To Be Someone (19 page)

The Jam
TO BE SOMEONE

March 2, 1985

Dear Ram Gnats (Turkey Plucker and Duck Stuffer),

I hate the boys. I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM!!!

I can’t stand being on the road a minute longer. Why am I doing this, why? I could be with you in Salisbury, doing A levels, having a laugh with you over all the things you find funny in your English texts, but instead I’m stuck in a van, which STINKS to high heaven, surrounded by hideous mutons.

The books you sent are keeping me sane, though. Oh, I found a quote for you: “The man opened the door and hurriedly threw his eyes down the street.” What do you think, good one, eh?! It’s from the D. H. Lawrence.

Writing this has already made me feel less like killing the boys. A little bit less …

David’s not so bad (as he once proved!)—but, man, Joe and Justin are SO JUVENILE. Last night was about the final straw. Bastards. Wait till you hear what they did. We were all stuck in this one tiny dressing room at a venue in Northampton, Massachusetts, running three hours late (we’d gotten stuck in traffic and arrived to find out the club’s curfew was midnight, which left us twenty-five minutes to do our set). It was a college crowd, but they’d been waiting for ages, and were chanting and stamping their feet. Troy, our new tour manager (doubles as a roadie), and David got the gear set up in record time, and Joe, Jus, and I were all scrambling over each other to get changed, do our makeup and hair, and get out there before there was a riot. Usually there’s a bathroom where I can get changed—I don’t mind sharing a motel room with them (if I have to), but I never get undressed in front of them.

I was nagging them like mad to turn round, so I could put my skirt on, and Justin was fed up with me. He goes, “Just do it, Helena, like we care—I’m far too busy here to be looking at you naked.”

I begged them, though, and eventually they faced the wall, and I turned around, too, and ripped off my sweatpants and sneakers (my van-driving clothes).

I didn’t notice how quiet they’d both gone until I turned back, half into my tights, wobbling all over the place on one leg, and met their eyes in a mirror on the wall they were facing!! I could have died. I burst into tears and they just laughed. Oh, Sam, I was wearing my horrible huge old knickers, and they’d had a perfect view of my massive bum. I hate them.

Anyway, I’m feeling a bit better now. I’m just worried they’ll tell David what a massive ass I have, and then he’ll feel sick at the thought that he actually went to bed with someone as repulsive as me. Wish I was skinny like you!

Write soon and tell me about Martin, I’m glad he’s finally asked you out. Have you “tweaked his deak” or maybe even “pronged his dong” yet?

Oodles of love,

         H x

P.S. Further to your enjoyment of Around the Aardvark in Eighty Days, might I suggest a few more titles for your reading pleasure?:

80,000 Aardvarks Under the Sea

To Kill an Aardvark

The Aardvark of Casterbridge

The Decline and Fall of the Roman Aardvark

P.P.S. I tried to get Joe to play this game, and the best he could come up with was
101 Aardvarks
—duh.… xx

June 19, 1985

Dear Rusty Harcourt,

(That’s your porn star name, in case you ever fancy a change of career: You take the name of your first ever pet, and the name of the first street you ever lived in.)

Thanks for your letter. Your language gets worse every time you write—I must say, you were a better class of girl altogether when you were going to that church all the time!

Only THREE more months till I see you again!

I’m right in the middle of exams. They seem to be going okay so far, although History was a bit of a nightmare. You’re so lucky you don’t have to do all this studying, you tart, off round America being a rock star.… I can’t wait to hear you play live. I’m still playing your record like mad, and I make everyone else listen to it, too. It’s fabby.

So, my big news is that I am definitely going to take a year off before law school. There’s a girl called Andrea Parsons who’s started a Saturday job at Russell & Bromley with me (did I tell you I wasn’t working at Price Rite anymore?), and she’s saving up to backpack around Australia. She’s asked if I’d like to come with her! I’m so excited. I’ve always wanted to go to Australia. So what I thought is, I’ll still come and stay with you for a month first, then Andrea can fly out and meet me in New York.

Right, this was just a quick one, got to get back to the revision.

Lots of love and kisses,

   “Hammy Chestnut”

         xxx

P.S. You know that Squeeze song about Maid Marian and William Tell—“Pulling Mussels from the Shell”? It was on the radio the other day, and the Nadger said to me: “You know, I’ve always wondered what exactly that means—’Pulling Muscles Off a Shelf.’ It doesn’t make sense!” I couldn’t stop laughing.

August 25, 1985

Dear Gas Mnart (Monkey Shaver and Sheep Dipper),

First, CONGRATULATIONS!!! You little brainbox—there’s just no call for anyone to have such a disgusting amount of grade A’s. What a creep. I’m not sure I can be friends with you anymore. Don’t take a year out—get into that law school and hurry up and qualify, so you can become Blue Idea’s lawyer. Wouldn’t that be great?

Second, sorry I haven’t written for so long. I’ve been saving it all up for this letter, so make sure you’re sitting comfortably!

