Meeting Prince

Short Stories, Humour, Music and Entertainment. Just Good Fun. If there's anything to worry about, it's about not having fun!

A Short Story

With Some Reviews

Stories are all works of fiction. Names, characters, place and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and places is totally coincidental

Camden

It was around that time in the early evening when the sun was just about to disappear beneath the horizon. The sky had that fading orange hue. I'd missed several buses going home. Now that I was in my neighbourhood of Camden town, I wasn't in any particular hurry to get to my house.

I was looking across the road, checking to see if the musical instrument shop on Chalk Farm Road was still open. Without paying attention to where I was going, I walked into what seemed to be a brick wall. In fact, I'd bumped into a man. My face was inches from his lower chest. The guy was huge.

I looked up at a stern looking face with bushy eyebrows,  his thin lips rested on a square jaw. He was wearing a tuxedo that looked a couple of sizes too small. His biceps were about twice the size of my thighs and he didn't look amused.

Behind him was a little guy wearing a dark designer suit that fit perfectly. He had on a purplish shirt with oversized collars. He looked amused. The big guy hesitated, I hesitated before I said my inevitable sorry. "Hey, how you doing?" the small statured guy asked. "I'm okay," I answered. "You didn't hurt your nose or anything bumping into Roland here?" "No!" I said.

Roland relaxed, I relaxed. There was something familiar about the smaller guy, but I couldn't place the face hidden behind the oversized glasses. I could just about see the dark straight hair under the wide brimmed hat that he wore. The conspiratorial look on his face gave the impression that he'd expected me to recognise him. Personally, I couldn't have cared less. I see familiar faces all over Camden on a regular basis.

Camden High Street

My nonchalance must have impressed him and we had an interesting conversation which I promised not to reveal to anyone. They were on a mission scouting out Camden venues. I gave them a few insights about the neighbourhood and the clubs and we said our goodbyes.

Two days later, Prince performed at The Electric Ballroom in Camden. I wasn't in the audience. I didn't even know about it until it came out on the news. Our conversation that evening will remain confidential for now. I will try to keep my promise, although it gets harder every day not telling anyone.

There's more and someday, I'll spill my guts. But not quite yet!

MusicArtinDesign

A tribute...In Fiction.

Reviews:

First Peer Review ~ 

How was the central character portrayed and was this portrayal clear and interesting?
First good choice of material. I would have liked to have the main character fleshed out more. The description of Roland and Prince was spot on. 

What made you think this piece was a story and did you want to read on?
It was a light-hearted and a good description of Camden. 

What were the most, and least, successful aspects of the writing?
I thought it could have gone places, after all he's met Prince! We could have been introduced to his jet set life. 

Second Peer Review ~

How was the central character portrayed and was this portrayal clear and interesting?
I enjoyed reading the descriptions, the characters came out vividly and quite mysterious. 

What made you think this piece was a story and did you want to read on?
The narrative gave me the impression that a story was about to unfold; the fact that there were these mysterious two people and they seemed to want something from the narrator was the reason why I read on; and the revelation in the end was quite interesting as well. 

What were the most, and least, successful aspects of the writing?
I think the most successful aspect of the writing was the description. The characters were normally but vividly described, fact which left me with an image from the story. However, the author exceeded the word limit (not much though), and it doesn't really seem like an introductory paragraph. I also think the description of the sky wasn't quite linked to what followed. The introduction could have been a bit more gripping. 

Third Peer Review ~

How was the central character portrayed and was this portrayal clear and interesting?
The main character in this piece of writing is the teller of the story. He is clearly portrayed as nonchalant, cool, casual. particularly through his manner of speech in the genre of 1930's private eye, Marlowe type and in the way he responds to his surroundings and others e,g, He is not phased when he bumps into Ronald. It was entertaining and I enjoyed the interplay between the characters 

What made you think this piece was a story and did you want to read on?
It was a story in that it set the scene and there was a moment of tension when the main character met Roland and the small guy. However we are not led towards the development of a plot because the character keeps his promises! 

What were the most, and least, successful aspects of the writing?
I was drawn to the characters, found them amusing. Thought there was potential to further the plot; set up some kind of dodgy deal between them. The promise thing was disappointing, seemed a bit of a cop out maybe. The last two paragraphs seemed to change style and felt a bit of an after thought. (All respects to Prince though) 

Cruising With An African Queen!

Nigerian Celebrity and Star!

I was in Royal company last Saturday night. In the same car as Salawa Abeni on her way to a gig!

 Queen Salawa Abeni

Queen Salawa permitted me to ride in her car after making sure I was aware of Yoruba traditions and protocols. She was very gracious indeed.

So, there I was, cruising down the North Circular road, shoulder to shoulder with a Celebrity Singer. A Child Star and now a Queen. I felt privileged and lucky that I happened in the right place at the right time, not only to meet a woman of immense talent and culture, but to be actually in the same car with an actual African Queen.

