dddk - part 2 - fo-our calling birds

Fo-our calling birds…

Meanwhile, back on the wards fluorescent tubes flicker coded messages. The Prof is beginning to see the light…

« Well I’d say I’d got it spot on really. It appears young Keith has been working minor miracles. A bed will be ready and waiting tomorrow afternoon at a charming little place near Brighton. He bounced, yes bounced in to inform me not two hours ago. I’d initially assumed some overzealous link to job satisfaction, judging by his gleaming visage, but that misapprehension was rapidly cast asunder. ‘Good luck, goodbye and happy new year.’ He beamed, pumping my hand before turning and skipping - yes, he skipped toward the exit; pausing at the nurses station - I gaped in utter disbelief - as his hand slid down young Julies back, and lingered, to cup and fondle her left buttock. That sly dog. Judging by the deliciously gay peals that tinkled from her moist and parted lips, his attentions were neither novitiate nor unwelcome.

The pain of time and spurned opportunity clung, momentarily to my lonely breast, but they relinquished their piteous grasp soon enough. For I am safe; safe in the knowledge that she will, undoubtedly, ineluctably, have him; for breakfast.

But I’m not safe am I? They have me, at last in their clutches. They’ll tend me and tame me; pad my tired tirades; swaddle my jagged edges; as they gently but firmly dope me into dotage.

No.

I will not bow to their gods. They will never have me.

Where are my bloody trousers…? »

Under the arch illumination has never been more closely swaddled. Nellie tries to fill the blanks, a looping replay of a seventies strutting Bassey, mouthing diva, revolves insistently.

What goes up…

« So, everything comes to he who waits does it?…Well I’m waiting. I’ve got pretty good at it, over the years. But I’m beginning to wonder if it’s not all just a load of old cobblers.

I’ve been trying to rally my inner force all afternoon. But I’m cold, and I’m tired and let’s face it; I’m bloody fed up.

The girls have buggered off somewhere - separately. And David hasn’t been down for days. I’ve still got his present here. Don’t know what came over me really. Well lets just hope he likes it eh? If he ever comes back.

I feel like I’ve been here before you know. So central. Like a little hub. But the spokes have been snapping, out and away, and I’m still spinning, and spinning, and I’m clinging on, but soon, very soon, there’ll be absolutely nothing left to hold on to. »

From the very bottom of the pit one can be excused near blindness. Sometimes it takes a stranger to outline the evident. Lee was never fond of colouring in, but then no-one ever did it with him.

« Why does everything have to be so bloody complicated. I should be over the moon. European tour starts here. But I just can’t seem to summon up the enthusiasm for six months Kosovan peace keeping with a bunch of action thralled bulldogs. It was alright till I started actually hearing them. I don’t really know where it’s crawled out from, this need.

I think I might’ve made a great, great mistake.

I have this feeling that I’m supposed to start speaking. But if I ever did, I would become perpetual motion; swaying and jabbering, backwards and forwards, on and on, spewing and spitting every syllable that flitters or has ever flut across the tangled wires from which I swing. Fucking hell.

Got to get out of this flat. Stuff everywhere. Oh yeah, we’re alright here. We got plenty of stuff here. No risk of human interaction in our little Aladdin’s cave.

Wonder if that Shell’s still down the arches. Wouldn’t wanna be in this weather. She rung me up once. Told her I had a couple of days leave around Christmas, but she reckoned I may as well’ve said the twelfth of never. I said « what? » and she said, « puppy love. » and hung up.

I could just wander down and have a look.

Ha, lunatic women. »

What do they say? Actions speak louder than arseholes, no, that’s never it. As Lee turns the key, David is already whirring,

« Result. Greasy Ron, in his cups. He’s only gone and give me the dosh for the fucking Toyota. ‘You’re not a bad lad,’ he says to me, ‘you just gotta learn to listen to your olders and betters.’ You could’ve blowed me down with a silent fart. And they reckon pigs don’t fly. So here’s to you merry Christmas ev-ery-body’s havin fun.. . I swear I can see the wings sprouting out of his shoulders as he slumps over the table.

Maybe I should nip down the flats fore I go sees the girls.

 ‘Ooh, is that my phone?’ I say,  ‘It’s heaving in here, can’t hear a thing.’ I’m squeezing past Ron’s lardy arse, as he struggles to lift his head,  ‘My first piece of advice to you my son… ’ But I’m out of there before he can say don’t eat bacon. »