Forum | The Warky Report: Bristol City (h) by Warkystache

Forum index | Previous Thread | Next thread

The Warky Report: Bristol City (h) 21:01 - Oct 2 with 1251 views

It's definitely autumn. Tel's started stocking fireworks and Xmas cards. The fireworks look the type that have all the fun kitemarked out of them. One's called "Sky Assault" I bet it wouldn't even wake Murdoch from his afternoon nap.

Terry hates fireworks. He has to store them properly and he's been given a locked cabinet that he reckons "takes up more bleedin' room than the missus". It normally spends Xmas in his downstairs bog, the one he once claimed one of his paperboys blocked with a turd. He told me that it was scientific fact that male teenagers 'dropped turds the size of Popeye's right arm' because they ate badly. He based this on the amount of Fry's Turkish Delights and King size Twixes he'd noticed being nicked from his shop. It was logic. It couldn't be OAPs "'cos they never eat bloody Turkish Delights; they'd be on the bog strainin' for a month with one'o'them fings". He showed me a firework called a "Banshee Scream". "Should've let this off in me dad-in-law's hospital ward; 'alf the old'uns in there kept on about constipation. We'd've been doing them a service".

He's in a better mood because his father-in-law is being moved to a local care home in Chelmsford, courtesy of Social Services. They haven't had a definite date for the move yet, but the old boy sounds brighter and Mrs Tel now visits every three days, hence a return to some normality.

He was in the shop last Friday and we chatted about his fireworks, constipation and the likelihood of his assistant, Paula, being pregnant. This last topic is my fault; I joked to him on Wednesday that I thought she looked a bit fatter than usual. He chortled, but then as I was going, I noticed him counting the chocolate bars in the display counter. On Friday, he was carrying all the heavier bundles of newspapers for her. I'm not sure she's noticed all this. He had a (briefly) unnerving experience on Thursday when she asked him if she could leave early 'to go to the doctor' but this was, apparently, to pick up her mum's prescription. "Or that's what she told me" he said on Friday, tapping his nose.

So to Saturday. We'd done our bet. Tel had been in the shop from 5am. Paula was put on paper-sorting duties, something he normally does while she cleans the shop. I found him, clad in yellow marigolds, a basin of dirty soapy water next to him, cleaning under the Coke fridge. "Isn't that Paula's job?" I asked, innocently. "Yeah" he said. "Normally". Then, peeling off the marigolds with some difficulty (and turning the fingers inside out), he closed the connecting door and whispered, in a sort of funny huff voice that reminded me of when my great uncle had his vocal chords removed and used a throat microphone, "Shaddup. She'll 'ear ya! She's up the spout, I know it. I 'eard 'er on 'er mobile before she started work and she was tellin' 'er mate she'd 'ave to take ages off when it 'appens" He looked at me with narrowed eyes. "Bleedin' maternitee leave! I'll 'ave to pay her AND pay someone else to do 'er job!". I'm sure I saw tears welling.

So I went to Ipswich. And we were soundly beaten and the ref was a tvvat and, worse, a BALD tvvat, and I drank too much in the pub beforehand and tried the tikka masala, which was a mistake (bloody Wetherspoons dilemma as usual; cheap booze v crap food) and then I came home and went to meet friends in Manningtree and drank more and felt worse and had to have three Alka Seltzer in a pint glass of water before I retired at 3am. And then woke at 5am with the squits. And thought of the oldies on Tel's dad-in-law's ward. Just get them mullered and then give them loads of Alka Seltzer. It cleared a Wetherspoon tikka masala in less than fifteen hours, so what it'd do to hospital food, well....

Went in for papers on Sunday. Tel looked guilty. I knew our football bet had gone down (can't touch 'em these days) so thought he was referring to that. But no. "I'm sorry for what I said about Paula yesterdee" he whispered. "Ah'm chuffed for 'er if it IS that, really chuffed". I gave him a friendly punch on the arm and he smiled. "Still, she ain't married an' that" he added, as If this had only just occurred. "Dunno 'oo the farver is". I oked about it being one of the older paperboys, possibly on the shop table out the back. He glared at me. "Dun' even JOKE about it. I've thought that as well. Gawd, what'd I do? I'm meant to be runnin' a newsagent 'ere, not a knockin' shop. What abart 'is parents'n'all? They'd kill me".

I left him muttering on, and took my paper and my fags and my milk and walked out to the car. As I got outside, I met Paula, coming back from a quick strawberry cream vape, the cloud of sweet scented smoke still dispersing. "How's you?" I asked her. "OK ta" she smiled. Then she became confidential. "Me mum's been told she needs an op on 'er carpal tunnel in 'er right 'and. She can't do anyfing at home for a few weeks after, and I'm the only one at 'ome now. D'you reckon e'd let me have three weeks off when she has the op?".

"Ask him" I said, smiling. "I reckon he'd be pleased to".