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External Link/Members Only A Pair of Brown Eyes
I’m in the shithole which is called Birmingham and I’m killing a bit of time by taking in some of the sights – I’m a kind of tourist I guess.
And I’m stood outside what used to be the Yard of Ale pub in Birmingham and before that it was the Tavern in the Town pub and I know that it is nearly exactly 44 years to the day that 21 innocent people had their lives taken away and many others left with life changing injuries both mental and physical. I remember some of the details that on the night the IRA should have given a 30 minute warning to clear the building of civilians, but for this reason or that I don’t think the warning and code was given and as a result many lives and families were destroyed. A survivor said that the sound of the explosion was replaced by a deafening silence and the smell of burnt flesh. The emergency services would have been greeted by a scene which would hold it’s own in the innermost depths of hell.
I then walk over to St Philips Cathedral to end my tour in order to pay my respects and look at the small but nicely kept memorial. The majority of the dead happened to be young people – it is always the way of things I think to myself as I scan the list of names. And I already know some of the back stories – a young couple out on their first date, two young Irish brothers. One of the victims had only entered the Tavern in the Town to hand out tickets for a party. She was killed instantly. The youngest victim was 17 years old. It makes me reflect on my own Catholic faith and my Republican beliefs.
And as I am driving back from Birmingham I am thinking about my life in the mid 1970s’s when my mum was at the height of her Republican fervour and we had family in Derry and Belfast. My mum’s sister lived on Ormeau Street in South Belfast, and I went there with my mum to visit my cousin’s twice during that period. I remember walking down the street with my 2 cousins one night and a Brit in a uniform comes up to us and all I can remember is he’s got a tache and big fucking gun in his hand and he’s like where you from son and I’m like from Mansfield and he laughs and says I don’t sound much like a Fenian – but at 9 or 10 years old I’m not really sure what he means by that and then turns to my eldest cousin and calls him a white nigger and tells us to clear off and again I look all confused like, but that’s it. That’s all I remember.
I think about the poor couple out on their first date – never had the chance to fall in love, experience the joy of parenthood. They would probably be grandparents by now. Love has to be the way forward surely – of all the forces, love has to be the strongest and most powerful. Love can make a woman pick up a car, or it can crush a man under the weight of a feather. Or it just lets everything go on as it should and as it was yesterday and will be tomorrow. That’s the kind of force love is. Is there anything wrong with that ?
I am so depressed I want to fuck a girl who looks like she could have Republican tendencies – the sort of girl who might work at Legs 11 in Birmingham or For Your Eyes Only – but has posters of Gerry Adams on her bedroom wall or Bobby Sands picture in the kitchen. I ring up Ashley Kane who I have fucked previously. And she is working from a hotel just off J18 near Bramley, and she is available today and I am desperate for her to fuck me up on poppers, piss on me, fuck me up the arse with a dildo and spit in my mouth. And I turn up and at the hotel and she opens the door and fucking hell she is a stunner – all jet black hair, tanned, fit, big tits and tattoos – proper lap dancer/wag look about her. And before I know it she is on all fours on the bed and she is inviting me to eat her arse out and I am doing this with real enthusiasm and vigour and I’m already on the poppers and I am alternating between the bottle of poppers and Ashley’s arse hole and she is loving it and I am dribbling like a stroke victim and she is looking at me in mirror and probably thinking I’m a right fucking dirty cunt – but I don’t care.
And then we are up she is leading me to the shower cubicle and I am lying down and Ashley is crouching down and asking me where I want the piss and I all over my cock and balls and she releases probably a good and half a pint of piss and quite frankly even though I’m fucked up I am very much impressed with the quality of the piss and then she invites me to lick her pussy clean and I am doing just that with my tongue wedged up there and I can taste the piss and it tastes good and she then instructs me to take another 10 second hit of poppers and the room is caving in and with unsteady feet I walk back to the bed and I am now proper fucked up and lying on me back and Ashley is on my cock and licking, biting, spitting and sucking with diligence and I am loving this and taking more poppers and then Ashley hands me my phone and tells me to ring my wife up and just at that moment the phone rings and its one of those companies telling me I’ve had an accident and I’m too fucked to have the conversation so Ashley has it for me and she tells the guy she is sucking on my cock and he seems a little taken aback by this statement but soon gets into the swing of it and is probably having a wank himself on the other end, but then Ashley gets board with him and cuts off and she is back on my cock and then gets me on all fours and she is milking my cock and biting it from behind and all of this is too much for me and just as I am about to coming The Verve are singing Love is Noise on the wireless and I think this is a pretty good way to come and I do and Ashley catches is in her mouth and then passes it back to me and it actually tastes ok. And then I pass out – but I am fine and Ashley passes me a few of the wet wipes and I am wiping my cock and arse down and she is looking fucking fantastic.
And then I’m outside and I’m making my way back to Mansfield and again I am thinking about the events of the day. I only went to Derry once with my mum – to see my aunt. It was the summer of 1971 – I cannot remember much at all really – I was only 6 or 7 years old. But I do remember playing ‘secret armies’ with my cousin in the hedges. I had to ask what a secret army was. ‘It’s like the IRA’ my cousin explained. ‘But what is the IRA ?’ – it was all new to me. The day before my seventh birthday, two Catholic civilians were shot dead by the Brits in Derry. A month later internment came in. Belfast is a lovely place to visit now and it is difficult to try and explain what the world was like back then.
It’s a year since my last review and a year since my mum died. I can confirm that you do come out of grief. After a year, after five. But you don’t come out of it like a train coming out of a tunnel, bursting through the downs into sunshine and that swift, rattling descent to the Channel – you come out of it as a gull comes out of an oil slick. You are tarred and feathered for life.
And as I pull off the M1 I put on A Pair of Brown Eyes by the Pogues and think about the poor girl in The Tavern in the Town who was only giving out party tickets.
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Topic: Ashley Kane - Bramley (Read 7407 times)
