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1981 (16 YEARS OLD)
And So That Was That For Heinz Pea Soup

And So That Was That For Heinz Pea Soup

1981 (16 YEARS OLD)1 month ago

1981 - 16 Years Old

In the summer of 1981, Banbury’s cinema decided to re-screen The Exorcist. So Singhy and I had to go. It was probably one of the worst decisions a couple of Catholic boys could have made.

But we’d heard a lot about the film, and seeing it was on our bucket list of being cool. We had never seen the original trailer, though. If we had, we’d have certainly made a new list.

The Exorcist was X-rated, which meant you had to be 18 to enter. The spinster selling tickets wasn’t as easy to convince as Banbury’s barmen, but I went off on a diatribe of lies about having just passed my A levels and going to uni in a few months. I tried to capture the indignation of somebody for whom it was true.

She finally let us in.

We went to the concession counter. It looked only a bit better than what they served at our school disco. I bought a small packet of stale sweet popcorn and the smallest coca cola imaginable. Warm, of course. It was like they hadn’t heard that war rationing had finished 25 years earlier.

It was generally agreed upon that the back row of the cinema was reserved for snogging. And about 4 couples had already staked their claim when we walked in. The rest of the cinema was only sparsely filled, so Singhy and I almost had our pick of seats.

The film started out the opposite of scary. And we pooh-poohed the film like a couple of French truckers eating at Britain’s finest restaurant.

Then about 20 minutes in, Regan is having medical tests done, and the Devil’s face pops onto the screen for a split second.

That’s when we should have done a runner.

5 pieces of sweet packing material and 2 fluid ounces of warm Coca Cola be damned.

But the two stupid gits stayed.

And, of course, it only got worse.

At one point, I turned around. There was no snogging going on in the back row. Just bulging-eyed, mouth-agape fear.

So the film ended, and we walked out in silence. The queue for the toilets seemed exceptionally long.

And we walked home. Still in silence. Past St. John’s (Catholic church). Just to rub it in. I promised God, I’d be there on Sunday. I think Singhy was making a similar type of deal.

I tried to get angry and would have gone back to the cinema to demand a refund.

But I was too afraid.

I’m not really the type of person who gets afraid. I’ve seen a lot in my life, including being marched up the stairs by a Russian FSB agent with a gun to my head (a shameless plug for my book, I know). But it’s not so much bravery; it’s more about not being arsed with panicking.

But the Devil (at least in those days) and spiders (still true) are the exception. Oh, and my mum, of course.

I got back to my empty house. My parents were on one of the many holidays they would go on once they were convinced that I wouldn’t accidentally burn the house down while they were gone. It was always fabulous for me.

Except this one time.

All of the malarkey in The Exorcist begins in the loft. And, of course, the entrance to our house’s loft was in my bedroom.

I would have slept on the couch downstairs, but it was too small. And anyway, there was little chance the Devil’s sciatica was playing up to the point he couldn’t make it downstairs.

So I filled my room with protection. The was an old camera whose strap I wedged between the opening to the attic: early warning. And I scrounged any religious artefact I could find to put on my shelves – a Mary-shaped bottle of Holy Water from Lourdes, several crucifixes, a bible that had never been read, and a Lladro nun figurine.

I even put the flyer for the 4th of July picnic, sponsored by the Catholics on the US military base, on top of my record player.

Just to be sure.

But I still couldn’t sleep that night. In needed someone to stay over.

Tinkham and Smell were in the army. Singhy was pretending to be too sick to leave his house. And I didn’t really know anybody else I could invite to stay over without it seeming weird.

Except Kate.

It took me two nights of visiting every place Kate would ever dream of hanging out at before I stumbled upon her. She was sitting at a table with her sister, Emma, drinking an orange juice.

It had been about 2 weeks since we’d broken up for the umpteenth time. Probably over something stupid I said. That was usually the case.

She gave me the stink eye.

I’ve never been one for playing games with girls. By the time I knew how to do it, I didn’t because it isn’t right. When I didn’t know how to do it, I probably would have.

But desperate situations calls for desperate action.

I spent a couple of hours ignoring Kate and making Emma laugh ’til she cried.

So naturally, Kate went home with me.

Her parents were out of town, too, so she stayed for a couple of days.

It should be here that I regale you with tales of toe-curling sex. Maybe it happened. But the thing that stands out most was the 14 hours of glorious sleep that I got.

Although, during her stay, she went overboard playing Bella Lugosi’s Dead, a 12″ single I had bought to stop Andy Meigher harping on about it.

Actually, it’s pretty good. But it wasn’t appropriate at the time.

Typically, that would have started a row that would have made her storm out. But I bit my tongue.

The ~~sex~~ sleep was too good.

I’ve spared you the 9-minute version and am giving you the opening scene to the film The Hunger, starring David Bowie, where Bauhaus does their thing:

Several days later, my mum and dad came home, and all was back to normal.

Even the Devil is afraid of my mum…

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POSTSCRIPT

I rewatched The Exorcist before writing this post. The only time in about 45 years. A great film but no longer scary. One of the benefits of age and agnosticism, I suppose.

Now, if I could only do something with the fucking spider thing…