Robert Hugill
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The 122 Club was called that because it was at 122 Savile Street, a fine late-Victorian townhouse in Kensington. It had been extended both downwards and to the rear. But the discreet plaque on the entrance gave no indication of what went on inside. The invitation from Francis Heyward had come with remarkable speed. It seemed the sidekick whom we’d met at the garden party was called Archie; I did wonder whether he was the boyfriend, but that seemed somewhat unlikely. I could see having your
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On Saturdays Fags for Football borrowed a pitch and facilities at a local college (in fact, where Gerard worked) which meant, as one of the guys chatting to Keith beforehand explained, they had proper facilities with working showers. For Tuesdays, however, the borrowed pitch was a lot humbler, and the old clubhouse was little more than a room with a toilet. Still, Keith had received a friendly welcome with Gerard greeting him warmly, which made Keith a bit regretful that he’d not come earli
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Will be the subject of much discussion!
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“So?” We were sitting in a pub near Victoria Station, in fact behind Westminster Cathedral. It was someone’s idea of a solid, Victorian interior. The structure was genuine enough, and I suspect a lot of the plasterwork and the textured wallpaper was too, but the colours were too light and modern, and no self-respecting Victorian boozer would have had mock-William Morris wallpaper, and the furniture was all horrible modern repro. I wondered where all the original furnishings had got to.
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Thanks. You will be pleased to know that Maria will make an appearance later in the story in all her 'glory'
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They had no plans for Sunday, and both relished the idea of sleeping in yet somehow with the perversity of things both awoke rather earlier than planned. Still, a leisurely breakfast was in order, and they talked about what they might do with the day. Keith had things that needed doing but going shopping or mending the van seemed a waste of the time he might spend with Thomas. Thomas, looking a bit shifty, dug into his bag and produced a leaflet. There was a striking abstract painting across the
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Thanks!
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A couple of Saturdays later we found ourselves queuing up at a railway arch in Vauxhall that housed a gay club called The Anvil. The men were mainly 20s and 30s, but some older, an interesting stylistic range from trendy to ageing leather daddy. It wasn’t the same arch as I had been used to when I went clubbing regularly, but the idea was similar. The entrance was just a plain brick façade, with a single door which, during the day, was covered with a grill. A single neon sign said, ‘The Anvil’ a
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Sorry to disappoint, but the Masons are rather absent from the story.
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If the impromptu pool party on Sunday had had one consequence, it was that having broken the ice, Bart and Greg wanted to entertain Thomas and Keith properly. So, the next Saturday, Thomas and Keith found themselves knocking on Bart and Greg’s door, clutching a bottle which the man in the expensive off-licence had assured Thomas was excellent. Thomas had arrived late on the Friday, to find Keith deep in a jigsaw. Keith had looked a bit shamefaced when Thomas saw it, slightly embarrassed at
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I think possibly that Vaughan is actually rather ordinary, but he creates something of a persona around him.
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I have realised that Vaughan does come over as a bit pompous some times. He is obsessed with the look of things, style is important too him.
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Don't worry, Isobel pops up again!
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Yep, in a way
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Mr Francis Heyward requests the pleasure of your company at an early Summer party, dress casual. “Dress optional more like”, Dan grinned and handed me back the card. Fancy embossed printing and all. It was addressed to both of us but sent to my address and there was a handwritten note from ‘FH’ saying how much he looked forward to meeting me. “Shall we go?” Dan shrugged, “Got to, haven’t we?” “You can wear your new suit!” The suit was due for delivery. I would have
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Interesting how the class divide in sports keeps popping up.
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A comparatively short chapter this time; I don't like stretching things out for the sake of it, but something a bit more meaty coming up next
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Thomas had warned Keith that it might take ages for a decision to be made about the Mounted Figure. Whatever happened, Alison would have to get permission from the school’s Governors or possibly from the Trustees of the charity which now owned the school buildings. The recent refurbishment and extension had involved a series of manoeuvres that had separated school and buildings in order to ensure the survival and integrity of both. It sounded excessively complicated to Keith, but Thomas simply g
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Epilogue: Normal Families?
Robert Hugill commented on Robert Hugill's story chapter in Epilogue: Normal Families?
Thanks! -
And I wanted the story to involve a variety of lines that Dan and Vaughan might or might not have to cross in their relationship with Francis Heyward, including considering things that we might regards as outre, whims of a rich man.
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Don't worry, financial will come too!
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“I had my interview with Mr Heyward today.” We were sitting in the garden, unwinding with a drink after work. I was wearing my favourite cotton pants, which were starting to show their age, alas, whilst Dan was in some old shorts that he’d left at my place. I’m not sure what their original purpose was but they’d lost any sense of shape or decency. He’d swung one of his legs over the arm of the chair, and it was clear he wasn’t wearing anything underneath and the tempting glimpses had been g
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Sunday morning was quiet, Nate had an early service at one of his other parishes and Caroline accompanied him. So, Keith and Thomas organised their own breakfast, cereal, coffee and bacon butties in the garden. Thomas commented that before staying with Nate and Caroline he had usually slept late on Sunday but now he got up so that he could savour the time on his own. He smiled, “Aren’t I terrible!”. Then suddenly it was a mad panic to get dressed and ready in time for Nate and Caroline’s return.
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Donald Mitchell and the naked policeman
Robert Hugill commented on Robert Hugill's story chapter in Donald Mitchell and the naked policeman
The people in this chapter do bring in elements of people I have known. -
The artist Donald Mitchell was something of a gay icon; sometimes billed as the ‘gay Lucien Freud’, in public he tended to bridle at this epithet and say that he was The Donald Mitchell. But Mitchell did nudes, principally male nudes, unflinching and sometimes akin to Freud’s work, though with Mitchell there was a twist. It wasn’t simply the rumours that he slept with his models; the pictures had a strong sexual air, some of promise, others of rejection, and some positively post-coital with sign
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