our reggie

a02c328c63568965122277f3fa172463a long long time ago reggie wilkes had a 15 minute scuffle with fame as ‘the singing football hooligan’. a friend of his father who was a fledging media executive had been out on a search to find young television personalities for a post war youth generation..he didn’t need to look any further than five doors down his own avenue to find reg, who’d become the local star on account of run ins with the police for shoplifting and mild thuggery at football matches.

every teenager loves a bad boy, so reggie’s effortless rise to the front cover of girlie magazines happened overnight, and all because he could carry a tune, nicked pop records from woolworths, and gave the local bobbies a run for their money…it was cute for a while, but the sudden loss of relative anonymity really got to our reg.

everywhere reggie went he had unhinged girls in his face with bad breath who didn’t brush their teeth in the morning. truly scary bad boys kept squaring up to him in the hope of a little bit of fame for themselves. the money was crap with everyone under the impression he’d become rich.. it was all a load of embarrassing bollocks as far as he was concerned..

the only thing reg liked about this palaver was the man who managed his daily schedule. the car they drove around in was real nice, and by osmosis our reg soaked up all sorts of strange things like opera and fine art…he loved going to the ballet and top notch opera with the posh manager…it was the one scene where he’d be left alone..none of these toffs had a clue who he was nor cared. on the way back to plush hotels, both sang their hearts out,mimicking the strident stylings of the male tenor they’d just heard…reg got rather good at this and even took a lengthy sequence of lessons at the london school of music…

his stardom as the singing football hooligan faded quickly… he began to fill out physically…he now looked silly in the scruffy school hooligan costume..hair began to appear on his chest.. the game was up,and reggie felt relieved…the jealous boys and unhinged girls with bad breath had diverted their interest elsewhere…the daft weekly show on telly got axed, so reg was once again at a loose end with loads of lovely time on his hands…

no sooner had reggie regained his anonymity when new shit began to occur….those singing lessons had paid off a little too well… now, as a young adult his voice accrued the rich timbre of a grown man with all the supple power of a younger one… his ever increasing stalky frame emanated just the right gravitas for the big opera stage.

reg saw the fame game coming right back down the track at him and ducked out…such a shame…it would have been completely different second time round, but he was having none of it…there was no convincing him.

to this day reggie wilkes can be heard in pubs around barnet in north london doing blinding renditions of ave maria. the local folk love it, and afterwards on his way home he stops by at the chippy for grub. he goes home with fingers smelling of salt n vinegar,but washes them and brushes his teeth with gusto before vanishing under crisp cold bedsheets, washed every seven days.. dried on a washing line out in the back garden.

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