45. Karate Kid v. Music Stand – no contest

At the Grand Prix at night we  mainly played semi-rock dance music, i.e. “Never On A Sunday”, “Brazil”, “Besame Mucho”, all at a subdued volume. But that all changed Sunday lunchtime. For two hours we played what we liked and as loud as we liked...which meant volume controls were turned  to max...and Lea knocked the hell out his drum kit...pretty ear splitting stuff.  

When we had first approached Mimi about doing Sunday lunchtime sessions he was skeptical but was willing to give it a three week trial and see if there was a audience for it. He needn’t have worried. Although we were only due to start at one by twelve the Grand Prix was bursting at its seams. Teenagers flocked in. Fifteen minutes before we squeezed  on stage the doors were locked, (a health and safety nightmare) the air condition was turned off and bowls of free heavily salted potato crisps and peanuts handed out. The combination of a rammed, hot sweaty club and salty snacks spelt money. For two solid hours the bar did crazy business.The cash register never stopped. Kerchinging! More drinks were sold at the Grand Prix during our lunch time session than the rest of the week put together...and that was the same every Sunday except if anything it got busier.

A regular at our lunchtime sessions and ended up hanging out with the band was an English guy named Dick. Dick was a nice enough guy except he had a really annoying habit. For no apparent reason he would karate chop his hand. You would be talking to him about - I don't know, say The Rolling Stones and Dick would Karate chop his hand a half dozen times. When challenged Dick would look totally mystified and swear he didn’t know he was doing it. His explanation that it was a subconscious warning to any would be adversary that he was ready for anything. You see, according to Dick he was not your run-of-the-mill black-belt Karate martial arts expert; he was one of a handful of tenth dans’ in the whole wide world...it should also be noted Dick was also a consummate  bull-shitter. 

 It was time Dick was taken down a step...well steps would be more accurate.

             We dropped Dick home after the Sunday lunchtime session and arranged for him to meet us at our attic pad later that evening before going en masse to some movie or other.  On the way back to Loop Street a plan was hatched and as soon as we reached the boarding house it was put into action.

            A music stand was positioned at the top of the attic’s rickety flight of stairs and dressed it in a coat, scarf and Donovan cap. A length of string was tied to the ‘neck’ of the stand and threaded through the balustrade that ran parallel with the stairs protecting anyone in the attic from falling into the stair well. A naked light bulb which hung in the stairwell  was removed. 

             The scene was set for 'tenth Dan' Dick’s downfall. Now all we had to do was waited for him to arrive.

             From our dormer window vantage point we spotted Dick cross Loop Street and enter the boarding house. All lights were switched off leaving  the attic lit only by the dimly pulsing neon Coca Cola sign.

            Dick appeared in the darkness at the foot of the rickety stairs and announced his arrival, “I’m here!” he called out.

             Silence.

“Hello”, he persisted. “Anyone at home?” 

             There was a distinctive click as Dick tried the light switch  followed  by a muttered, “Shit!” when nothing happened. Click, click, click was followed by silence.

              Dick’s eyes must have grown accustom to the gloom because he spotted the music stand figure at the head of the stairs.

“Who is it?”

Silence.

“Stop playing silly buggers, okay. I can see you”. 

More silence.

             A dim light  flared momentarily illuminating the stairwell as Dick struck a match and lit a cigarette. We peered down at him through the balustrades. 

“Look I know you’re there. I can see you. Who is it? Is it you Mac? Frankie? Jack?  Listen, I don’t think this is funny okay so stop pissing around. 

More silence.

           Dick tried a change of tack.

          “Johnny it’s you, isn’t it? Come on, admit it. It’s obviously you...or Lea. Okay I’m coming up. Understand? I’m coming up right now. Don’t try anything stupid because I’m ready for you.” To emphasis the fact that he was ready Dick made a couple of karate chops. Then, taking an enormous drag on his cigarette in an attempt to illuminate the surrounding area he started tentatively up the stairs. Four steps from the top we pulled the string and all hell broke loose. As the music stand figure toppled forward the arms of the coat inexplicably swung out and somehow managed to drape themselves over our martial arts expert’s shoulders. “Jesus fuck!” screamed Dick, karate chopping for all his worth. Losing his footing and entangled in the music stand Dick tumbled, arse over tit, down the stairs and landed with a crash in the corridor below. 

          How the mighty had fallen. A black-belt tenth Dan taken out by a music stand. From that day forth Dick was never mentioned with his martial arts expertise.