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176.Cup of Tea Mum/Touching The Peripery

Posted on: December 9th, 2014 by Colonel Crabtree-Smythe No Comments

I Ronnie Kray - nice cup of tearemember years ago when the nights were long and the mornings vast just before the second world war and all that Allo Allo/Dads Army tomfoolery began. Such happy times were had meeting friends in Soho for drinks and fisting sessions. One night I recall bumping into Quentin Crisp he must have been in his early to mid twenties. He was happily mincing his way down Gerrard Street flocked by a handful of angry American sailors who it seemed were outraged by Crisps outlandish effeminate attire and purple dyed “barnet fair” and they told him so in no uncertain terms by calling him “honey!” or “treacle!” and telling him to “get back here!”

I even heard one of the ham shank sailors asking Quentin to, “wrap your chops around my olde John Thomas.” He sounded serious and looked it when he said it, but then the flirting turned nasty and one of the Americans called him a “nancy boy faggot.”
Which seemed like fighting talk to me.

I sensed the imminent danger on behalf of Crisp and slipped on my knuckle duster for in those days I was a fighting man and afeared of no one, after all one must remember I had a distinct advantage what with me being a high level Jujitsu fighter after having spent five years in the Brazilain rainforest grappling with Helio Gracie.So regardless of what anyone may have been thinking I was prepared like a cub scout on a camping trip.

Dear Quentin seemed non plussed and if anything he really turned it on further like a super model on a modern day cat walk, buttocks swaying, left and to the right, his penis erect and tall. I would say it was enough to confuse any right minded American boy. I was intrigued, however, by the mans testicular fortitude. His grace under fire so to speak, the powdered fop that he was, he seemed fearless and utterly unapologetic for who he was and rightly fucking so I say, but that’s when one of the sailors decided to put his hand on Crisps shoulder. Crisp froze and the ham shank said, “Who the hell do you think you are little lady? I should cut you for wasting my time running away like that are you ignorant or something?”

“I would say you’re wasting my time, if you are going to beat me, beat me, if not then please allow me to be on my way!” Replied Crisp calmly.

“I will do more than beat you, I will take whats mine.” Said the American unbuckling his belt, and that’s when I stepped into the fray for I sensed violation was on the way.

“Not if I have anything to do with it!” Cried I pointing at my Colonel credentials while also grabbing the American seaman by his privates.

“You like it rough, do you?” I added as I gave his balls a handsome squeeze a tug and twist. He didn’t like that I tell you and he went for his gun where upon I dropped down and rugby tackled the fucker. We hit the frog & toad the old terracotta with a concrete thud which I fear took the wind out him. He dropped his weapon on impact. I put my knee on his belly and punched him repeatedly with my knuckle dusted fist upon his face. He turned onto all fours panicking breathing heavy. He had given me his back, I thought about buggery and threatened to unzip my trousers and take something from him but I changed my mind in a matter of moments and instead slipped in a rear naked choke and squeezed like a boa constrictor around the mans neck and within ten seconds or so the aggressive repressed yank was no more. He was asleep, all his sailor friends were in disarray by now and that’s when Quentin Crisp fainted, collapsed on the Soho streets. I stood up and shouted, “Who wants it? Come on you little shits!”

The Americans bottled it, their aprils had given way and they backed off, knees trembling in my very presence. “Cowards” I thought, bally cowards picking on our dear naked civil servant like that and then cowering in my presence. Then again I suppose my rank had something to do with their standoffishness, sticklers are Americans when it come to rank and file, bloody automatons. I picked up the sailors gun while thinking about shooting another ham shank in the foot, but instead I slipped it into my back pocket feeling that enough violence had taken place that day and that’s when I noticed Jack Spot the jewish gang leader staring at me. He had been watching all along from the other side of the road. He seemed impressed with how I had handled this situation and he gave me a knowing nod shouting, “If I was you I’d cut the fucker round the scenic railway, bastards, but mind you don’t cut the jugular or you’ll end up hanging from a rope, you don’t want to be had up for murder.”

“Thank you Jack!” I replied, “I have it under control, no ones throats is going to be cut today, but thank you for the input, it’s good to know that when they say you are always on the spot hence the name Jack Spot they weren’t lying!”

“Yankie Bastards!” He said, “Picking on our Iron Hoofs like that, bastards, one minute it’s the queers, then the Irish, then the blacks and then of course they turn on the Jews, the front wheel skids, the dusbin lids .It’s a fucking liberty.I’m against all persecution, cut em all the bastards!” Finished Spot as he took out his gun and fired six shots into the air. The American sailors grabbed their fallen man and ran away at high speed towards Soho Square to re-group and debrief. Jack Spot disappeared into the London fog.

I walked over to Crisp thinking that today had been a close call but also an idea blossomed in my cranium, as I helped him to his feeble feet he was groaning. I felt after much personal deliberation, toing and froing that he was just the sort of man we needed at GHQ for our secret under cover Soho sauna campaign. It was the early 1930s and we were trying to track down nancy boy Nazis or Gay Romper Stompers so to speak. We at GHQ believed that if we could unearth some homosexual Nazis that we could with one fail swoop undermine the right wings rise to power. For it seemed on the surface that the Nazis had an anti fruit parcel policy and I believed that by proving that even Nazis like a bit of the olde mutial that we could send a shudder, a shock wave straight to inner sanctum of Hitler and his high boot leather wearing pals and bring them to their knees and show them up to be the hypocrites and bastards that they actually were.

We needed an uncover man to frequent German saunas in London hoping to uncover some anti Jewish sentiment while being sucked off by a limp wristed rent boy. I found it to be a wonderful idea and just as important as trying to crack the olde Enigma code years later. Truth is though gay Romper Stompers are very good at covering their tracks.

I had heard stories that gay Nazis had infiltrated a Welsh sauna in Cockfosters but sadly after the sex act had taken place the gay Romper Stompers would assassinate the rent boys silencing them forever and therefore allowing the third Reich to rise like a gay mans penis in leather.I explained all this to Crisp and he told me that I was a buffoon and that the only way to deal with Nazis was to shoot them in the head. He thanked me for my help in Soho and offered to buy me a cup of coffee at the French in Old Compton Street. I obliged and we had a wonderful evening. Jolly as hell, but I knew that there was to be trouble ahead and I needed to get into those saunas, but I would worry about that on the morrow afterall I had decided to enjoy the peace while we had it. Life goes on regardless of what anybody tells you…

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