"Johnny... Remember me...."
No. 7 in a series
The infighting and squabbling had reached a peak.
Lydon and Levene were drifting further and further apart and Atkins was
trying to manipulate himself the best power position possible. Management
had been rumbled... the money was being siphoned off and the greasy coked
up slimeball and his equally spaced out girlfriend that had ripped us off
went low and hid back under a rock. Larry White, who had managed PiL during
the 1980 tour was back on the scene trying to win John and the rest of
the band over behind Keiths back. One of these occasions was over a Sushi
dinner (in San Francisco I seem to remember) but I didn't much care for
the food or the bullshit, both were highly unpalatable, so I settled for
the warm Sake instead, by the jug load. The small talk and manoeuvring was pathetic but I didn't care, the
Sake won, and I honked up raw fish
all over the sidewalk and staggered back to my hotel. This was pretty much
the pattern for my last few weeks with PiL, and quite frankly I was getting
pissed with the whole affair. Talk had
turned to organising a Japanese tour, which was one place I had always
wanted to visit. I knew that the earning potential from the land of the
rising buck was huge and I believed we could take a large slice of it. We
discussed who would form the entourage to travel but for some reason it
didn't include my girlfriend. She was expected to stay behind in New York
on her own. Now I wouldn't have minded so much if John wasn't going to
take Nora or if Keith wasn't going to drag the new Jewish princess
of a wife along but they were. Petty in the extreme, it was at Keith's insistence
that she wasn't going, and Atkins was meekly quiet when I put up my defence.
The bubble was about to well and truly burst.
A short time later back in New York nothing had changed, I was still shacked
up with the roadie and there was too much coke and a lot of confusion. What really mattered
to me at that time was a decent pint of ale. I couldn't get it out of my
mind. I had been drinking piss for 8 months and now all I wanted was a
decent pint in a decent pub. That was it. I went and bought two tickets
back to London there and then, leaving the next day. At the time I intended
to return after a short break in London, but deep down I knew that I wouldn't
be back. After my phone call to Lydon I knew for certain that I wouldn't
be back. I called him at the loft and Atkins answered the phone. He had
moved into the loft, smart move, get close to John .. I told Atkins my
plans and he relayed the message to John in disbelief. I heard John screaming
in the background, his parting words being "Bollocks!!".... Never mind
the Bollocks John, here goes the Bass player!....I never spoke
to John again. A weight had suddenly
lifted from my shoulders, the clouds parted and I felt happier than I had
been for weeks. I went out and bought some recording equipment to take
home (It was a lot cheaper than buying it in London) and went to pack my
bags. Next morning as the plane touched
down in London, the grey early morning Heathrow gloom didn't look all that
welcoming, and by the time I got home I was shagged. It didn't take long
to readjust and the glorious pint of ale that I had craved tasted oh so
sweet. The family were pleased to see me and it was real good to talk to
sane people again. The crazy days had ended just as suddenly as they had
begun, I had tasted the sweet nectar of fame and success, chewed for a
while then had to spit it out again, for it tasted awful......In fact it
was Rotten, well and truly Rotten
.
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