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Oh Carol

By: Ken Simm

Page 1, Carol was the strangest.

Of all my relationships Carol was the strangest, perhaps.

The one that hurt most, no not by a long way. The weirdest, yes she could safely lay claim to that title.

You see she left me for someone else. Not just any someone. She was not the first to leave me, she certainly was not the last. She left me for another girl. A girl of mutual acquaintance. A lesbian.

Now, I was very proud of my laid back liberal attitude. I had come out of the darkness and I was there with the rest. Manning barricades. What matter that they were personal barricades.

Ethnic minorities, gays and certainly until Carol, women. Each in their own way. Some of my best friends were some or even all of the above and I was proud. This was real inverse prejudice. Except I did not know what that was at the time.

My hair and my afghan and my love beads and my moccasin boots and my earring proclaimed me loud and clear. I had my ear pierced I think in Paris but I can’t remember. So you can stick your sick bourgeoisie establishment in the place of no sunshine.

Carol cried a lot. Usually in bed when she thought I was asleep. Weeping silently into her pillow. I never had the guts to ask why. I had waited long enough for this relationship. I was now getting it on a regular basis, catch me rocking the boat.

Carol was at home whilst I was at university. Carol was coming to take her degree with me. God help her.

We met at home. We tried to get time together. My Father walked in on us having sex in my bedroom. He thought it was the best thing since they learned to cut bread into slices. My Mother when she found out refused to give Carol breakfast.

Carol and I met at a local rock festival. Strange but this thing was almost in my parents back garden. It was organised by a man who later became famous for playing pranks on TV. The headline act was the Grateful Dead. I got back issues of Oz. You could not read Oz. Lime green printing on purple paper for Christ’s sake. Good graphics though. One underground magazine I got had an illiterate dope fiend supplement in it. With free paper wings you could tape to your back and fly out the window. We used it for the fire to cook our peaches and ox tail soup. We had lots of tins with no labels. Can’t remember how it tasted. Probably thought it was the new cuisine,man.

Carol came over to us in our little spot underneath the lighting tower.

“Can I stay with you?” she asked apparently because the guy she came with was shooting up some fairly heavy stuff. She was wearing a cheesecloth top. I have always been a sucker for cheesecloth tops. When the light of the fire was behind her you could just about see her small breasts. I’ve always been a sucker for small breasts, no pun etc.

Carol was cold when the sun went down. I had a plastic sheet, a blanket and a single sleeping bag. Being the courteous type I offered her the blanket. She got in the sleeping bag with me. Problem was we were facing away from each other. I remember trying to be a caterpillar on acid during the Dead’s set.

Carol’s girlfriend was butch. Bigger than me and very, very strong. She came down to Uni and beat me up. In front of my friends to the strains of Bohemian Rhapsody in the TV lounge of a halls of residence during Top of the Pops. Carol was there as well. She wondered why I didn’t fight back. I think it was two things. Completely unrelated, one the knife that Carol’s friend had and two the rifle that a guy standing in a cupboard was pointing at us. He had nothing to do with anyone in the crowded lounge he was just pissed off with Queen I think.

I never saw Carol again. She did not come down to take her degree with me and I got arrested the day after wearing a ballet tutu. Inside a ten foot penis with a bucket of whitewash and a stirrup pump.

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