Burnt Lungs and Bitter Sweets

Burnt Lungs and Bitter Sweets

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Dead Swan (2024)

What a Waste (Ian Drury and the Blockheads)

They found a dead swan in the river today. I was there when it happened; I’d just cut across the skate park on my way to meet my man Dave on the riverbank when this minor drama starts to unfold. Like bloody Swan Lake, right there in real life.

I say my man Dave, but I’m not really sure if that’s even his real name. We all call him Dave. It suits him. Anyone could be called Dave. Anyways, I could see he wasn’t there, and this lot probably scared him off. Lots of shouting and ‘ooing’ about what they should do with the bird and how disgusting it was, and how useless the council are etc, etc. So, I thought I’d take a look.

I was a bit surprised at the small crowd it was attracting – it was bloody early in the morning and usually there’s only a couple of dog-walkers who give me dirty looks when I go past in my tracksuit, without a dog of course. You’ve heard that saying, ‘gone to see a man about a dog?’ Well, that’s me. Always seeing a man about a dog, but I haven’t got a dog, see. Dave is usually the man, and the dog, well, the least said about that, the better.

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Anyways, I thought they’d found a body in the river. It has been known. But it was just a swan. And when I saw it, I couldn’t help it, but I thought of Hoagie. All them years ago. Poor bugger.

Way back, Hoagie and me, and sometimes Toggie, or even sometimes Jonesy used to hang about here a lot. I’m Toad by the way. Got big eyes, see. And my personality apparently. I remember one night, when we went on this raid of a supermarket. I think it was one of them ones that don’t exist anymore like Finefare or something. We was so wasted! And we nicked a trolley and filled it up with snacks. Just kept doing it, anything we could lay our hands on, into this trolley it went. We was yelling and making a hell of a racket, but the little assistant was too scared to say anything. We whizzed it right out of the shop. Then me and Hoagie took turns pushing each other around in it. I wheeled him down here to the river and then I pushed him right in! What a laugh. Everything was a laugh back then.

Hoagie’s real name was James Vincent Hoag. He got the right piss taken out of him for the Vincent bit. And the James bit. He didn’t look like a Jimmy, so it just got shortened to Hoagie. We were the two musketeers. When he got a mohawk hairdo, I dyed mine green. I didn’t dare go the full mohawk, but I fancied myself as a bit Johnny Rotten to his Sid Vicious, or maybe it was the other way round? I think we were singing ‘Anarchy in the UK’ as we raided that shop come to think about it.

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Hoagie was nuts. I remember one time he picked a fight with this kid in the pub on the corner over his trousers being the wrong colour, and then he smashed a bottle and put it up to his face like he was gonna bottle him. But the kid’s friend got hold of Hoagie and chucked him out. After punching him in the mouth full on. Hoagie found it hilarious. He said he wouldn’t have to worry about his front teeth dropping out now ‘cos this bloke had saved him the trouble. Hoagie was always on the script – methadone you see, makes your teeth rotten. Not ‘cos he was giving up drugs, you understand. He just took that as well. Right laugh he was. Had the constitution of an ox. And he could drink you under the table too. Always the last man standing. The other two didn’t have the understanding we had. Toggie’s real name was Thorin and Jonesy was just always Jonesy. I don’t remember his first name. Toggie went to jail for GBH and robbery, and Jonesy, well Jonesy went to work in a bank, I think.

That night by the river was a good night. One of the last times I saw Hoagie was by this river as well, quite a few years later. I’d cleaned up my act a bit and got a job. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t join the bloody rat race. I was only packing stuff in boxes. But I thought if I got a bit of work and a bit of money, I’d get myself out of this dump. I mean, look at it. It’s even worse now. In the cold light of day, it’s a load of grey-block buildings, covered in graffiti, named after some famous poet. Always is, isn’t it? Pretty name for an ugly piece of shit, as if the name will somehow improve it. Back then we had a bit of fun there though. But I never made any money ‘cos I kept spending it. So, I’m still here. I just pack different boxes. I

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admire you mate, I said to Hoagie, that last time. Sticking to your principals. Not for him, working for some twat in a suit for a crap wage. Hoagie lived on his wits. He had twenty quid out of me that day, but well, that was Hoagie, what can you do?

So, when I see this swan, I look at it, floating all lifeless and bloated in that green mire and immediately my mind goes to Hoagie. Someone should clean up that river, they say. Look at the damage it’s doing to the wildlife, they say. It’s so unsightly, they say. I looked at its wings, folded one over the other. Bit like an angel. A fallen angel, dropped in that shitty, putrid river of green slime. Its beak was wide open and half full of green stuff. It probably choked to death on that. They say all sorts of things about swans, like they mate for life; they paddle furiously under all that graceful gliding across the surface. This one just looked exposed. Took its last breath amongst rusty bikes, used condoms and half-eaten Macdonald’s. Probably somewhere in there is that bloody shopping trolley we dumped; a wire skeleton all covered in shit rusting and rotting away.

