'Scuse me mate, I'm lookin fa` Palmerston Road.' The Frog called out to a passer-by, being careful in his delivery to only hint at the letter 'T'. It was one of his missions in life to master every accent he encountered and he was taking the opportunity to master Walthamstow. Being a French national his country had called him up to do his National Service. One of the excuses he had been trying out on the recruiting sergeant was that his French was: 'A bit iffy if ya` know wot I mean?' Lump had suggested he might try to fail the medical by ramming a cucumber up his bum. They had debated at some length the size and type of object required to achieve just the right amount of damage to the rectal tissue, but were ultimately not convinced that a preference for anal sex would be considered a disadvantage in the French Army.

'Ya wootent 'appen ta' know Palmerston Road?' The Frog yelled at another unfortunate Walthamstowite unlucky enough to be in the vicinity.

Lump and the Frog had part time jobs posting out tickets for football matches at Wembley Stadium. The job paid a pittance but allowed them access to the Arena to watch the bands soundchecking. The day before they had witnessed ABBA trying to balance their sound. For what seemed like an eternity, Benny ran through every instrumentalist, backing singer and the choir of local school children obviously intent on perfection. Eventually Bjorn joined him, practising his guitar poses; then the twin goddesses of song, Frieda and Agnetha, sauntered on dressed in towelling robes and carrying cups and saucers. Lump and the Frog looked on in amazement as a stadium jobsworth interrupted these legends to inform them that they had to get a move on as the crowds were about to be admitted. As the crowds poured in so Lump and the Frog had exited, and as they drove off in the Wewe Van, The Frog announced that he had a job lined up for the following afternoon.

'All we have to do is pick up two push bikes in Walthamstow and take them back to Betty's in Harrow.'
'That's ALL we have to do?'
'All we have to do, mon ami gross.'
Lump was sceptical like a misheard infection. He'd had previous experience of the Frog's organisational skills and it was only the promise of "bunce" that secured his agreement.

They found the house in Palmerston Road and a lean, rodent like man with a 'Viva Zapata' moustache and a tie-dye 'granddad shirt' answered. 'Oh hi maan, you bought the bikes from Betty? Right?'
Thinking quickly, the Frog offered the unlikely reply, 'No I wasn't sure where she lives so I thought you might show us?'
'OK man.' he replied, confirming Lump's suspicion that all hippies are prats.

The Frog practically lived at Betty's house and Lump knew that their passenger was aware of this, yet he was willing to travel all the way to Harrow and back just so that The Frog could "save face". Lump despaired of such strange codes of conduct and used every phrase in his lexicon of body language to convey his annoyance.
'You're a fucking prat.' His body silently yelled as they pulled out of Palmerston Road, onto Forest Road.

A cyclist turned onto Forest Road from Blackhorse Road singing "I'm in Love with a Jersey Girl". He passed the Rael Brook shirt factory on his right and Blackhorse Road Underground Station on his left. Springsteen blasted into his ears from his cheap imitation Walkman; but even the mighty Clarence Clemons saxophone solo that erupts like the Vesuvius of orgasms, failed to lift his spirits.

The blue van turned left by the snooker hall at the end of Hoe Street and The Frog passed the ferret man a packet of king-size Rizlas and a small plastic bag.
'Fucking useless acid casualty. Fucking useless HIPPIES!' The Lump silently articulated with his unmistakable "fucking useless acid casualty, fucking useless HIPPIES" gesture which was so familiar to The Frog.


It was as he steered the Transit onto the roundabout by the Crooked Billet, that The Frog found he could no longer stand the incessant, "You owe me you FUCK HEAD!" gesture that was so familiar to him.
'OK I fucked up, don't get out of your pram. You can have ALL the wedge.' he whispered like a bubble-filled chocolate bar, still toying with the EastEnd vernacular.

The Wewe Van pulled up outside the house in Harrow. Not once did The Frog ask his "guide" for directions.

Pre-empting protocol, Lump made it plain they would just be picking up the bikes, and that his companions should refuse all offers of "Tea" or "Brownies" or "One More Moondance" with Van Morrison.
'You're stealing my life bit by bit!' Lump accused The Frog once they had dropped the Ferret Man and his bikes back in Walthamstow.
'Every time you turn up late. Every time I have to wait for you to get ready when I have turned up at the agreed time. Every time YOU make a mistake I lose another bit of my life. Gone forever, these wasted hours can not be replaced by decorating a bit more time with drugs and rock and roll.'
'You're just pissed off 'cos you can't get laid.'
'Too fucking right.'

Edgeware