TERPSICHORE'S FIRE
7. INTO VALHALLA
Stars live in the evening
But the very young need the sun, uh-huh
Pretty baby, you look so heavenly
A neo nebula from under the sun
I was forming, some say I had my chance
The boys were falling like an avalanche
Ya ya baby
La Dolce Vita is a magic dance
No-one was listening
Pretty baby, un petite ing\u00e9nue
A teenage starlet, I fell in love with you
You, you with the comb
You look OK in every way (every way)
Ah, I should have known
You'd look at me and look away (and look away - oh)
Pretty baby, you look so heavenly
A neo nebula from under the sun
Eyes that tell me incense and peppermints
Your looks are larger than life, long live innocence
Petite ing\u00e9nue, I fell in love with you
Pretty baby, I fell in love with you, whoah oh
Pretty baby, oh oh
Pretty baby, whoah oh, I fell in love with you
Blondie
I continued to rejoice and revel in those wonderful, exciting days and nights; especially the evenings of course. Laying back and basking in that glorious summer of my life, I was like a surfer riding high on the crest of the biggest wave he had ever seen. Like a gold prospector, who after years of finding nothing, realised he had just found the biggest deposit of all time. Panning it for all it was worth just to see how far it would go, and how far he could go. It was around this time, the second half of September, that the little blonde girl started spinning me two more yarns. One was that she had something wrong with her bladder and had recently been to see her doctor and then some specialists at some hospital or other. They had diagnosed that she may become seriously ill in the near future. The second story which followed hot on the heels of the first was that she had recently had some other tests at some other clinic and been diagnosed as very likely having the first symptoms of leukaemia, although they weren't certain just yet. At the time I felt reasonably sure that both of these stories were in all probability total fantasies. But at times she made them sound so convincing that she almost had me in tears. It all seemed like some desperate attempt to win sympathy. She was obviously extremely mixed up and anguished emotionally, most probably because of her recent past. That was one side of her. When the pendulum swung completely the other way, she was the merry, happy-go-lucky, over excitable, stereotypical blonde bombshell. Well, that was the front presented in public anyway. What I liked most of all about her was the dancing, and the passion of course; of which more in due course.
I remember one Friday evening when she wanted me to take her out dancing to the Baldock Working Men's Club in Mansfield Road. This was another place I was not familiar with so she directed me there, taking short cuts through unfamiliar residential roads and avenues of Letchworth and Baldock. On arriving there, I didn't like the idea of parking right outside in a busy road, so I drove past the front entrance and parked in a residential cul-de-sac some distance away. It was while I was taking my seat belt off and putting the ignition keys in my pocket that she came out with another dramatic story.
