BITS OF BOUNCE
Chapter I
An early version of the first chapter may be found at kemptownrag.co.uk
Chapter II
- There was one early evening when he interrupted my cigarette by the back door and insisted upon conversation. I obliged but began deriding religion in general and his in particular. I was in that sort of mood.
‘Another thing. Why does God hate people having sex so much?’
‘God doesn’t hate people having sex.’ he patronized with a small laugh.
‘Really? According to your God you are only allowed to have sex with one person in your whole life. You have to wait years, long past sexual maturity. Then her parents have to agree, your parents have to agree, the whole community has to agree you can have sex, get married, whatever semantic label you want. Eventually you have to have an enormous ceremony, making all sorts of promises to God and any idiot can disagree, then there is a huge party and the whole thing costs a fortune. Finally you go on holiday and then, and only then, you are allowed to have sex. If it turns out that you are incompatible; tough. If your God made having sex any more tricky the Human Race would have died out millennia ago.’
‘I’ll go check on mum.’
Ha, ha. Git. Why is it that all of the religious people I have ever had any dealings with, on any level, have been complete fuckwits? Mind you I am from a family of scientists and their default setting is full of shyte. Fact is nobody knows. I finished my cigarette with a sigh. What a stupid world…
Chapter III
- ‘Ok. Carry on with the story?’
‘They moved down here at some point, to Telscomme Cliffs along the coast. In search of work I would imagine.’
‘What are your first memories?’
‘The Sex Pistols, The Queen’s Jubilee, the hot summer when the roads melted, that sort of thing. I remember being at one nursery school where I was very popular as I used to write short stories.’
‘Really? How old were you?’
‘Six I would suppose. I remember one very clearly. Jaws was the big film that everyone was talking about and the folks went to see it. Mum told us about it the next day. “So the policeman, the scientist and the shark man went out in a boat looking for the big white shark that killed the little boy.” and so on. I wrote about it at school and drew a picture next to the story; a small rowing boat with three people in, one of whom was dressed as a London Bobby. Helmet, stripy bracelet, shiny buttons and everything. Bless. Happy days.’…
Chapter IV
- Jono has also been a major pal for years. We met when we were seventeen and had a major influence on each other. At least I hope that our friendship was as meaningful to him as his has always been to me. From opposite ends of the teenaged male spectrum he taught me so much. I recall introducing him to a friend, Tracey.
‘Jono, Tracey. Jono is a secretary and Tracey a forklift truck driver.’
He helped me realize that beyond tolerance is love. So, my friend is gay? So what? It does not detract from his loveliness as a human being and we do not fancy one another. There was an interesting conversation I once heard on something or other. Some religious twit was trying not to be homophobic.
‘Of course I am not against gays. I have many gay friends.’
‘Have you really? So how many of your gay friends have you asked to look after your children?’
That was that. The problem with bigots is that they have no idea that they are. Arguably one of my finest moments was with Jono. He was living in London at the time and I was invited to stay with him and his then boyfriend. The three of us went out on the town and ended up in a club in Soho or Piccadilly or somewhere. It was a splendid place, a huge room with a mezzanine floor and two sweeping staircases to it. The place was packed, heaving. Jono and I stood on a stair to catch up as a flow of humanity ebbed and flowed slowly around us. It was shoulder to shoulder. Suddenly a very attractive young woman was in front of me. Very Gillian Anderson so she was. In the throng she could not move and there was nothing to do but be polite.
‘Hello.’ I smiled, ‘How’s you?’
‘I’m brilliant.’ she beamed, ‘I’ve just pulled.’
‘Good for you.’ I enthused. She looked over my shoulder, saw Jono and assumed.
‘You’re doing alright yourself.’ I saw no reason to quibble. It was neither the time nor the venue. ‘She’s so lovely.’ she continued, very happy, ‘It’s so much nicer kissing a woman than a man.’
‘I would not know.’ I played the hapless homo.
