Read Online Absolute Beginners by Colin MacInnes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Colin MacInnes
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to the Hoplite, as he sat there on my John, and almost crying.
He plucked at a piece of sanitary tissue, and blew his nose. ‘I only hope,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t turn me anti-American .’
‘Not that, Hoplite,’ I said. ‘Not you. It’s a sure sign of total defeat to be anti-Yank.’
‘But I thought,’ said lovelorn Fabulous, rising from his seat and strolling across to gaze out on the railway tracks, ‘you didn’t approve of the American influence. I mean, I know you don’t care for Elvis, and you do like Tommy.’
‘Now listen, glamour puss,’ I said, flicking his bottom with my towel. ‘Because I want English kids to be English kids, not West Ken Yanks and bogus imitation Americans, that doesn’t mean I’m anti the whole US thing. On the contrary, I’m starting up an anti- anti-American movement, because I just despise the hatred and jealousy of Yanks there is around, and think it’s a sure sign of defeat and weakness.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Fabulous, a bit sarcastically. So, really to hurt him, I made as if to use my towel again, and didn’t.
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘to support the local product. America launched the teenage movement, there’s no denying, and Frankie S., after all, was, in his way, the very first teenager. But we’ve got to produce our own variety, and not imitate the Americans – or the Ruskis, or anybody, for that matter.’
‘Ah, the Russians,’ said the Hoplite, with a dreamy look coming over his pretty countenance. ‘You think they have teenagers over there as well?’
‘You bet they have,’ I said. ‘Haven’t you talked to any of the boys who’ve been over for the Congresses? They’ve got them just like us. But where the Russians fail, is sending us propaganda, and not sending us anyone in the flesh to look at, or to talk to.’
The Hoplite was getting a bit bored, as he does when it goes off the gossip kick into ideas. ‘You’re such a clever boy,’ he said, patting me on the shoulder, ‘and such a hard judge of the rest of us poor mortals … And deep down, I do believe, you’re quite a patriot.’
‘You bet I’m a patriot!’ I exclaimed. ‘It’s because I’m a patriot, that I can’t bear our country.’
The Hoplite was at the door. ‘If you’re interested at all,’ he said, ‘there’s a party tonight, mine hostess being Miss Lament.’
‘I’m not sure I care for that gimmicky girl,’ I said. ‘What sort of party – is it special?’
Dido Lament, I should explain, is a female columnist,and that actually is her name, or rather, her maiden name. Lament is known among us kids because she did a big investigation round the coffee bars in the days when the Rock thing first broke, and got taken up by all her clients in High Society – or rather, by the bus-queue masses who read about them in her column.
‘Oh, the usual SW3 trash,’ said Hoplite, waving his hands about disdainfully, though I know full well he just couldn’t wait to go. ‘Advertising people, and television people, and dressmaking people and show business fringe people – all the parasites,’ he said. ‘Henley, I know, is going, and have reason to believe, is taking Suze.’
‘He is?’ I said, showing no sign of grief to this bit of pure camposity called Hoplite.
‘And Wizard should be there,’ he went on, ‘up to no good, I doubt not, the dear lad …’
‘YOU STUDS UP THERE!’ came a great yell from the stairs. ‘Come down and see your doll!’
This was Big Jill from her basement sector.
‘Oh!’ Hoplite cried. ‘I do wish that female talent-spotter wouldn’t shout so! Go to her if you want to, child, but me, I’ve got much better things to do.’ And blowing me a kiss, he tripped off down the stairs, very sadly singing.
‘Five minutes, Jill girl!’ I yelled over the top of them.
Because, first of all, I wanted to glance at a snap of Suze that was taken of us both one day up on top of the Monument there in the City by a
He plucked at a piece of sanitary tissue, and blew his nose. ‘I only hope,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t turn me anti-American .’
‘Not that, Hoplite,’ I said. ‘Not you. It’s a sure sign of total defeat to be anti-Yank.’
‘But I thought,’ said lovelorn Fabulous, rising from his seat and strolling across to gaze out on the railway tracks, ‘you didn’t approve of the American influence. I mean, I know you don’t care for Elvis, and you do like Tommy.’
‘Now listen, glamour puss,’ I said, flicking his bottom with my towel. ‘Because I want English kids to be English kids, not West Ken Yanks and bogus imitation Americans, that doesn’t mean I’m anti the whole US thing. On the contrary, I’m starting up an anti- anti-American movement, because I just despise the hatred and jealousy of Yanks there is around, and think it’s a sure sign of defeat and weakness.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Fabulous, a bit sarcastically. So, really to hurt him, I made as if to use my towel again, and didn’t.
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘to support the local product. America launched the teenage movement, there’s no denying, and Frankie S., after all, was, in his way, the very first teenager. But we’ve got to produce our own variety, and not imitate the Americans – or the Ruskis, or anybody, for that matter.’
‘Ah, the Russians,’ said the Hoplite, with a dreamy look coming over his pretty countenance. ‘You think they have teenagers over there as well?’
‘You bet they have,’ I said. ‘Haven’t you talked to any of the boys who’ve been over for the Congresses? They’ve got them just like us. But where the Russians fail, is sending us propaganda, and not sending us anyone in the flesh to look at, or to talk to.’
The Hoplite was getting a bit bored, as he does when it goes off the gossip kick into ideas. ‘You’re such a clever boy,’ he said, patting me on the shoulder, ‘and such a hard judge of the rest of us poor mortals … And deep down, I do believe, you’re quite a patriot.’
‘You bet I’m a patriot!’ I exclaimed. ‘It’s because I’m a patriot, that I can’t bear our country.’
The Hoplite was at the door. ‘If you’re interested at all,’ he said, ‘there’s a party tonight, mine hostess being Miss Lament.’
‘I’m not sure I care for that gimmicky girl,’ I said. ‘What sort of party – is it special?’
Dido Lament, I should explain, is a female columnist,and that actually is her name, or rather, her maiden name. Lament is known among us kids because she did a big investigation round the coffee bars in the days when the Rock thing first broke, and got taken up by all her clients in High Society – or rather, by the bus-queue masses who read about them in her column.
‘Oh, the usual SW3 trash,’ said Hoplite, waving his hands about disdainfully, though I know full well he just couldn’t wait to go. ‘Advertising people, and television people, and dressmaking people and show business fringe people – all the parasites,’ he said. ‘Henley, I know, is going, and have reason to believe, is taking Suze.’
‘He is?’ I said, showing no sign of grief to this bit of pure camposity called Hoplite.
‘And Wizard should be there,’ he went on, ‘up to no good, I doubt not, the dear lad …’
‘YOU STUDS UP THERE!’ came a great yell from the stairs. ‘Come down and see your doll!’
This was Big Jill from her basement sector.
‘Oh!’ Hoplite cried. ‘I do wish that female talent-spotter wouldn’t shout so! Go to her if you want to, child, but me, I’ve got much better things to do.’ And blowing me a kiss, he tripped off down the stairs, very sadly singing.
‘Five minutes, Jill girl!’ I yelled over the top of them.
Because, first of all, I wanted to glance at a snap of Suze that was taken of us both one day up on top of the Monument there in the City by a
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