Queen Salawa Abeni was kind, dignified and courteous throughout the journey. I was pleasantly surprised that we had a lot in common. My love of music and African culture has made me aware of Salawa's career from when she was a little girl and a star on the Nigerian music scene so many years ago.

A massive star in Nigeria, she has entertained fans worldwide. Has performed for the rich and powerful both in Nigeria and abroad. Her powerful voice and vocal range is quite impressive, tailor made for her repertoire.

She will be performing with the Yoruba Women's Choir next month at London's South-Bank Centre.


'Bodederek


www.MusicArtinDesign.co.uk

The Flaming Flamingoes!

Stories are all works of fiction. Names, characters, place and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and places is totally coincidental

They were kicking us good and proper. The fouls came at us relentlessly. Every time we were a goal up, it got worse and I got worried. The only one amongst us not particularly intimidated by this was Sol the centre half who gave back as good as he got. It only made things worse for the rest of us.

I was looking for worthy opponents to play against whilst we were waiting for the crucial match against Monarchs. Someone suggested we go play sets as a unit and told us about a particular part of town where we could drop in to, wait our turn and then see how long we last out there. Stupidly, without checking it out first, I took us there. Now, hindsight as they say, is twenty twenty vision, I was wishing we weren't here. Sooner or later, someone is going to get hurt and I had a feeling it would not be any of the guys we were playing against.

We'd easily knocked out two previous teams within twelve minutes of arriving and were beginning to get cocky and complacent. You see, the way sets work is this and these are just the basic ground rules as I understood. The first people to arrive will divide into two teams or a team will arrive and the people at the ground who want to play will put a team together to play the away side. Usually, as better players arrive at their home ground, they will replace the weaker players and gradually get stronger. A team gets knocked out and another one replaces them if they concede by more than two clear goals, another team then replaces them, usually, the new team ends up being a mish-mash of the previous guys and the latest  arrivals, who are usually the most skillful players. Others are just big scary fellows who nobody can dare not pick. 

Knocking out the previous teams in under twelve minutes seemed like a record of some sort and before long the pitch was surrounded by spectators cheering both sides. Word had spread and the better players emerged and were quickly absorbed into the opposition. At the same time that they were getting stronger, we were beginning to tire. The third team we played went down 1-3 to us, it took us over forty minutes and loads of pain to beat them, we took a rest while the next team organised themselves. 

I was already trying to figure out an exit strategy from the middle part of the last match after eavesdropping on the people behind my goalposts, the overall vibe was changing and the situation started to become tense. Somebody was taking bets on the game and the news filtered through to me somehow. This jackass had obviously decided to be an enterprising bookmaker, he had now become a smart ass, I could now hear him selling his bets.

My team mates during this break were excited, they hadn't experienced this level of attention before and when I dropped a hint about wrapping it all up so we could get out of there, I was quickly overruled. I didn't tell them about the gambling. Someone is bound to bet against us, and if we win they wouldn't be very happy about losing their money which may result in complications. Always an optimist, I kept my concerns to myself and we went back on.

The lads we were facing knew each other and it quickly became obvious they were the best players around, they also seemed much bigger than us. They quickly scored against us with a blatant offside nobody noticed happened, least of all, the scared looking referee. The section of the grounds that cheered the goal the most, had in their midst, some of the scariest looking people you could ever meet. I didn't object to the offside goal, in fact I was a little relieved it was allowed. Etemeke my fleet footed friend was targeted and chopped mercilessly several times by this other guy who didn't like the way the crowd cheered whenever a dribble or some skillful move made him look clumsy. He was a big guy and the "who you looking at?" look he was giving the referee made the man not even look in his direction.

Despite all his troubles, Etemeke had to go and score, levelling the game. The goal was exceptional, it was greeted by hand claps by those who see real art in soccer. Despite my misgivings about scoring, I couldn't help clapping from between the sticks. Cheers and smiles from our new fans, scowls of anger from the gangsters. They were gangsters, one came up behind me as I was clapping and slapped the back of my head hard, I turned just in time to see him disappear back into the crowd. Mr "who you looking at?" looked like he was half instructing and half threatening the referee. Obviously a local man, the ref really looked stressed and defeated. We were on our own.

They were now openly committing fouls on us with impunity. I got an elbow in the face while punching out a ball. The next time the guy ran toward me with the ball, I used the heel of my boots to scrape his shinbones from the knees all the way to his ankles, he screamed, I played dumb but it didn't work. The ref gave them a penalty to appease them, they scored and went back into the lead. By now, things were getting so rowdy we all wanted it over, at the same time we knew it was too dangerous to leave as winners because the gangsters had money to collect if we lost, so winning the game was out of the question.

The cross came, floating as if in slow motion. I made a grab for it about a yard outside the keeper's box, landed firmly on the balls of both feet and waited as the players dispersed themselves back into the field of play, waiting for the customary kick out. With the ball at the end of my outstretched arms, I swivelled around and volleyed the ball straight between my goalposts. You could have heard a pin drop, every jaw hit the floor. Then, pandemonium!


You Have to Wait for the Next One!!!


Later friends,

'Bodederek

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