Milky White and his All-Stars

The week after Christmas wasn't the ideal time to try and darken Milky White's name. Swollen with gifts and proof of his worth, he was resistant to us. He was at the height of his powers, sqwarking on his Junior Hendrix electro guitar, Wormhole on the biscuit tins, rehearsing for the Scouts Xmas Party on the twenty-nine th December.
All we 'aff to do, right, Daz said when we met up The Cow's Gate that morning, is sneak round the back and pull the plug out.

Pull the plug out what ? Thin claimed.

I dunno, yer cory, out the wall I suspect.

Be on the stage though, won' it, the plugs, I revealed.

Well that's's that then innit, skinny claimed. I aint goon in there solely to get jamoboreed by a loada knock-kneed Scouts.

Norm I, Dodge declared.

You are just shocked, Daz declared.

What of, Milky White And his All-Stars ?

yes, Daz related, as an important point you are.

I could git 'im, don't gnaw worry.

Oh yeah ? 'Ow then ? You could always run up on the stage and kick 'im up the arse while e's playin. 'E will not be able to run after yer, will 'e ?

Why don't we ambush 'im and cut 'is strings, skinny said.

We hid in the laurel bushes down Copt Hall Avenue, outside the Methodist Hall where they were having the party at 3 o'clock. Only to see Milky White drive up in a chauffer driven Mini wagon. His old man was the roadie too. Wormhole got out the back. We heard Milky say : thanks pardner. To his old man, for Christ's sake, who said back : you sock it to 'em eh, Six-String.

We hid our heads in shame as the gigantic green doors swallowed him up.

Now what, you lot ? Skinny said.

Round the back, get in thru the kitchens, I said. I wanna hear 'im an' Wormhole do 2 young boys 'ad two little Toys.

Old Ma Pimple's gonna be in the kitchen doin' the cream buns or something, Dodge said.

Mrs pimple was the battleaxe who did our college dinners, cheeks like the mashed spuds she dolloped on our plates, neck like the blanc mange we threw at each other round the tables. Today, when she was never putting cream buns and van Wheels on the Scout's paper plates, she was dragging on a Kensitas in the kitchen doorway. We couldn't get close to the place. We could hear all the Scouts guffawing at old Cripps the sorcerer who ran the Chemist's shop and did the Interflora. We might had him at the Sun. school Party too where he'd tied his shoelaces together then done the splits and the shoelaces were ordinary again without him touching them. We laughed because he'd ripped his trousers. I doubt he was doing that again. Then the laughter stopped and there had been the common handclapping and hooping.

They are going to stuff their faces now, thin said.

Daz legged it across the cinders to peep in the kitchen entrance. Pimple couldn't've been there because he went in without a second peek.

'E bedder git me a cream bun, Dodge said.

No earlier expounded than Daz came flying out like he'd hit a rubber wall, haring across the cinders and crashing into the bushes.

'Ere you lot, guess what ? You won't believe it.

No cream buns, I claimed.

There's 'undreds of Jamboree bags int there.

Well why did not yer grab some Daz, yer cory, thin asserted.

No listen dimbo, they're all like ordinary Jamboree bags like what Pullins does, but one of 'em's not. It's bin done special. It's got this git on it with a guitar and it says : Milky White and his All-Stars.

Flippin aida, skinny declared. D'you fink 'e actually is going to be on Toppa the Pops then ?

You prongo Skin, Daz announced, 'is pop or somebody 'ad it done that's's all. It aint nuffing, not with them photostat thingys.

Oo's got a pen on 'em ? I said.

No one did. I revealed we required a black felt tip fast so Daz set off at a lick up Copt Hall Avenue to determine if Cudlipp was in to borrow a felt pen off. He was the closest. Not one of us had time to get home and back before the music and the Jamboree bags were given out. The pen came back in record time. Now it was up to me.
I found the box of Jamboree bags and carried it out to the bushes.

What yer going to write Sedge ? Skinny said. Milky and the Wombles ?

Hah, that is not bad, Skin, Daz claimed.

Nah, I said, look.

I looked at Milky's All-Star bag hard and long.

Urry up, Dodge declared, I am able to 'ear 'em tunin' up.

Got it, I revealed.

Blacking out the letters and adding some I turned Milky and his All-Stars into Milky ate his Ball-s. On as many other bags as could manage I wrote THE COW'S GATE GANG above Jamboree Bag.

We pinched one each, put the box back in the kitchen then scarpered just as Milky was twanging his way through something, not one of us could tell. Could've been Wings though it was potentially the college hymn.

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