Read Mr Nice: an autobiography for Free Online Page A

your friends call you Howard.’
    ‘No. My name’s David.’
    ‘Where do you live, son? I know I’ve seen you around somewhere.’
    ‘25, Pwllygath Street.’
    There was such an address, but I had no idea who lived there.
    ‘Where do you work, son?’
    ‘I’m still in school.’
    ‘I thought you looked young, son. Well, I’ll just check on this information you’ve given me. I’ll find you if it’s wrong. Goodnight, son.’
    I went back inside and got bought loads of drinks.
    It wasn’t until I got up the next morning that I realised how stupid I had been. Hamilton would quickly find out that there was no David James at 25, Pwllygath Street, and I was as likely as not to run into Hamilton the next time I ventured out of the house. I began to get worried. I was going to get caught and be charged with drinking under age and giving the police false information. There would be a court case. It would be written up in the
Glamorgan Gazette
alongside Albert Hancock’s latest vandalous exploit. I would certainly be grounded, maybe worse.
    Although my father disapproved of smoking, drinking, and gambling, he always forgave any of my transgressions if I told him the truth. I confessed to him the events of the previous night. He went to see Hamilton and told him what a good boy and clever student I was. Hamilton expressed scepticism, citing Albert Hancock as an unlikely source of good influence. Somehow or other, my father won the day. Hamilton agreed not to pursue the matter any further.
    My father delivered me a serious lecture. I learned a few things: I, like most people, behaved stupidly when drunk,policemen could cause problems, my father was a good man, and criminal charges could be dropped.
    King’s College, University of London, had invited me to be interviewed for a place to read Physics. I looked forward to the trip, the first one I had ever undertaken alone. Physics was still coming easily to me, and the interview presented me with no worries. My mind was more concerned with visiting Soho, a place Albert had discussed at length with me on several occasions.
    After a four-hour train journey terminating at Paddington, I bought a tourist map, caught a tube to the Strand, and dealt with my interview at King’s College. The questions had proved to be straightforward. I worked out which underground stations were close to Soho Square and killed time so as to arrive there by nightfall. I walked down Frith Street and Greek Street. I couldn’t believe it. The place really was like Albert had said. There were strip-clubs and prostitutes everywhere. I had never seen either before. I saw the clubs and bars I had read about in the
Melody Maker
and the
New Musical Express
: the Two I’s, the Marquee, the Flamingo, and Ronnie Scott’s. Then the sexiest girl I had ever seen asked if I wanted to spend some time with her. I explained I didn’t have much money. She said not to worry. I told her my name was Deke Rivers (the name of the character Elvis played in
Loving You
). She was called Lulu. Through Wardour Street I accompanied her to St Anne’s Court, and we went into a flat. I gave her everything I had – two pounds and eight shillings. She gave me just a little bit of what she had, but it was more than enough. I walked to Hyde Park, then to Paddington. After a couple of hours’ passenger-spotting, I caught the two o’clock ‘milk train’ back to Bridgend. I had lots to tell my friends.
    King’s College accepted me on the understanding I would get good enough ‘A’ levels. I’d make sure I’d get them. I couldn’t wait to get back to Soho. I got Grade A in eachsubject. Herbert John Davies, headmaster of Garw Grammar School, had other ideas. It was an overwhelming surprise when he took me aside one day and said that he wanted me to sit the Oxford University Entrance Scholarship Examination. It had been at least eight years since anyone from the Garw Grammar School had attempted to get into Oxford. He had been