‘Would you like to?’
‘If you do not mind?’
So we kissed. Lovely so it was. Eventually we parted.
‘What did you think?’ she purred.
‘You are very soft.’
Just then the tide shifted and she drifted off to the rest of her life. I waved her well.
‘You bastard!’ Jono exclaimed.
‘What?’
You’re the only bloke I know who can snogg a lesbian in the middle of a gay club.’
‘It is a talent.’…
Chapter V
- Fine by me. I now had a definite date and could finalize all the logistics of flight. Phrases that occurred to me during this time, which I could never use of course, included, ‘Are you trying to patronise me little girl? I have tattoos older then you.’ ‘You are entirely mendacious, dishonest, indifferent, cheap, stupid and mercenary.’ ‘Your name is not Danni. You do not have a birth certificate somewhere that just says, “Danni” on it. If you had the first notion of professionalism you would use your surname, Ms whatever it is.’ ‘My time may not be particularly precious but every moment spent with you is worthless.’ ‘You demonstrate all the compassion of Dr. Mengele.’ ‘This is not the playground anymore Danni. This is grown ups’ world. You cannot simply stamp your little foot, pout and everything will be all right.’ ‘You obviously think that ethics is somewhere near Kent.’ It struck me that Coven ladies represented the first generation of people from when society changed from children being told what to do with the tacit threat of violence for not behaving, to there being kids who were deferred to. They had no sense of humanity or empathy, no grace, no charm just over-whelming self-importance. There seem to be a lot of children around the place who think they are adults merely because they have had sex…
Chapter VI
- Although many people asked what was wrong with my right leg, the flipper, I was always loathe to say for some reason, possibly because it was such a non sequitur. There was a very pleasant young man in the small shop where I topped up my electricity meter and ‘phone.
‘So what happened to your leg?’
‘It is a long story.’
‘So keep it short?’
‘Well. There were these air stewardess on runaway horses. A load of Swedish nurses seemed to be locked in a sauna and a row of orphans were trapped on a burning greenhouse.’
‘A burning greenhouse?’
‘They had seconds. I had to do something. Unfortunately my leg was a bit mushed in the process.’
‘Swedish nurses eh?’
‘Yes, and they were all called Anna.’
‘Really?’
I think the silly sod believed me…
Chapter VII
- Often when I was babysitting we would decide that there was nothing on the television and either talk or play Connect Four. I did have to concentrate to beat her and would often cry off at 3-2. She always loved her pop music, just like mum, and was into Steps for a while. I never laughed at her.
‘There is nothing wrong with pop music sweetie. It is a perfect introduction to music for someone of your age. It is not as though for every little pop song that is released an old classic disappears. Listen to what you want. You will like different stuff as the years go on. I would bet that you will soon be into Bouncey and pals; all that American R&B nonsense. If Muddy Waters was still alive he would be turning in his grave.’
She was devastated when Steps split up and even range the helpline. It would not happen in my day. It must be progress. When she recovered she decided that Sclub was the future which was fair enough. One afternoon in 1998 I took off work and, after a few gargles, returned home and put the telly on. A new program was about to begin called Miami 7. I saw some attractive young women jumping around not wearing much. Why not? It was perfect to get stoned to. Not the intended demographic but there you go.
‘Amber?’
‘Jude?’
‘I bet I can name you all of Sclub.’
‘Go on then?’
‘There is the lovely Tina. The delicious Rachel. Little Hannah. Jo, and three chaps. I do not know who they are.’…
Chapter VIII
- ‘A mate, Alan, has introduced me to Tara who is the editor of the Kemptown Rag.’
‘It’s just shyte that thing.’
‘Having been a paparazzo makes you an expert on quality journalism does it?’
‘Fook off.’
‘I have seen it and I like it. It looks good and there is a minimum of advertising which for a free paper is very impressive. Anyway, Tara is a delightful and stylist lady and is interested in my story.’
