A Tale of a Skip

Photo by Yannic Läderach on Unsplash

…or a Saturday night in Liverpool in the late 1990s.

He’s perched on the high side of a skip not the low side where you’d throw stuff in where people have thrown stuff in there’s a mattress in the writer’s memory so he’s perched on the side of this skip and bursting from his mouth like gunshot are the cackles of a madman and this madman’s cackles are returning fire from the terrace opposite and two of his mates stand at either end of the skip not sitting on the top like the cackling madman they are attempting to coax him down from or out of the skip but the problem is they’re as high or not quite as high or maybe they’re higher than him and they don’t have the legs to climb the skip or maybe they have at the same time which would be a perfect coincidence and therefore unlikely but who knows maybe they do have the kind of clarity that comes in these cases when you least expect it and because of this clarity they think they should get him down from or out of the skip and there’s also a chance that being good mates yes the best of mates because who would undertake this kind of mission without having that bond that comes from years spent together doing things like this and other stuff like coming down and breakfasts after the night before and therefore maybe they are concerned for his welfare they are always concerned for Chris’s welfare he is a special case the kind of special case that they swap stories about not behind his back but he is the one they will report upon to their other friends who could not be here tonight but would be here on nights gone by and to come and yes they will or would admit that already they are thinking about how this tale will play on email on Monday morning or in a truncated way on text messages this being a time of mobile phones but not smart phones so no messaging or video apps thank god for no cameras on phones or only rudimentary cameras on phones that would capture nothing in this pitch dark Saturday night in Liverpool where three young men who should know better are peaking not for the first time and no doubt not the last time on this acid which in thirty years’ time when the story hits this page the writer will not remember what was printed on the cardboard tabs not Bart Simpsons not Flying Kiwis not Strawberries not Purple Oms and definitely not a microdot like the one that fella split with a Stanley knife at Glastonbury where all three sat in or standing around this skip also did acid with a big group of friends on a day that might be good enough who are we kidding was more than good enough for a story like but not like this one let’s not forget the story in hand the type of acid is irrelevant what is relevant is that it is strong so strong these lads know about strong and this is strong and what the two let’s call them Phil and Rick who are standing at opposite ends of the skip feet stuck yes kind of stuck unable to lift them from the ground are thinking or one of them is thinking maybe Phil maybe Rick since they can both be sensible maybe what they are thinking is let’s get him indoors if not indoors then off this skip the people who have hired this skip must have noticed are they looking out of the window is anyone looking out of their window the street is so quiet yes it’s around midnight but it’s Saturday night and the pubs have not long chucked out is that where they’ve been to the pub around the corner where it is said that Freddie Mercury RIP lived for some time in the early 1970s or late 60s and not only that The Quarrymen played more than once which is no surprise because John went to the school at the end of the road Lennon that is less than a one or two minute walk from this skip and this fact they know at the time along with the Freddie Mercury or Farrouk Bulsara as he was known fact but the one about The Quarrymen the writer will discover thirty years later even though it is no surprise it is only right to admit that at the time when these gurning fools yes it’s getting to that stage or has been at that stage for some time these gurning fools were drinking in the pub around the corner where Freddie or Farrouk would have appreciated the rococo marble columns which greet the drinkers some of whom on this very night are mixing intoxicants the likelihood being that quite a few are mixing intoxicants this is Liverpool in the 1990s perhaps ‘twas ever thus but yes Liverpool in the 1990s on a Saturday night and Chris and Phil and Rick are not alone in seeking out illicit pleasures which being widespread and popular are not illicit but are definitely pleasurable and what thirty years later the writer won’t remember is whether this is or was one of those nights they had been drinking in that pub but no matter what matters is that here they are astride or inside this skip depends on your point of view and the best thing the most sensible thing that Phil and Rick can do is get Chris down from his perch and persuade him to stop firing off those rapid cackles which this being late are getting louder and someone is bound to object it’s a miracle they haven’t done so by now although what occurs or might have occurred to Phil or Rick or both is that the residents of this otherwise silent Liverpool street back to back terrace might be afraid of these three lunatics who find this skip so interesting amusing they might even be laughing at the idiots they might be calling the police yes the police who can’t be too far away on this Saturday night in Liverpool in the 1990s when due to acid at least these three friends for life bosom buddies brothers by any reasonable definition even though somewhere in their brains they know it has to and out of respect to the residents they know it should but the truth is the truth always is that they don’t want this to end.