twofer

1.

Clarence

“Yes, there’s definitely something” said the doctor. Useless. I could have told him that. I’d felt it squirming around in the night, thought I would go mad from the noise.
“It’s just how, I wonder, did it get up there?”
“Last weekend,” I said. “A party at the National Gallery. I don’t remember three whole days.”
“Whatever it is, it seems pretty angry.” Said the doctor. He looked further in, pulling out a torch and hissing through his teeth. “Oh, hello. Yes. It’s my uncle Clarence”
“Afternoon,” said Clarence.
It made sense. I’d been sure I heard someone whistling the ‘Green grass of home’ from inside my head, and wondering aloud what time the Grand Prix was on.
“Well,” I asked. “How de we get him out?”
“Oh, I’m afraid that’s be out of the question.” Said the doctor, flicking off his torch and settling behind his desk.
“What?” I asked. “What?”
“Oh yes.” He said. “Quite out of the question. Whilst I was looking up there I saw a sign. Well, he’s applied for planning permission.”
“I have” said Clarence, “a gazebo”. (Notice the call back there. Structure.) “Really...bring the place together, it will.”
“Don’t I have a choice?” I asked.
“You might have, if you’d bothered to take a look,” said the Doctor
“How could I have possibly looked up there?” I asked
“Try Yoga” said the Doctor. Clarence tittered.

2.

Keys

I was only saying, yesterday. Only saying it would be perfect but for the draft. Now look at me. Icicles hanging from my nose, balls like tiny blue olives. I tried the door again a minute a go. Locked, from the outside.

And none of them work, of course. Not that they should. But that’s how it started. I’m aware, not blind, so to speak, to the irony. But irony won’t keep my fingers from turning black and falling off, now will it?

So this is the thing. You could, I learned, walk uninterrupted through any private place if you did so very quickly, holding a bunch of keys and tutting. Flawless. I was looking for a place to stay and when Ron turned over the cornershop I made sure he brought me a bunch, a nice jangly set with a couple of large, coppery numbers, just for show.

And I turfed up here, made my way from one side to the other uninterrupted. Bingo, I says, and so, to the warehouse, a home to make among the polystyrene and packing cases. By day I marched the corridors, by night I slept dreamlessly. And of course, I got greedy, silly bugger that I am. To the freezer, where I saw great sides of beef hanging pendulous, like. Pulled a couple out and thawed them through with the heaters they use to peel the stickers off of cardboard boxes. Ate very well of it, too. Lovely few weeks.

But I was cramped this morning, cranky. Too long at that can of adhesive I found by the analogue printers. I did not think to fix the door on the way. Outside, just beyond, lies a coat I stitched together from offcuts and roadkill. The irony might just kill me, so it might. If it beats the cold, Of course.