The Day of the Punk Haired Gonk

Notes by Alison Pickles

I do try to be patient with auntie, but honestly, sometimes...

As I came down the stairs this morning into the shop, I saw Auntie Dottie standing in front of the full-size mirror. A white rimmed affair, the mirror was planted at the head of a clothes rail covered with dresses of the 1950s and 60s, thrown over the top like abandoned robes on poolside loungers.

I watched Auntie Dottie twirl her prized black tail comb and tease her blonde bob into an even bigger pom-pom. A second later, clearly unhappy with the result, she separated a chunk of hair at the crown and resumed backcombing with alarming ferocity.

‘Don’t! Don’t! Don’t!’ I shouted the words before I could stop them tumbling out.

She spun round, hair sticking up.

‘Is that an encore?’

‘What?’ I spluttered. ‘You look like a deranged Gonk!’

‘Alison, you couldn’t mistake me for a monk any more than a tube of toothpaste for sherbet dip.’

‘I said Gonk…Gonk, not monk.’ I mean honestly, how does Gonk sound like monk?

‘Did you Sweetpea? That’s nice.’

I found myself silently mouthing, ‘Nice?’ Auntie does this, she acts all innocent.

‘That reminds me,’ she continued, ‘Beatrice Fortescue wants that one for a nephew’s birthday.’

My gaze fell on the Gonk being pointed at. It sported bright pink hair.

‘Kids want computer games these days not plastic blobs with punk hair.’

‘This nephew’s twenty-six. He’s a collector.’

‘What are you selling it for?’

‘You know how generous Beatrice is…’

‘Yeess,’ I intoned with a sinking feeling.

‘I said she could have the Gonk for ten pounds,’ and with that she resumed her hair styling.

I opened my iPad.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, spearing me a jaundiced flash of the eyes.

‘You know perfectly well I’m Googling it…’ I groaned. ‘According to Gonk International website, they’re worth fifty pounds and upwards, some go for hundreds. You’re supposed to make a profit!’

Auntie Dottie turned and looked me straight in the eye. ‘Nice boy actually.’

Uhuh, I know that gleam.

‘Don’t change the subject!’ I said, exasperated. But I was too late! Auntie was already in full flow.

‘He’s good looking…although he’s a bit square,' she was saying. 'Never mind that should suit your straight-laced ways.’

Recycled Teenager

Following her gaze, I looked down at my serge blue skirt. One of my favourites, it always makes me feel classically elegant.

‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

Auntie Dottie had the temerity to sound huffy. ‘Did I say anything? You obviously know it’s not attractive wearing skirts that are ankle dusters. Your trouble Alison, is that you have no dress sense.’

This from a woman in her late fifties, standing before me, in purple suede knee high boots and a baby pink jumper above a deeper pink miniskirt.

‘I’ve told you before auntie, I am not wearing a miniskirt. And as your business partner I insist you sell that Gonk to Beatrice at the correct price. We are not a charity.’

‘As your senior partner…of course, pop picker.’

‘Of course what?’ I demanded, Auntie Dottie’s innocent tone not fooling me for a nano second.

But she had sauntered over to the blue Dansette Record Player and was lowering the arm. The stylus connected with a vinyl single record. Suddenly the shop was filled with the sound of Lulu, belting out her hit single, ‘Shout!’ accompanied by Aunt Dottie singing at the top of her voice.

I gave up…at least she’d forgotten all about the idea of teaming me up with Beatrice’s boring nephew.

Watch Lulu singing 'Shout' on Ready, Steady, Go in 1965

Characters and In a Pickle Story (stories set in 2010), The Day of the Punk Haired Gonk © Charlie Clarke 2022