Time at The Pits
The time at the Pits started with Jeff and me (Doomage & Strangely) living above it, accessed through the black door on the left in the picture which is number three. (We were forced out of the top flat in Front Street just down the road by the landlord who wanted his property back in sensible hands… <g> ). The Pits is on the right.
The flat was freezing since we couldn’t afford to heat it. It had a combi-gas water heater thus I’d spend many an hour in the bath warming up.
The Pits was a serious pun, since it really was the pits… both up high and down below in Baldy’s flat. True, it was a time of intense creativity, this creativity extending into the time when Jeff and me had to find another place – this was in the prison-like dwellings in Killingworth, Gazza (gary Clennel now adding to us making us a trio). We were in C-wing…. Callaly Tower. This had blown air heating with the front door up some stairs on another level which meant all the heat shot outside when the door was opened. It was truly shite.
The kids used to climb up and down the pillars supporting the pathways such was the level of angst. The pathways were extremely slippy in winter and rain. More pictures of the shitehole can be found here.
During this time Jeff, Gazza, Baldy, me and a young lady called Maxine formed a short-lived troupe playing covers stuff like Moonage Daydream, Heroes and Scary Monsters by Bowie (say) called Maxine & The Lurchers. AFAIK, this is the only photie of it all. German Filmstar comes to mind too…
Don’t it drone on…
For about a year or so, our lives were full of creativity, yet still, the pits. Despite the creativity, there was always the brake, which naturally led to the break.
For a descriptive level of pits-ness, apart from the creativity, a highlight (for me) was one night when Gazza and myself were cycling back to C-Wing pissed up. On passing the Earsdon roundabout I looked left and saw Gazza fall asleep and with the biggest grin on his face tip off left right across the path into the ditch/verge just past the roundabout. – (SP)
Now that was funny, oh how we larft, but it was still the pits.
See Gazza obituary.