Mark, Steve, and I gathered at Steve’s place to plan the evening. Our plan was fiendish, well it seemed fiendish, but we had already been in “The Angel” for several pints and by that stage, walking was regarded as fiendish.
We got to the off-licence bought a lot of beer and tottered back to Steve’s house. Cunning I am sure you will agree. But as we arrived there was bad news, Steve got a call and it seemed there was a chance that his parents might return. Their weekend away had been marred by travel problems and now they were wondering if they should plough on or give the whole thing up as a bad job! Steve had indicated to his mum and dad that he might invite a couple of friends over for a mug of coffee and a listen to a couple of albums. Thirty plus teen party animals would not go down well. Steve is clearly worried. If only he knew there would be other things to worry about...as Steve made his announcement Mark was cracking the tab on his second can of McEwens.
Editors note. We have included segments from our conversation about this party with Mark Powell would like to express our thanks for his candour and exactitude.
Cook's diary continues...I think I must have moved into the kitchen and got stuck into the first few cans very quickly. I knew that Diane was expected later in the evening and I didn’t know whether she was going to arrive alone or with a partner. Being pessimistic I was convinced that she would turn up with Lee Burrowes and I wanted to psychologically prepare for this eventuality, i.e.: to numb myself to the point of near insensibility first. Diane arrived accompanied by Christine Arnold. Lee Burrowes turned up separately. The only other arrivals I can recall were Beverley, Diane Christine, Kim, Lee and Ashok. Ashok escorted Jeannette Rumbles to the party.Mark Powell
The arrival of fourteen year old Jeanette worried me for a while, clearly Ashok had not been quite as distraught about the failure of his relationship with Kim as he would have has us believed. But thoughts of what Kim might think are less to the fore than the possibility that she would take tales of our behaviour back to the school. It was Mark still chugging manfully on his beer who rightly pointed out that this hardly mattered anymore.
Steve meantime maintained a nervous vigil close to the phone in case of a call from his parents announcing their imminent arrival, at which Mark and I would somehow persuade the the party-people to decamp to some other as yet unspecified venue. Steve was also worried his parents would be suspicious of the inevitable background noise. I was placed on standby to quieten the party people, although how I was to do this, was not explained either!
Cook's diary continues...Much of my early time at the party was spent sitting on the floor of kitchen near the pedal bin. Occasionally I made forays into the living room where three or maybe four couples were dancing. I visited the living room on the pretext of finding food – Beverley apprehended me at one point and forced fed me some of her food. But my main reason must have been to torture myself by pretending not to watch Lee and Diane dancing together.Mark Powell
My own plans encounter a brick wall at high speed by the arrival of Kim – or to be more precise by the fact that I had failed to notice the arrival of Kim. I had been so intent on helping Steve that I had failed to spend any time at all with my would be paramour. By the time I got to her Kim had been hitting the Vodka pretty hard, possibly as a result of spotting Ashok and Jeanette engaged in a little tongue tango in the living room. She buttonholed me to tell me about the tyranny of her parents who according to Kim were the cause of many a teenage woe and as Kim was keen to point out that she was treated far differently than her brother. She pointed out that the dress she was wearing to the party was one chosen by her mother. It was a frilly petticoat affair, nice but I was forced to concede somewhat old fashioned compared to the pencil skirts and rah-rah dresses of her compatriots.
There was little that I could say to comfort her, for one thing having finished half a bottle of Vodka she was far too drunk to understand or even care. It slowly dawned on me that the chance of a pleasurable evening snogging with Kim was fast going out the window. Besides Mark was proving difficult…
I found myself sitting on the doorstep in the back garden. I had half finished a can of lager or bitter when I suddenly decided to make a dramatic gesture by throwing it away from me further down the garden. I intended for the can to hit the garden fence for a more spectacular impact, but my aim was poor. The can sailed into the night crashing against the rabbit hutch on the other side and attracting the attention of the next door neighbour. I remember him standing by the fence threatening to call the police. Some of the party guest gathered around trying to discover the problem and then placate the man. Knowing that I was protected by the anonymity of darkness I joined in the apologies and promised to find out who was responsible. Back in the kitchen however I was the prime suspect. Steve arrived and demanded forcibly that I calm down.Mark Powell
Cook's diary continues...