I wanted to pull the swan out. Not because I could save it; it was way beyond that. But because I wanted to give it back some dignity. All those bloody do-gooders and environmentalists around; all those people gawping, moaning about the state of the town. But the town’s been like it for years. It’s a dead bird at the end of the day. But it got to me. It got to me in a way I didn’t think they’d understand. I don’t understand it myself.

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So, I went in, and I got it out, and I covered it up with my coat. And I just stood there looking at it, for what seemed like a long time, kind of protecting it, with everyone else’s noise just fading into the background until someone in an orange jacket turned up and took it away.

Dave never showed, so I just went home. And for the rest of the day, I sat there, smoking and staring at the four walls. And I thought of Hoagie. It was quite a funny story really. He got chased by the police for something really stupid – nicking a pack of fags I think – and they chased him across that very river. But his trainers filled up with water and because he was so wasted as usual, he bloody sank and drowned. Stupid sod. It was in all the papers at the time. Just shows you can’t escape forever. It’ll get you in the end. He lay there for hours before anyone got him out. Poor bastard.

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Dead Rats in a Bag (1980)

Virginia Plain (Roxy Music)

‘Kecks! Kecks!’ Hoagie was yelling from the bottom of the ladder staircase in the split level flat. ‘What are you doing in there? I need to get in.’

Kecks heard him yelling but she was intent on surveying her somewhat grey reflection under the fluorescent lighting. The tube flickered a bit. She noticed there were dead flies trapped in it. He kept calling.

‘I’m up ‘ere and I’m busy in the bathroom,’ she finally answered.

Hoagie bounded up the ladder; skinny and lithe, he barely touched it with his feet. He stopped at the open door and stared at the vision of the gaunt and bony Kecks, standing there in her bra and a pair of pyjama bottoms, staring at her face. She turned when she noticed him.

‘What you bin doing?’ he said. ‘You banging up now?’

‘We’ve got to have a down day, Hoagie,’ she said, ignoring the question. ‘Get rid of the alcohol and shit out of our systems.’

‘It’s the and shit I’m worried about with you, Kecks,’ he replied with a grin.

‘I’m serious, Hoags. I need to stop. I’m not even 20 and I look 100. I’ve found a meeting and I’m going.’ She picked up her black eyeliner.

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‘Like AA or somethin’?’

‘Yeah, like that. I’m getting clean and I’m going sober.’

Hoagie burst out laughing. Then he saw that she was possibly serious.

‘If you want then. I might join you,’ he said.

‘Would yer? Ok. But Hoagie, you’d have to leave your sarcasm at the door, yeah?’

‘I can’t promise that, Kecks. It’s me, innit?’ The grin again.

By half past six, Hoagie was sitting in the White Horse, on his third pint with Toad, who was sprawled over the chair, his skeletal frame taking up more space than was necessary.

‘I’m serious! There was this guy there at the meeting, and he pulled out two dead rats!’ Hoagie looked as if he might die laughing. ‘Out of his bag! Not one, TWO! Like some sick magic trick. He goes, I’ve got something comin’ off me…sorry…I’ve got dead rats in me bag. So naturally, I say, really? Can I see? ‘Cos I’m so fuckin’ high, see, and he says yeah, course. The guy runnin’ it, well, you shoulda seen his face! He looks at me and then this guy, like, fuck me, what have we got here? He tries to salvage it. He says, That’s so good. You keep snakes, don’t you? That’s a great focus for you, having something to look after. It gives you a sense of purpose and responsibility. Something other than alcohol or using drugs. You love animals. That’s good for you and for the animal. But – I couldn’t stop meself – I pipe up, not for them rats it isn’t! And then they all laugh. Bloke in charge turns purple!’

‘What did the rat bloke do then?’ asked Toad.

Hoagie paused a micro-second, for the best theatrical effect. ‘He opens up the zip of this adidas bag, and he pulls out

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a rolled-up plastic bag. Then he unrolls it and there is a dead rat! Right there! Then he unrolls another bit of tissue paper and pulls out another one!’

‘What did it look like?’ said Toad.

‘Like it was asleep,’ said Hoagie thoughtfully. ‘It had its eyes closed and it looked all peaceful. Like some rat angel. It was pure white as well. They both were. Weird.’ He took a swig of his cider. ‘Then right, I made it worse, ‘cos I said I went to see a taxidermy exhibition when I was a kid, and I was fascinated by the way things work. But I panicked and said, not like I like dead things or anythin’ and not choppin’ up bodies, I’m not a psycho, I love animals. The others were all fallin’ about! Well, one woman was giving me odd looks, and tryin’ to avoid lookin’ at the rats. The bloke in charge of this AA meeting, or whatever it was, he was gonna burst! Then Kecks was sick on the floor.’ He sipped his cider again. ‘Got chucked out after that.’

Toad laughed. ‘So, was Kecks pissed off?’