I can’t wait to see you! I wish you were coming for more than a month. In fact, I wish you were spending the whole year with me instead of swanning off to Oz with Andrea Parsons, whoever she may be, but that’s your choice! Just remember, backpacks are really heavy, Australia is full of those horrible black widow spiders that bite your bum when you go to the dunny, and there are fifteen-foot crocodiles who’ll rip your foot off as soon as look at you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I’m sorry that I probably won’t have much time to show you the sights in NYC (although the interior of our tour bus is a complete sight after a few days, and so is Joe in the mornings—would that do?), but at least once we’re on the road, you’ll get to see some of the bars and diners of America.

Can you believe it, Blue Idea’s been on the road for two years! I was so shocked when David told us that yesterday. I suppose I hadn’t realized that we’d been touring for so long. So much has changed, and a ton of it has been really gradual—it’s sneaked up on us. Like, we’re headlining more and more shows, in bigger, packed-out venues. I feel so sorry for the poor bands who are first on our bill; they look so despondent, hammering valiantly away to an empty room. It seems like yesterday since that was us.

We still have a little table at the back of the venue where people can sign our fan-base sheets—that’s worked out really well. I remember, from the first tour, feeling really stupid when I’d have to collect all those blank pieces of paper at the end of a show, thinking that nobody would ever sign them. These days Troy leaves out about eight sheets a night, and they’re all filled up—about thirty names and addresses per sheet! He sticks them in the mail to Ringside, and half the time they’re all beer-stained and illegible. I really pity the poor minions who get the job of typing them all onto our master mailing list. Still, at least we know who to send the fanzine to!

Have I sent you the famous
Bluezine
lately? What an exquisite work of art it is! (Joke.) I really hate writing it these days, I never have time, and I can never think of anything new to say, apart from droning on about chart positions and new singles, etc. I think I’m too hung up on the idea of trying to make it “a good read.” Justin teases me about it. “It’s not supposed to be
Catcher in the Rye,”
he said last time, when I wanted to put in a story about that weird fan we had (you know, the one who kept sending David his toenail clippings).

It has gotten easier, though, touring. I’m much less self-conscious onstage these days, since “This Is Your B.I.” was a hit (and I think losing my virginity has also definitely helped!!). It was a real turning point. Suddenly it was like people were starting to respect us, and not just lust after Justin.

The best thing was when kids in the audience stopped yelling insults at me—in fact, these days they quite often make suggestive remarks, or compliments, even. I love it. Some guy shouted “Lovely tits!” from the crowd last week, so I have to assume that he was talking to me! Actually, I’ve lost quite a lot of weight. I’ll never be as slim as you, but I’m down to an American 8 (English 12), and my hips and cheeks and other assorted bits are much less wobbly. Touring is surprisingly hard work, considering how much sitting around on the bus we have to do.

Did I tell you that the second single, “Conditions of Love,” is in the
Billboard
Top Ten? Number four, currently, up from seven last week. We’ve been on a bunch of regional TV shows, in the places we’re touring, and girls are recognizing Justin in the street quite often. We even made a video for it! (I’ll try and get you a copy.) I had this letter the other day from a thirteen-year-old girl in Michigan who said she wished she could meet me because I’m “really cool.” Isn’t that hilarious? I wish twenty-year-old boys would write to me and tell me that.…

God, I wish I had a boyfriend. You’re so lucky to have the Nadger, even if he does get song lyrics wrong (well, at least he didn’t think that the first line of “You’re the One That I Want” by John T. and Olivia Neutron-Bomb went: “I got shoes / They’re made of plywood,” which Joe claims he thought were the words, although I can’t believe that even Joe is that dumb).

For a while I wondered if David was going to make another move—I don’t fancy him, and I know it’s a bad idea, with us all being on the road the whole time, but I do have some nice—if a bit vague—memories of that sex. You’d been telling me for ages how lovely sex is, but I never quite understood—you don’t, until it happens to you, do you?

Anyway, I’m wasting my time with David. He’s got a big crush on the sister of some friend of his. And none of us have time for lurve at the moment.
Love and a Door
(hopefully not “that difficult second album”) is coming out in a month’s time.

Write soon, and I’ll SEE YOU NEXT MONTH!!! CAN’T WAIT!!!

Oodles of love,

   H x

We arrived in Manhattan for our New York show on a chilly late-September afternoon. I was on pins because I’d told Sam I’d meet her at the venue at four, and it was twenty past by the time we got there. Justin and Joe were taking bets among themselves about who’d cop off with her first—the idea of a Woman on tour with us was almost too exciting for them to stand, especially since I’d built Sam up as something resembling an English Charlie’s Angel.

“Get lost,” I said to them. “She’s far too good for any of you. She likes real men.”

Justin groaned lasciviously. “And she’ll be in the van with us for four whole weeks. She’ll give in to the Becker charm eventually, I just know it!”

I snorted with derision. “In the van? You must be kidding! We’re renting a car, and we’ll be in a different hotel room, so you’ve got no chance.”