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A Christmas Piece For Time Out

By Stewart Lee in Time Out Posted on Thursday, December 1st, 2011

Like so many of my generation, I came to London in the mid-Seventies in search of sensation; the legendary Hope And Anchor pub rock scene of The Feelgoods and Ducks Deluxe; the then exotic delights of London’s take-away food community, Italian Pizza, Indian Curry, Kentucky chicken, and Chinese Chinese; the availability of cheap speed; and, above all, the lure of a London Christmas.
For was it not Brinsley Schwarz himself who said, “‘If an epicure could remove by a wish in quest of sensual gratification, wherever he had Eastered, he would then Christmas in London.”

But even in the Seventies, so many of the London Christmas traditions that had duffed Dickens’ plum were fading. My first London yule, Graham Parker of The Rumour took me to see The Hackney Christmas Rat.
Every December 23rd the Hackney Christmas Rat would poke his head up from an open sewer on Downs Rd and indicate, through a display of interpretive retching, whether the children of Hackney had been naughty or nice. If nice, the rat would have spiced urinal cakes flung at him by Pearly Kings.
If naughty, his head would be blown off with a sawn-off shotgun, Sweeny-style. In ’76, it was curtains for the Christmas rat.
Wired to fuck in purple flares and white plimsoles, Parker laughed so hard he dropped his peshwari and blew warm Truman’s down his whizzy konk!

Sometime between Christmas and New Year ’78 and I’m on Westminster Bridge with The Kursaal Flyers, awaiting the passing of the Danish Arse Barge. 9th century viking connections meant that, each year, the Danish embassy sent a slow moving torch-lit barge along the river, festooned with elderly Danes dressed as Thor and Odin, elegantly and inexpressively baring their bottoms to the accompaniment of sombre bassoon music.
Rugby jumper-ed and thoroughly ripped one Will Birch, soon to leave The Flyers for The Records, was so amused he spewed a Directors into the river and lost a spring roll and a schnozwrap over the railings.

I have guzzled ampheto-nog at The Nashville with Kilburn And The Highroads, and dressed up as Tiny Tim with Eggs Over Easy for the Massed Camden Limp, fuzzed on Fuller’s and whites. But those days are gone.
What have you got, kids? The Saturdays singing so-called R’n’B on Oxford Street, you barely buzzed on alco-pops and plant-food, and Hyde Park full of fake German fairgrounds, like pre-punk never happened.
Merry Christmas London 2011.
You’re welcome to it.

Written by Stewart Lee in Time Out on 1st December 2011. Filed Under: Written For Money
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