After mooching around for a bit Mark vanished. I later found out later there had been some kind of incident in the garden, I only came in for the end, having been in the inevitable queue for the toilet. But was told by a very excitable Beverley that Mark had tried to kill some rabbits, although no one seemed clear as to why he wanted to do this? Steve from being worried was now marching at a pace through the foothills of paranoia.
The party-goer have a debate which boils down to do we kick Mark out of the party or not. I say that I will have a word but telling him that he has to moderate his behaviour or risk being thrown out does nothing to change either his mood or stop the self-destructive impulses. Next thing I hear again from Beverley (who I begin to suspect is enjoying the drama) is that he has been spotted going through the drawers in the kitchen and announcing that he is looking for a knife.
Cook's diary continues...Later I set out to attract further attention by rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen pretending to search for a knife on the basis that if you can’t inspire sympathy then inspire fear. Beverley must have present and assumed that I intended to stab Lee and made moves to prevent me from arming myself. I think she exclaimed “Oh my god, he trying to get hold of a knife!” and guided me away from the drawer.
Mark Powell
I found Mark and told him that he was out of order. But it was too little and too late. Mark was well into a “Everybody hates me and I don’t fucking care!” session. Between Mark anti-social behaviour and Steve’s paranoia this evening could end with a fight. Steve had complained to me a number of times and with increasing venom that Mark was spoiling the party and bringing the mood down but practically there was little that I could do and around the second or third complaint has retorted that I did not control Mark, Steve actually seemed to be indicating that I should exercise some form of head boy control. But since Mark seldom listened to prefect instructions in school I didn't think there was much chance that he would drunk at a party in Reigate Avenue. I abandoned the future to fate and decided to see if there was a dance with one of the girls available. I wandered into the living room and danced with Diane and Beverley – well they danced I shuffled outlying regions of myself in the vague hope of something rhythmic happening.
The next time I saw Mark, he was waiting on the stairs for the toilet.
Cook's diary continues...At this point I was shifting gears from the classic “My sneering arrogance and cold blooded indifference in thinly masking a simmering volcano of deeply disturbed and dangerous fury and hatred” phase too “It's late and I’m thoroughly pissed and I’m going become appallingly self-pitying and tediously talkative” phase. I found myself having a conversation with a sympathetic Christine Arnold, who told me she had seen this sort of thing several times before – we were interrupted by a very pissed Kim who had been circulating throughout the house in search of a drink/toilet/sympathetic ear. She shouted in our direction. “I hate my fucking parents!”
Mark Powell
Kim’s dad came to collect her at midnight. My plans for the evening had been wrecked but I managed to hammer the final six-inch nail in the coffin of my hopes when face to face to Mr Lathrope. Attempting to jolly away why his daughter was both depressed and very pissed, I said that he would have to get her home soon before she turned into a princess. The look he gave me suggested that there would soon be a picture of me on the inside of the Lathrope front door underneath would be the words “Fuck wit not allowed in…” Kim left without so much as a backward glance in my direction. Under the circumstances I could hardly blame her ...
Beverley left around half past two in the company of someone called Tony, possibly a friend of her boyfriend who had come to collect her. By this stage fatigue and alcohol had got the better of me and indeed most of the surviving party-goers. I had intended to sleep at Steve’s but decided that the walk home was worth it against the prospect of sleeping on the floor. I wandered up Reigate Avenue behind Beverley and escort. I had wanted so much more from the evening. We are going to go out with a whimper and not the bang I had hoped for. Why am I not surprised?
Virtually all the guests had disappeared, the only survivors were Diane, Christine, Lee and Ash. Lee and Ash had made arrangements to stay overnight. That group ended up sitting in the living room passing around a box of chocolates – the last cans had long since been drained. Myself, Lee and Ash slept in Steve’s living room. Early in the morning I was woken by the sound of either Lee or Ash being sick. I was the first to rise in the morning followed by Ash and then Lee. I have rarely witnessed people so in the throes of the death force as we three in that harsh morning light. Ash was unable to finish his Cornflakes and slumped to the table. Steve surfaced around nine thirty and the rest of the morning was spent wandering around the house with black plastic sacks gathering up the left overs. Funnily, I don’t recall the atmosphere between Lee and I being at all strained.
Mark Powell
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