For a bit of levity I attach the true story of Clarence Clutterbuck from my student days:
I'd change his name for this story but no-one ever believes he was called Clarence so there's not a lot of point.
Clarence and I shared a room in Bayswater around 1968/9. Clarence was a non-entity with big ambitions. He had started out in working life matching the left shoes from the left shoe factory with the right shoes from the right shoe factory. True. It was an anti-theft precaution and for Clarence that was a challenging occupation. It was also a lot safer than his short foray into welding which usually meant him coming home with another jumper turned to a colander and assorted spark marks over most of his visible skin.
But i digress. Clarence, as I have noted, had high ambitions. His hobbies included drawing with a 4-colour biro and making up tattoo designs; although the short welding course had lead to him being branded like a paper doily. His other ambition was to be a biker. In that regard he felt he was a bit held back 'cos the only bike he had was a BSA 125 and that didn't quite cut the street cred at the 69 club so he used to have to park several streets away and walk the rest claiming his Norton 650 was in pieces being souped up.
He was also the only member of the 69 club without black leathers and biker boots and his plimsoles and second hand jeans jacket and slacks set him apart from the rest. But Clarence always had 'a plan'
'A Plan' In Clarence's mind was always a simple scheme to help him fit in. His last plan had been to make his Bantam look like a Norton and he'd just spent several days shredding newspaper and mixing buckets of 'Tapwata' to papier mache his bike into the shape of a Norton. Clarence, of course, was not put off by the practicalities of the exercise and one has to give him credit for determination. Even if the result looked like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold porridge at a Moped. Clarence voiced his conviction that a bit of paint and it'd look the business.
Clarence really felt his only outstanding issue was the lack of leathers and came up with his latest 'Plan'. Simple really..dye the jacket and slacks and plimsoles black to look like leathers.
He bought some dye.
Now Clarence wasn't too good at instructions – he was having trouble at work with 2 left shoes as it was. So he asked me to explain the dye process. I had to point out to him that he'd bought hot water dye and living in one room with a gas ring this wasn't really going to work. He ought to swap it for some cold water dye.
I was late home the next evening so I suppose it was all my fault. I came through the door getting on for midnight to find Clarence stirring his jeans and plimsoles in a bucket of dye on the gas ring. Now at first sight that doesn't sound quite so terrible but this was Clarence. Clarence was using a plastic bucket!
As I came through the door the inevitable was just starting to happen..the bucket was turning Salvador Dali and starting to slump down around the rim. I was too late. The rim sagged and the dye poured forth..black, thick and never-ending.
It left the bucket. It crossed the carpet. It seeped under the door and started it's way down the stairs..
'Leg it' Shouts Clarence, packing his few possessions and precious tattoo book and off down in the wake of the black torrent. I packed my stuff as fast as possible and hurried down too.
Outside it was a filthy night. Rain was lashing down, it was cold and dark and I was dragging my one trunk of stuff and wondering where to spend the night. Clarence was on his bike. It looked like he had finally had a go at painting it. Clarence must have used the paints he was used to at school. As the rain lashed down the paint was starting to run and rivers of Norton 650 colour-scheme was puddling in the gutter.
The last I saw of Clarence Clutterbuck he was disappearing through a veil of torrential rain astride a soggy collapsing mass of wet painted papier mache turning into Bayswater Road.
I was alone.