‘You think you’re in there do you?’
‘No. Of course not. I said, “Stylish”.’
‘She does have a point. I occasionally read bits of your book but you’d have to change your style. It’s way too bombastic but you do have a story to tell. Now might be the time to write something worthwhile. What were you thinking of?’
‘I am not sure. It is on a back-burner in my head but something to do with those young people in Bridgend.’
‘The ones who keep killing themselves?’
‘Yes. Possibly I could write something relevant.’
‘You of all people should know something about suicide.’
‘True, but I might have gone over the top in my research. It might just be a small, local, free paper but it is a start.’…
Chapter IX
- ‘What do you mean “quite strange now”? You’ve always been mad.’
‘You think so? I realize that I do think differently from most people. There are those questions that others feel there is no answer to. For instance the chicken and egg issue.’
‘You know the answer?’
‘Of course. At some point in time a bird very similar to, but not quite, a chicken laid an egg from which emerged a chicken. That is how evolution works. Simple. The egg came first. How long is a piece of string?’
‘How long?’
‘Twice as long as half a piece. I also know the answer to life, the universe and everything.’
‘You? What is it then?’
‘Who knows? The fact is you are here; get over yourself and enjoy life as best you can. Easy. I tend to enjoy little pleasures now. If I ever see someone wearing camouflaged clothing I bump into them deliberately. “Sorry, I did not see you.” Look KT?’
‘What?’
‘Would you please get your stuff together and go?’
‘What?’
‘Hurry up and leave. Go. Vamoose. French Connection off. I wish to be alone.’
‘That’s not very nice.’
‘You have not been picking up on subtlety. The acres between lines you have been steadfastly ignoring leaving little option. Get your act together and disappear from here.’
‘You know Jude, you’re a walking contradiction.’
‘Of course I am. My legs are different lengths. My default setting is going round in circles.’…
Chapter X
-‘I am astounded at the advertising as we accelerate towards Christmas. Do people really think that putting concentrated chemicals into the washing machine is good for the environment? Can buying anything save you money? Does anyone really imagine those glossy models would use a shampoo that you can buy cheap in a supermarket? There is an advert for a computer game where they say “Feel every punch.” I have been beaten a few times in my life and it is not pleasant. Another one asks, “Remember why you fell in love with dance music?” Yes, it was the drugs. You would not listen to that noise straight. You can buy a ‘phone that is the digital communication equivalent of a Swiss Army Knife with a bit for getting shyte from a horse’s hoof. You can buy washing powder that cleans dirt you cannot see and a toothpaste that repairs damage that no-one can notice. If you have a cold sore and out a little see-through patch on it before snogging someone you will give them Herpes. Cars are not dolphins, skateboards or Terminatoresque machines that morph into stuff. Cars are lumps of metal that kill people and where do they find those empty roads? Not round these parts. What is this concept of Real Women? If a woman is not fat and ugly she is somehow preternatural?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Come, come. You both exceed pulchritude. I can well believe that nine out of ten women would tell their friends that a useless but highly expensive product was great really, just for a laugh, but I refuse to think that one in four women are too stupid to read a pregnancy test correctly. The whole concept of UK call centres only is thinly veiled xenophobia. Anyone working for a British company abroad is bilingual to start with and thus more educated than most Brits. All this faux science bollocks like Proto-peptides or whatever is so insulting. Shampoo is soap, age replenishing stuff is only moisturiser. No human being needs five portions of any sort of nutrition a day. No wonder obesity is endemic. It is amazing the things people will believe out of vanity. Last year when the weather dramatically improved, if you remember, there was one sort of product that doubled in sales in time with the weather. Guess what?’
‘Sun tan lotion?’
‘No.’
‘Aftersun?’
‘No.’
‘Ice cream?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘Fake tan.’…
Chapter XI
- It began on the Monday…
You will just have to read it yourself; no clues
Copyright to Juderedmond.co.uk 2008