The 24 Year Rule

Crawley is an extremely strange place. It is without doubt one of the biggest ‘chav’ towns of the UK. Oddly no one actually seems to live in Crawley because no one will admit to it, probably with very good reason. Ask a Crawley ‘townie’ where exactly they reside and watch as they squirm and attempt to skirt the issue like a politician in front of ‘Paxman’. “I’m from West Sussex” they’ll tell you, “Near Gatwick”, “Not too far from Horsham” or they’ll try to give just the suburb “Southgate” or “Furnace Hill” at which point you say (very loudly) “Oh, Crawley!” and then you can physically watch their heart sink through a number of defeated facial expressions. Some will retaliate with the “yer, but Tilgate isn’t really Crawley” line, where you should nod your head sagely with the knowing look that screams “You’re in denial!” Some months ago I moved to the other end of West Sussex, not too far from Horsham, near Gatwick, a small area called ‘Three Bridges’ and yes the third line of my address states ‘Crawley’. The near by ‘County Mall’ shopping centre and it’s one way system is clogged up with cars belonging to ‘Max Power’ readers, tinted windows, alloy wheels and sub woofers all show as evidence, even on the most banal of vehicles. A race with some clown in a baseball cap is offered at every red traffic light while bottle blondes walk around in skirts that should belong to smaller women or only seen on nudist beaches. Single mums push prams and pushchairs swinging fake ‘Louis Vuitton’ handbags and wishing for no more than a packet of twenty ‘ciggies’ and a packet of twenty nappies. From what I can gather there are two socio-economic classes; those from wealthy families (with unfortunate resource drained parents) that didn’t really bother at school and ‘went off the ropes’ and those from sink estates that didn’t bother at school and ‘went off the ropes’.

On an average weekend evening the gentlemen move around in packs, wearing a ‘Benny’ (Ben Sherman shirt) or a ‘Ralfy’ (Ralph Lauren shirt), ripped jeans and a pair of white trainers (unless the target venue only allows shoes). Big gold chains are worn outside of said shirts with accompanying big gold bracelets; baseball caps I believe are optional. The nightlife is distributed between ‘Brannigans’, ‘Bar Med’ and a nightclub called ‘Ikon Diva’. The only places I’m familiar with are ‘Bar Med’ after a few visits and Ikon Diva after a couple of very brief trips in and out. One Saturday night with my brother (down from Birmingham), on the first weekend I moved to Three Bridges we took a trip to ‘Bar Med’ and surprisingly we had a very pleasant evening. Bar Med was full of people made up of all ages and all sizes, there was a higher ratio of female to male patrons (always a good thing) and a good range of dress sense covering typical ‘chav’ to the ‘suited and booted’. Oddly I was chatted up twice that night, once by a woman close to forty with a rugby player’s body and then by a lady in her mid thirties wearing make up that cracked when she smiled, but hey it’s a confidence boost and the law of averages coupled with a smiling God surely dictates that sooner or later a stunner with a modicum of intellect may come my way. ‘Crawley women aren’t shy’, that was the selling tag line I fed my mate ‘Tim’ last week in an effort to persuade him to join me on Friday night back in there and it worked, so on Friday night the two of us headed off to Bar Med for some serious beer drinking and with hope in our hearts.

To be honest the night wasn’t too eventful, there was a tall girl who was pretty enough standing alone all night, just behind us, but the fact that she was alone seemed odd so we never approached her (we were expecting some gorilla to join her at any moment). Tim sadly doesn’t dance, I’ve known him for a number of years and enjoyed many nights out with him and friends but Tim has never tripped the light fandango or strutted his stuff. The easiest way to break the ice with women is a bit of cheesy flirtatious dancing, but dance alone and all they see is a lonely old man making a fool to of himself. “Lets go and hit the dance floor” I tell him, “Wayne I don’t do dancing” he protests “I can’t, I’m like one of the guards on duty at Buckingham Palace, I won’t be able to move” he insists. “Tim, Tim” I pleaded “it doesn’t matter how you look as long as you enjoy it, just dance from the heart, as if no one’s watching” I argued. So we began dancing, really I can’t dance for toffee but Tim shuffles randomly from one foot to another and twitches his arms every now and then to a beat no one else can hear, it’s painful to observe. “Tim that’s enough” I tell him “probably a good idea if you stop now, you were right and I’ll never ask you to do that again!” I concede. Tim agrees and we leave the dance floor.

At the bar a girl we’d previously agreed didn’t look too bad removes a cigarette packet from her handbag, realises it’s empty and throws it out, turning to her mate she shouts out for a spare ‘ciggy’ but her friend is all out as well. Tim is unaware of the girl’s dilemma and need for a smoke but I shout to him “offer her one of yours” while pointing to her, but the music is too loud and he can’t hear me. “That girl wants a cigarette” I shout again still pointing. He looks at her and shakes his head mouthing the word “What?” In his hand is a half full packet of cigarettes, grabbing his shirt cuff I direct the hand and packet towards the girl who takes one out and thanks him, Tim takes her to one side and begins chatting to her. Moments later he returns to me “That girl nicked one of my fags!” he tells me with some annoyance and walks away. As the clock ticks down towards ‘chucking out time’ we chat to more and more women, mostly I chat to women on Tim’s behalf with the old “My mate fancies you” winning gambit, but it’s not winning anything this evening. We are rejected by some real monsters. I see a girl sitting all alone (has been for sometime now) and I decide to approach her. I think her insular isolated want to be alone calls out to me and illustrates some depth of soul, “Hi ya” I say to her cheerfully, but all she does is look up at me and then back down. “You not having the best of evenings?” I ask her; again she looks up and down. “Is everything OK?” I continue not giving up and with some concern, she looks at me blankly. “Do you even speak English?” I question her before giving up, “yes I do” she tells me in a dismissive manner, “er, goodnight then” I tell her, but never get a reply so I walk away sheepishly. Bar Med comes to an end and we leave.

Outside I see the tall girl from Bar Med who stood behind us alone to begin with, she’s still by herself. “You were standing behind us some of the night” I tell her drunkenly, “Maybe” she answers. “Where can we get a kebab?” Tim asks and she directs us to a fast food outlet. “What’s your name?” I tentatively quiz her, “Loraine” she tells me sounding fairly upbeat. The three of us chat for a while and learn she’s a local lass, single and heading home. I push my luck and ask her age, “guess” she tells me, the answer all men should dread, so I look at what she’s wearing, facial features, hair and hands and make a drunken judgement “thirty two?” I ask her. Like a dangerous dog who, up until this point has only ever been good with children but is now trying to eat you, she ‘turns’. I’m colourfully told to go away and then she asks Tim to take a guess. “Twenty four” he tells her, “exactly!” she smiles and Tim is rewarded with a peck on the cheek. “I do wear glasses” I protest, she steps closer towards me and tells me bluntly “Tonight you’ll go home with your mate here and I’ll be going home and sleeping alone, goodnight Wayne” and with that she walks off, “Goodnight twenty four year old Loraine” I shout after her. “Wayne the secret is ALL women are twenty four” Tim tells me as we walk back, “Take that girl there” he points at a girl over the road “How old is she?”. I look at her squinting “er, twenty eight?” I tell him, “No!” he replies, “twenty four, remember?” he emphasises. Somewhere in the empty well of my head a penny drops, “Ahhhh” I murmur, “I’ll remember that in the future” and I will.