GIZMO
"Mori-bloody-artys."
When I think Tavern I think parties. Cuz I went to so many parties. In my head it’s like there was a party every weekend, but I'm sure that's not true. It's just looking back. Sometimes there were two to choose from, but inevitably it'd involve going to some far-flung corner of Wolverhampton, or Blakenhall flats.
Your typical party you'd try and get a chair to kip on if you could, but many times you couldn't so I remember dossing on the floor. I had a long coat. If you had a long coat on you, it was a lot better, because you could use it as a blanket. If you could grab something else to use as a pillow that was a bonus, but because you were out of it you didn't really care anyway.
And then at some point in the night at every party there'd be a call of Hot knives! Come and get your hot knives! (falsetto) Which was all part of the party thing, of course.
I remember the Tavern was well represented at various extra-mural places, like festivals. A lot of people went to Stonehenge '83 '84. A lot of faces turned up there. Which was of course the best party ever. I'm sure people who didn't go to Stonehenge must get so fed up of people going Oh yes, when WE were at ’henge. Cuz people still talk about it today.
Oh, and I remember having my collar felt in the Tavern once. It was an evening, and I was in Queen Square. For some reason I was outdoors and there was a punk – who a lot of people will remember, who had a rather corny name for a punk – but anyway, he come up to me and says Ere, Hip. He used to call me Hip short for Hippy. Yow couldn't roll me a fag could you? So I started rolling him a fag. At the same time, a group of youths were in one of the shop doorways in Queen Square and I don't know what they did but there was the sound of smashing glass. They all ran off, and there was a burglar alarm going.
Anyway, this punk went Ooo. I wonder if there's anything worth nicking in that winda? I guz It's a bloody women's clothes shop, for God’s sake. Before I could say anything more, he'd gone in. He'd got this bloody pink nightie, or pink dress, and was just about to disappear across Queen Square when this big van of rozzers came round the corner. Of course there was a couple of snitches at Lloyds cashpoint who started pointing over. At that point I thought Time to disappear into the Tavern. I tried to mingle, but the police came in, felt my collar. Out we were. Got stuck in the van.
Anyway, I got took to Snow Hill, put in the cells, and a bit later on I was told that I was free to leave. So that was that. But I wasn't expecting that when I went out in the evening.
I was fifteen when I started going in there, and I didn't drink then. I wish I could say the same now.
I pretty much stayed there til it ended really. Less so at the end, cuz it was all shit wasn’t it, Moriarty's.
Mori-bloody-artys.