Jazzy would make the 25 minute cycle into town and catch up with the gang. In the pissing rain. With no lights. Fucked.
Everyone heartily agreed that this was an excellent idea, and Jazzy proceeded to roll a joint the size of a cricket bat. The others left, the cricket bat was smoked to its stingers, and the world seemed to revolve at a rate that would make years swing by in seconds. We both agreed that a brief yet gratifying tinkle on his Korg electric piano was in order before our pilgrimage into town. After ten minutes of fingers falling on duff keys, we figured it was time to make for the road. Pete chucked me a parker which was not built for my rotund frame and perhaps even a little tight on his boyish body, but it went on all the same.
I veered across the empty road as though tracing the peaks and troughs of a heartbeat monitor. It was, as Pete might put it, ‘fucking intense’. Pete however performed jumps, tricks, flicks and all the rest of it. I have no idea how. I think he may have been possessed by some BMX demon, that night. We’d made it into town without any major cause for concern. At least the outskirts. We hadn’t passed car, with it being half 1am, until, around the corner from the club, a deafening light comes up from behind us. Jazzy shouted: “Phil, come left,” to get out of its way, with us being in the middle of the road. And I, in quite a mind melted state, over compensate by thrusting the handlebars sharp to the left, so much so that it felt necessary to spin them immediately back to the right. Next thing I’ve crashed into a car that’s parked on the side of the road, in a heap, thinking I have no idea what, but probably something nothing to do with anything. I get to my feet, and to what should have been my horror, but at the time seemed nothing too concerning, the car behind had stopped, and two uniformed officers were making their way towards me. They got me onto the pavement, and Pete, being one of the most decent people I’ve ever come to meet, despite what aspersions you may have interpreted from my descriptions of the man, came and spoke to them with me, although I am certain he could have gotten away without any trouble.
“Been drinking tonight boys?” an officer said.
“A little, I’ve had, officer,” I said, trying my best to perfect the balance apology and sobriety in my response.
“We could take you in tonight if we wanted to. But that seems unnecessary. Stupid thing to do that….etc etc” I can’t really remember.
They let us go. I think it probably gave them a fucking good laugh. We locked up our bikes and went to the club, only to have no idea where we’d left them the next day.