Educating Peter by Tom Cox

fourteen, I, too, might have expected something slightly more exciting to happen at a backstage party.
    â€˜That’s thingy, isn’t it?’ he said, nodding towards a helmet-haired man surrounded by women in leather jackets.
    â€˜I think so, yeah,’ I said.
    â€˜And isn’t that that guy?’ he said.
    â€˜What? Him? Yeah. Looks a bit smaller in real life, doesn’t he?’ I said.
    It was heartening to know that Peter was familiar with some of the celebrities here. Shortly after we’d arrived, I’d had a five-minute conversation with Ray Davies from The Kinks – five minutes, because of all the Americans wanting to come up and tell him just how much ‘Waterloo Sunset’ had enhanced their life – whom I’d interviewed for a music magazine a couple of years ago. Davies had been friendly and, to my immense surprise, actually remembered me, and I’d hoped Peter might be impressed – even if you hadn’t heard of Davies, his thick mane of hair and proud posture would have told you he was someone important – but when I’d returned to my seat he’d merely smiled vaguely and shrugged. But now Peter had his eyes on Richard Ashcroft, the former lead singer of The Verve.
    â€˜I can’t believe he’s here!’ said Peter.
    â€˜Why not?’ I said.
    â€˜Well, he’s . . . Some of
my
mates like his music.’
    â€˜Well, yeah. There are a lot of young people who like The Beach Boys, you know. But I’m not going to go and speak to him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
    â€˜I wasn’t.’
    The party was breaking up, and Ashcroft, shielded by a forcefield of cagoule-wearing men with Seventiesfootballer haircuts slightly less expensive than his own, was leaving. You knew he was leaving because he was obviously the kind of person who wouldn’t have been able to leave a room inconspicuously if he’d tried. He probably couldn’t clean his teeth without swaggering slightly in the process. We watched as he and his reserve haircuts strutted their way towards the swing door at the end of the corridor. There was a pause. Then we watched again as, realising that they had entered the kitchen, they turned around and made their way back. Then, finally, we watched some more as they called the lift and tried manfully to adopt an aura of insouciance while waiting for it to creak down to the right floor.
    Shortly afterwards, we, too, made our way to the exit. The five of us had our differing views on Brian Wilson and the exact degree of his genius, but we were all agreed on one point: the night had reached its peak.

SALLY
    â€˜ SO YOU ENJOYED it then?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t say “enjoyed”. It was . . . interesting.’
    â€˜â€œInteresting”? That’s normally what people say as a put-down, isn’t it?’
    â€˜No, no, it was cool. It was just, I thought they could have made more of their guitars. I mean that guy – the one with the silly hat – he was using a Danelectro Twelve. You can get really cool sustain with those. Or maybe it was a Fender Jazzmaster.’
    â€˜Oh. Can’t say I noticed. But you liked the songs, yeah? The harmonies and stuff?’
    â€˜I suppose. Mmmm. Er. Yeah. They were pretty nice.’
    â€˜And what about the backstage party?’
    â€˜Mmm. It was good. I thought there would be more . . . going on.’
    â€˜What do you think you’ll tell your mates about it?’
    â€˜I’ll tell them about Richard Ashcroft, definitely.’
    â€˜You’d have to really, wouldn’t you? It kind ofreminded me of
Spinal Tap
– y’know, what happened with the lift.’
    â€˜
Spinal Tap
? I think I’ve heard of it. I’m not sure.’
    â€˜Oh, wow, you’ve never seen
Spinal Tap
? You
have
to see
Spinal Tap
. I’ll lend it to you. It’s the funniest film ever.