Milky White and his All-Stars

The week after Christmas wasn't the perfect time to try and darken Milky White's name. Swollen with gifts and proof of his worth, he was immune to us. He was at the height of his powers, sqwarking on his Junior Hendrix electro guitar, Wormhole on the biscuit tins, rehearsing for the Scouts Christmas Party on the twenty-nine th December.
All we 'aff to do, right, Daz declared when we met up The Cow's Gate that morning, is sneak round the back and pull the plug out.

Pull the plug out what ? Skinny asserted.

I dunno, yer cory, out the wall I suspect.

Be on the stage though, won' it, the plugs, I revealed.

Well that is's that then innit, thin said. I aint goon in there just to get jamoboreed by a loada knock-kneed Scouts.

Norm I, Dodge said.

You're just frightened, Daz said.

What of, Milky White And his All-Stars ?

yes, Daz related, as an important point you are.

I'll git 'im, don't chew worry.

Oh yeah ? 'Ow then ? You might always run up on the stage and kick 'im up the ass while e's playin. 'E will not be ready to run after yer, will 'e ?

Why don't we ambush 'im and cut 'is strings, skinny declared.

We hid in the laurel bushes down Copt Hall Avenue, outside the Methodist Hall where they were having the party at 3 o'clock. Only to see Milky White drive up in a chauffer driven Mini wagon. His old man was the roadie too. Wormhole got out the back. We heard Milky say : thanks pardner. To his old man, for Christ's sake, who said back : you sock it to 'em eh, Six-String.

We hid our heads in shame as the enormous green doors swallowed him up.

Now what, you lot ? Thin said.

Round the back, get in through the kitchens, I announced. I wanna hear 'im an' Wormhole do 2 little boys 'ad 2 tiny Toys.

Old Ma Pimple's going to be in the kitchen doin' the cream buns or something, Dodge asserted.

Mrs Pimple was the battleaxe who did our school dinners, cheeks like the mashed spuds she dolloped on our plates, neck like the blanc mange we threw at every other round the tables. Today, when she was never putting cream buns and van Wheels on the Scout's paper plates, she was pulling on a Kensitas in the kitchen entrance. We could not get near the place. We could hear all the Scouts guffawing at old Cripps the wizard who ran the Chemist's shop and did the Interflora. We would had him at the sunday school Party too where he'd tied his shoelaces together then done the splits and the shoelaces were standard again without him touching them. We giggled because he'd ripped his trousers. I don't believe he was doing that again. Then the laughter stopped and there had been the usual handclapping and hooping.

They are going to stuff their faces now, skinny recounted.

Daz legged it across the cinders to peep in the kitchen entrance. Pimple couldn't've been there because he went in without a second peek.

'E bedder git me a cream bun, Dodge related.

No earlier said than Daz came flying out like he'd hit a rubber wall, haring across the cinders and crashing into the bushes.

'Ere you lot, guess what ? You will not believe it.

No cream buns, I revealed.

There's 'undreds of Jamboree bags int there.

Well why failed to yer grab some Daz, yer cory, thin said.

No listen dimbo, they are all like normal Jamboree bags like what Pullins does, but one of 'em's not. It's bin done special. It's got this git on it with a guitar and it asserts : Milky White and his All-Stars.

Flippin aida, skinny said. D'you fink 'e really is going to be on Toppa the Pops then ?

You prongo Skin, Daz said, 'is pop or somebody 'ad it done that's's all. It aint nuffing, not with them photostat thingys.

Oo's got a pen on 'em ? I said.

Nobody did. I revealed we needed a black felt tip quick so Daz set off at a lick up Copt Hall Avenue to determine if Cudlipp was in to borrow a felt pen off. He was the nearest. None of us had time to get home and back before the music and the Jamboree bags were given out. The pen came back in record time. Now it was up to me.
I found the box of Jamboree bags and carried it out to the bushes.

What yer going to write Sedge ? Skinny announced. Milky and the Wombles ?

Hah, that's not bad, Skin, Daz declared.

Nah, I claimed, look.

I looked at Milky's All-Star bag long and hard.

Urry up, Dodge said, I am able to 'ear 'em tunin' up.

Got it, I said.

Blacking out the letters and adding some I turned Milky and his All-Stars into Milky ate his Ball-s. On as many other bags as could manage I wrote THE COW'S GATE GANG above Jamboree Bag.

We pinched one each, put the box back in the kitchen then scarpered just as Milky was twanging his way thru something, not one of us could tell. Could've been Wings though it was potentially the school hymn.

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