‘God, yeah,’ said Hoagie. ‘She was spitting blood. She’s wanting to get clean.’

‘Why?’ said Toad.

‘God knows. Girl thing.’ Hoagie shrugged. ‘She said, I can’t stand it anymore, Hoagie. Get up, load up, sit around, drink. Your mates’ round, raid the offy in that bloody old trolley. It’s an endless cycle. I’m so sick of it. Tha’s what she said.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I told her she can do what she wants. But I’m all right. ‘Nother one?’ he indicated the empty glass.

‘Yeah, all right,’ said Toad.

Burnt Lungs and Bitter Sweets

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Hoagie got up and began to head for the bar. Then he turned. ‘Can you sub me a tenner, mate?’

‘Yeah, all right. You owe me one though.’

And that was their relationship right there, thought Toad. Deeper and more lasting than any romance thing. Also, not as expensive and definitely less hassle.

A couple of nights later, Toad lay on his bed in his parents’ house. He wondered if he’d still know Hoagie in 20, or 30 years’ time. He couldn’t imagine not knowing him, but he couldn’t really imagine 20 minutes’ time most days. He didn’t want to be old, or not doing what they did now. Hoagie and Toad would always be mates, he thought. There were others in their little gang, but not as close. He wished Hoagie hadn’t got a girlfriend. They’d planned to go out shopping the other day – their sort of shopping, the kind you don’t need to bring money for – and Kecks had banned them, even though she could practically nick the whole shop and not get caught! He’d nothing major against her but trust her to get all twitchy about cleaning up.

As he dropped off to sleep, Toad began to dream. He dreamed he was sitting next to the river, waiting for Hoagie, and he thought he saw something in the water. He leaned forward, and he could just make out the pale face of a dead rat. He put his hand in to get it out, and it floated right up to the surface. Its eyes were shut, as if in a peaceful dream, and he tried to touch it. But as he did so, the eyes flew open, and it sank its tiny, sharp fangs right into his hand. He yelled out in his dream and wrenched his hand away, watching his red blood mingle with the muddy river water. When he looked again, he

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could no longer see the rat. Instead, he saw Hoagie’s face under the water, and he woke up with a jolt.

Beads of sweat were on his forehead and back, and his hands felt clammy. He looked at his alarm-clock. It was an ancient one from childhood – a footballer clock with luminous green hands showing only 9 pm, despite the pitch-black winter sky outside. He lay still for a moment, considering getting up and going to see Hoagie, but then he heard a tremendous banging on the front door.

He had still not laced his trainers as he hurried downstairs to see what the noise was. His parents had beaten him to it.

‘Hoagie! What the fuck?’ he said.

‘Kecks, man! Kecks!’

‘I can’t get any sense out of him,’ said Toad’s mother. ‘Calm down James!’ she appealed to Hoagie. ‘He keeps saying something about Kecks. That’s the girlfriend, isn’t it?’

‘Are you taking drugs, James, boy?’ said Toad’s father.

‘You have to come with me!’ said Hoagie. ‘Kecks is in trouble.’

‘Now just a minute…’ began Toad’s dad. But Toad was already out the door.

‘She woke up from some dream – we’d both gouged out on the bed – and she screamed to high heaven. She said she’d dreamed some dark creature had hold of her arm and was pullin’ her down into the ground – like, draggin’ her off – and I had hold of her the other side and she tried to scream for help, but she didn’t have a voice. Then she stopped making any sense, and she started shaking violently, and then she bloody foamed at the bloody mouth. Fuck, fuck! I think she’s stopped

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breathing, Toad! Her eyes have gone back in her head, and she looks, like, blue.’

‘You called the ambulance?’

‘No! I can’t – I’m loaded! And the room’s full of gear and shit and – fuckin’ hell! I’m not going to prison, Toad!’

‘But what if she’s dead?’ Toad paused. ‘Look, let’s think. I know! Let’s get her outside, and then we can call an ambulance from a phone box, and they won’t even know she’s anything to do with you. I’ve got change.’

Hoagie thought for a second. ‘Good idea. I knew I could rely on you. Smart.’ He seemed to calm down.

When they arrived, Hoagie hesitated on the doorstep.

He was staying in a room on the top floor of a tall, thin, townhouse. Some do-gooder had found it for him after he’d told ‘em some bullshit about a bad home-life. There were steps up to the front door and the rest of the place was full of people just like Hoagie. They were unlikely to notice if it was day or night, thought Toad. The patch of dirt, which might have once been called a small garden, was tangled with weeds as tall as a small child, and amongst the weeds and cigarette butts there was an old Finefare trolley and a rusting bike, minus the wheels.

‘Come on!’ said Toad, ‘she might still be alive!’

‘Don’t think so,’ said Hoagie. He looked wild-eyed; black hollows underneath, and staring, pinned pupils in the moonlight. His punk hair stood on end, yellow and black. He looks like a demented wasp, thought Toad.