| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Smile and grin at the change all around (H) 15:07 - Jul 26 with 837 views | Warkystache |
Friday conversation in a popular chain of chemists: Me - Urfff Urgin. Hurf voo gurna scholl perpovizmo?
Assistant: Urgh? Shercarn nurfoo?
It was like the Piltdown Man bit on Tubular Bells. All you needed was Mike Oldfield doing a bit of guitar and a few marching drums. People round here don't make much sense when they speak unaided, let alone with a blue NHS mask strapped tight from nose to chin.
All I wanted was a small bottle of Pepto-Bismol. The pink unguent that eases bowels back into some kind of workable order and diminishes the incipient indigestion-like discomfort that is unmoved by fairly regular visits to the thunder box and glasses of milk. I ate badly on Thursday. I had a kebab from our local van. He was a nice bloke, the chap who served me, and we had a decent chat about Ipswich Town, as he's a fan, although "don't get down there too often, mate, 'cos well, I work Saturdays. Still, I went when we beat Wimbledon". He thought Lambert was "unlucky with injuries". I found myself nodding. In fairness, he said that as he was wrapping my large shish with extra chilli sauce and so conversation was ending at that point. I never got the chance to indignantly, jeeringly challenge his point with bitter recrimination.
In the event, the chilli sauce was too extra. I spent Friday morning nursing guts that blobbed and separated like a large lava lamp. I found the empty box of Alka Seltzer in a draw in my bedroom, next to the empty carton of Rennies and fairly near the congealed and out-of-date bottle of Gaviscon. Balls. Face mask in pocket and drive to Boots. Face-mask on, adjusted so it didn't fold my right ear in half. Enter shop. Then quick nip to Tesco for fags and full-fat Coke, as someone online reckoned a Coke cured his heartburn in ten minutes. It doesn't go all that well with Pepto-Bismol though.
Terence, ah well. That's a different story. We met yesterday afternoon. The pub, but not the local as he fancied a change, so we tried one of the others. Mrs Tel picked me up at twelve and drove us. She looked different. She's had her hair done again, this time a sort of burnished blonde with chocolate brown tips. It reminded me of a Murray Mint.
How'r'yer? she said as I jumped in the back. Fine thanks. How are you? She smiled and adjusted her sunglasses a bit, even though it was threatening rain outside. "OK luv thanks". Tel, sat in the passenger seat, told her to move off before the traffic got heavy and she did. We continued conversing. "I'm spendin' terday wit Sandy an' the kids in Braintree, jus' on me way now. We're gonna go for lunch somewhere an' then on ter Freeport. Be nice ter see 'em". She sniffed and sped up a bit. Tel said 'Spending' me earnin's already" jocularly with a roll of his eyes at me. She didn't answer. Then she said "Yep" decisively. He shut up.
We arrived at the pub and got out. Tel went ahead to secure a table. It was just starting to spit with rain. I stayed and wished Mrs Tel a pleasant day. It was a neat subterfuge to transfer three of my cigarettes and one of my spare lighters to her. She thanked me and gave me a kiss. As she pulled away in the car she waved at me, and I noticed a puff of smoke erupt from the window where her hand had been.
Tel was up at the bar as I walked in. I did my hands with their free anti-bacterial wash, which smelt like cheap vodka, and took my seat at the table he'd reserved before we got there. He came back carrying two pints and two bags of nuts. He set my pint down and lobbed the nuts at me. "Ten quid" he said, as though chastened by the experience. "Bleedin' dear in 'ere. Still, beats the local. We'll get a cab darn the chinky at six, then back ter mine. Wife's stayin' over in Braintree ternite 'cos they're off fer Sundy lunch somewhere, so no need to rush 'ome later".
We talked about his job and mine. Next week is my last one working from home. I'm back on Monday 3rd. He muttered "bout time'n'all. I fought you were staying' there forever". His own "job' is unsatisfactory in every way, but he delights in moaning about anything these days, so there's a sort of perverse enjoyment in its shortcomings. "Too far" was one subject. "They treat us like morons" the other. In the former, he told me of late-night delays on the A12 and moaned about "wass it doin' ter me car?" by way of launching into un-refunded petrol costs and general mileage accumulation. I reminded him I drove to Birmingham every day once, and he subsided into bitter little asides of "no-one's forcin' yer ter work forrem" which was more patently true of him than me. Who's forcing you? I asked. He grinned at a recent memory. "True. Went ter take some dosh out their ATM the ovver day an' one of the blokes I work wiv, Polish 'e is, we call 'im Ed 'cos we can't pronounce 'is first name, e'd score the maximum in Scrabble, well anyway, 'e sees my receipt slip an' the amount on it an' goes 'Why Terreee do you work for zis job?' an' I fought he's right". Argument over, he sipped his beer.
