No Sex

I came late to a lot of things in life. Alcohol. Trust me, it took years of training by my life-friend Liz to learn to love Whiskey, and just as long for close friends Paul and Geoff in London to train me to become an accomplished Guinness drinker.

Sex was another. For a long time, I just wasn’t interested. My close friend Paul had great fun with this. He loved a joke. We used to meet outside HMV on Cardiff’s Queen Street each Saturday mid-day – after ITV’s Chart Show had finished – to buy records and clothes, and he would hold onto my sleeve and drag his feet behind me at the most inopportune moment and make it look like I was his carer.

So, Paul had immense fun with the no-sex thing. He took it upon himself to try and set me up with men when we were out clubbing, determined to cause mischief. He would try anything. “He doesn’t do sex. He has an inverted penis. You should go on a date with him.” he whispered to me during one attempt, about a butcher from the valleys.

His most successful joke with the no-sex thing was his discrete declaration – while we were at the bar – that a lad I was talking to was a Christian and therefore didn’t do sex. Being of a Christian upbringing myself, this was music to my ears. I relaxed, rejoined the lad and invited him back to my place to continue our pleasant conversation when the club closed. Imagine my surprise when – back at my place and offering him a cup of tea – he was all over me like a rash, hands and tongue everywhere. An embarrassing phone call for a taxi later, I took myself to bed and prepared to give Paul a good telling off the following evening. But not too much of a telling off, chuckling to myself.

Collecting Glasses

Kristian was a happy accident courtesy of my mum. Puzzled at my lack of enthusiasm for a night out one Friday evening, mum resorted to her drug of choice and encouraged me out of my shell with a Valium. It had kicked in by the time I was in Club X, and gave me an assured and confident air in a way that alcohol could not sustain.

I was introduced to Kristian through friends of my friend Wayne, ‘down from London’ for the weekend, with Kristian in tow. We formed a large group but for some reason Kristian talked with me and we hit it off. Not that I was into casual encounters, but being in an assured and confident mood, and enjoying his company, I told Kristian that he should stay at my place that night.

When mum brought me my cup of tea the next morning, and saw Kristian in the bed next to me, she barely skipped a breath before saying “Would you like one too?” I guess she felt at least partly responsible for this inaugural sleep-over.

Soon after, Kristian returned the favour by having me for a sleep-over at his place. I caught the train to Woodley in Berkshire to spend the Friday night with him. He settled me down to read the latest issue of The Grocer while he got changed, then drove us into London as it was only 20 minutes away and I would love a pub called the Royal Oak.

He bought me a pint and disappeared, leaving me to stand alone feeling slightly exposed. But no fear, he soon returned, collecting glasses. When I challenged him, he brushed it off saying he was just doing a few hours for some extra cash, and told me to talk to people.

I was still painfully shy back then, and it wasn’t long before my natural shyness attracted an Irish lad, who introduced himself as Kyle and offered to buy me a drink. I was naturally mortified at the thought of a stranger approaching me (note the absence of Valium). I made my excuses, found a payphone and called my good friend Abner to complain about the situation I was in. Abner did what Abner does best. He told me to stop moaning, get back to the Irish lad and go for it.

Being easily influenced by good advice, I got myself back to Kyle and got him to buy me a large whiskey, following which I got him to give me a good snog near the payphone. Half way through the snog and nearing closing time, he asked me to go back to his place with him. But I couldn’t, I would need to leave as soon as Kristian had cleared all the glasses. Kyle reassured me that it was no problem, he lived on the next street and therefore it wouldn’t take long. I made my excuses but was sure to finish the snog first.

The Inner Within

I’ve been as fas as I can go,
but only with myself.

through the physics of love
and mental breakdown;
depression and petulance;
I have been within.

I cannot believe a love for me
possessed by someone else.
it cannot be and shall not see
the light of my heart.
I’ve been as close as I dare go
to that fickle flame,
and only I will feel its cold…


what shall I do?
whatever it is,
it won’t involve you.
whereever I go,
away from here
where you can’t know,

whatever I chance,
are you threatened
by my independance?

there’s me and thee
and me and myself.


through the doors of bedrooms
you can hear my songs.
if you listen close enough
you can hear my heart.
I fill pages of books
with thoughts about you,
still I live off your looks,
my tongue set alight.
through the folds in my jeans
you touch where I feel,
as cootchie as ten bears,
my god, I could hug you!
but you must love me
from your heart
before you can tear me apart.

Go Home To Mother

even his long-time love
who said she’d never desert him
has failed him.
where is she now the line has cleared?
the warmth is cut like ice, for
she is cruel and cold – he’s bitter.
this flaxon haired – and bonny-built
lad has saved one hundred pages
in his diary for her.
she shows no emotion.
all pinafore strings are severed,
cut with blades of frozen sweat,
he falls apart from long-time lover:
he could always go home to mother.


morning sweetness!
I woke today
with you on my mind.
while hot and bothered
I felt your arms
as I showered.
hot and horny I
thanked my stars
I had woken without
you on my pillow,
and I hadn’t been raised
on “Ask The Family”
or you might have slept
with me in my bed
and there could have been
a hot-crossed bun
in the oven by now.

I’ll Phone You

I’ll phone you from work –
I’ll feel safer there.
my brain will be on,
have been exercised
and I’ll be amongst
fellow people and machines
that will rush together
to support my mass
if I fall from the chair
when I hear you speak.
I’ll stay late and I’ll phone
where I’m safe and sound;
where you’ll be a voice
like the others thru’ the day.


you like talking
and the sound of your voice.
I like listening and playing your accent.
you give what you want
and I take what I need.
now smell the curries and valium
and mountains of cream in my teas.
how I’d love to cry
but there’s nothing to cry for;
and I grow everytime
in a charming, sensitive way.


I could have been a model,
so I haven’t been told:
I do not have a neck
which could commercially
be sold.
it’s been said
that I have not the head
with correct structure,
the bones are scaffolded,
my skin is folded,
the cheeks are tucked:
my modelling career is
not very promising.

Show Biz Superstar

Show Biz Superstar cover
A selection from “Show Biz Superstar”
by Scott Hill.
Originally 81 works spanning August 1988 – August 1990
Executive producer: Bobby Bristol for Scottsburg Productions 1990
Artwork by Alma Weldon and Scott.
Published by SCH copyright on all titles 6th September 1990