Gimpy was a wide-eyed bear with a fuzzy blonde bowl cut. As par for Gimpy’s course, he was already tanked up on a head-walloping cocktail of speed and ecstasy. His veins pushed angrily out of his forearms and temples, like The Hulk’s. His jaw ground and gurned terribly, as if he’d been taken over by the spirit of an insane cow.
Hopping from foot to foot, Gimpy talked incessantly about nothing and proceeded to dole out his wares to his eager, little crowd. It should have been the highest form of deterrent rather than an incentive to swallow the chemicals he proffered, watching this over-sprung time bomb. Although, in between the gurning and hopping, Gimpy told and re-told the group how fucking good the drugs were and they bought into it like Evangelists.
Deals made, the over-wound bear finally took his epileptic display on to his next customers, leaving the little group to leave the quiet boredom of their dead, little Yorkshire village and head for the bright light if Bradford; Tigger, Saville and Colon travelled with Lisa and Si; Alex, Gazza and Nige travelled with Jimbo and his girlfriend Claire.
In Jimbos’ Talbot Samba, ‘Dream-tripper’ bounced around the interior of the car. Eight speakers sending the beat through their ears and along every single nerve ending, allowing the passenger to slowly ‘come-up’ with a gentle, passive undercurrent and explode into life when the track hit the chorus. On the flip side, it was bloody hard to strike a conversation; Even with yourself. What with the interior being shaken into submission like it was.
Alex sat wedged between Gazza and Nige and looked down at the tiny piece of blotting paper with Bart’s face emblazoned on it, which sat so innocuous looking in the palm of hand.
‘Are you not taking it yet, fella?!’ Gazza screamed into his ear.
‘Not yet! I’ll take it when we get closer to Bradford! I wanna come-up in the club,’ Alex mouthed. Gazza nodded back knowingly. ‘Anyway, I didn’t want to start coming-up in between you fat bastards!’
‘Aye look at us all, fat ooooozing out the backdoors!’ Gazza tossed his head back and howled his manic laughter.
Alex found Gazza to be the funniest person he’d ever met and, when they were stoned together, was always telling him how fantastic he’d be on that: “Vic Reeves Big Night Out.” Gazza just laughed louder; eyes like a happy vampires’.
Alex looked through the front windscreen and waited for a road sign to tell him how far Bradford was. The two-car convoy sped along country roads, speeding up-slowing down; flashing lights and bibbing horns until country roads gave way to main roads and dreary looking towns. When, eventually, a sign informed him that they were less than six miles away, Alex took a deep breath, popped ‘Bart’ in his mouth and sat back to prepare for the real journey. Gazza looked across and gave him the thumbs up.
From now on in, there would be no stopping the ride until Bart was ready for bed.