"I keep wakin' up at eleven in the mornin' then I 'ave anuvver bit o' kip at two after a bit of brunch. In the chair sometimes, The wife gets the bird a bit wiv me kippin' in the chair though. I get the old heave-ho quite a bit at 'ome lately. She said I don't owe Paula anyfing, I can jus' walk out an' it wun't make a blind bit of diff'rence. Just quit and go. But she don' unnerstand these fings. She's 'ardly ever 'ad ter work. I wanna do it. Issa rubbish job, they don't trust yer an' they're always on the ole search in case yer nickin' off 'em, an' I get paid free 'undred and fifty a week after tax an' that for forty-four hours a week 'ard work, but I like it. Iss not about Paula. She couldn't give a toss. She don' even work there".
I asked how Paula was and he snorted. "Dunno. Aint seen 'ide nor 'air of 'er since she rang me before I started. She's probly fine". He told me a story about Paula's mum, who has recently been admitted to hospital for a bladder infection. "She's 'ad the bailiffs rand twice, all over an unpaid court fine for that crim'nal damage ring she 'ad last year". I hadn't heard about this so asked him. "Oh, well, she freatened 'er ex-usband". Oh, I said. "Yeah, got a fine and suspended prison sentence or summink. Can't do community service 'cos of 'er 'ealf. Got off lightly if you ask me. They were gonna put a tag on 'er, but how's she gonna get out wivout 'er wheelchair? Stoopid. Should've just impounded the wheels".
We had another round, with chips and ketchup served in caterer sachets, which wasn't Heinz and tasted, therefore, like cheap sweet'n'sour sauce. The chips were nice though. Tel muttered on about work and Mrs Tel and Paula's mum. I wasn't really paying attention. You don't when he does that. It stopped when I mentioned the footy bet for today (last round of Premiership games) and we concentrated, fingers on chins as we looked at the games and tried to work out winners. In the end, we had forty quid on five teams to win: Arsenal, Man City, Man United, Spurs and Everton. Tel had three. I had two. I picked Spurs and Everton. He moaned. "Bournemuff play Everton an' they need ter win ter stay up. That'll be a tough one ter predict". He looked at me like I was insane. I ate a chip and demurred.
The taxi beeped outside at five twenty. It took us by surprise. "Bleedin' early 'e is" said Tel in wonderment, like he was waiting for a bus. We drank up and left before the driver came in to loudly enquire if we were in. It took us down to the Chinese, but it's changed its opening time to 6pm, so we went and had another pint in the local, because it's the nearest. Jamie the landlord welcomed us, we got change for the quiz machine (which he promised us he'd filled) and won a fiver by getting "Which comedy partnership used the song "Bring me Sunshine"?' and deciding it wasn't Abbott and Costello, Reeves and Mortimer or Mitchell and Webb. "These questions'er bleeding' easy" moaned Tel to Jamie as the coins clanked out. I just raised my eyebrows and walked off to look at the flyers on his back wall.
The Chinese bought, we waved down another taxi and went back to Tel's. The bungalow was in total darkness and, on opening the door, a waft of Chanel came from their bedroom. We turned on lights, opened beer and got some plates and forks. We ate in silence, Tel asking for me to pass the prawn crackers now and again. Then we retired to the back garden and wiped wet seats with a tea towel before sitting with our beers. I had a cigarette. Tel looked distastefully at the burning white tube and pushed a flowerpot over as an ashtray.
We got gloriously drunk on brandy and his new 'thing', Pernod and blackcurrant, which he was recommended by one of his colleagues at Sainsbury's and now quite likes. "Wife 'ates it o'course" he said dismissively. "But then she's never liked aniseed". We did a bottle of brandy and two thirds of the Pernod. I felt a bit sick. During a toilet break, I looked in their cupboards for Pepto-Bismol, but was unlucky. They had Gaviscon though, so I had a quick slurp from the bottle. It went quite well with Pernod.
I went home at twelve, walked it because by now I'd surreptitiously vomited in Tel's downstairs bog, washing it down with a bit of Toilet Duck to disguise the tell-tale smell. I didn't trust myself in a cab. The walk was refreshingly quiet with decent places to stop and take the air (and have a quick spew when the car headlights passed). Tel patted me off with the words "Same again nex' Saturday?" and I nodded, even though I really meant 'not exactly the same'. And as I neared home in the pitch dark, I suddenly remembered I'd arranged to meet friends in Colchester next Saturday night.
Still, I don't suppose he'll mind. |  |
| |  |
| The Warky Lg 1 Report: Smile and grin at the change all around (H) on 15:20 - Jul 26 with 799 views | factual_blue |
Make sure you don't get fooled again. |  |
| |
| |
By continuing to use the site, you agree to our use of cookies and to abide by our Terms and Conditions.
