I first met Sasha back in 86 in Camden. I had just returned from a cycling tour of the Congo and found myself back in London on a cold wet August day. The rain was the slushy stuff that couldn’t decide if it was rain or snow, the howling wind made the tourists run for cover and forced the cold slush to collect and congeal in clots in the hood of my grubby Parker. I grabbed an open top tourist bus at Marble Arch, it was heading for Clapham but after I had shown the driver a Polaroid of his mother tied up in my airing cupboard he agreed to alter his usual route and head for Camden
As soon as I had stepped off the bus I saw Sasha. Standing dressed in black latex a full head above the masses she glided silently amongst them, her eyes darted about searching for something, her hair was blonde or maybe black with streaks of colour that you could only see in your peripheral vision, actually I think her hair was red or maybe it was blue, in her hand she gripped a clear plastic bag filled with rose coloured water, the water was teeming with small blue fish.
I didn’t know it was her at the time. Of course, in hindsight I should have known, like everyone else I had heard the rumors, and I recall the strange tale told to me by a shabby old Tibetan naval officer one night in a titty bar in Rio. He had given me his wooden false ear as a keepsake and a testament of his encounter with Sasha, It felt strange that this old cracked woodworm ridden ear had traveled the world to find its way home, I always had a strong bond with fate.
“Oi you!” she pointed a finger at me her nails glinted in the sun. I instinctively looked back over my shoulder before realizing she meant me! maybe it was the rain but a chill passed through my bones. “A word” she said, Sashas voice was husky and melodic like treacle poured over sand paper. I found myself drawn through the crowd towards her.
“Fancy a drink?” she exclaimed, silly question I thought.
The afternoon dissolved into evening while we sat in the window of the pub, outside the proles scurried by, their faces contorted with purpose, inside Sasha talked. She told me how she was going to model, to be the glue in creative partnerships and create art that would be remembered. Her vision was to explore the boundaries and make people think about what they saw. Like a child I sat enthralled and inspired, “smashing idea” I said, “another one” I gesticulated at her empty glass “yeh, Ok then”, “Two more pints of sweet sherry it is”.
Sasha opened the bag of fish, “fancy one” she said proffering the bag towards me “err no thanks”, “more for me then” she popped one of the small blue fish in her mouth, I fancy I heard a faint crunch as her lips moved slowly, “so how do you propose to start this adventure” I said. Sasha was sucking fish scales from her teeth; she paused to think for a moment. “Well I think I’m going to need a website” she replied. “Great! I can help you there” I excitedly lied.
Last orders had been called, I staggered to my feet to leave, “Oh, I nearly forgot, I think this belongs to you” I tossed Sasha the splintered old wooden ear, she caught it with one hand, A knowing smile crossed her face. I turned to leave, paused and turned back, “this website you want, what do you want me to put in the about you section?”
Her last words rang in my ears ...
“Oh, any old crap will do, no one reads it anyway”
Matt Miller - Dilettante
Sasha69bomb@aol.com |
