LEJOG - Call me Ishmael
It's 3am. A tear hits my pillow.
The Fire Detector and the Emergency light bathe the room in a pale green shine as though to try to settle my worried brow. My legs, the overloaded mule that they are, are on the floor struggling to get up. Screaming and braying for mercy. I whip and thrash them within an inch of their lives. I snarl "GET UP, GET UP!". And they try. But they can't.
I'm weeping.
The twins have been crying too. A lot. Both of their rooms are now full of tears. Audrey II has gone. I don't know where because that irritating but in its own way, loving 'feed me, feed me' is no more. I have abused her, throwing everything and anything that would burn down the pipeline without a single thought about her. She, like the twins, have only been there to do as they are told! To listen to their father. They MUST NOT answer back. I don't care that they are a part of me and that they love me. No! I am the one that MUST be obeyed. I have thrashed them within an inch of their lives.
Oh, what a sorry mess I am in.
I push a cold greasy kebab into the overloaded pipeline to try to appease Audrey II. But no, she has left me with a flight load of outbound remains of the day which are now stuck on her 'old 1980's Greek baggage carousel. The children are sat atop the stairs with red stingy eyes. They're still very sore from the last beating I threw their way yesterday.
The 5 bar gate is bleeding. Her black blood is smeared on my right leg. Oh God no. Have I thrashed her too? She looks back at me with soulful eyes and whispers 'sorry boss, I'll see if I can fix it for you.'
Balloon dog is dead. I can no longer feel him nor see him. For sure he has gone. And ignoring this mad fool, Brooks and Hairy Melon have been getting down and dirty with it and have left my bits with a huge non-love bite.
And finally, the family back home are fighting. Remoteness puts no boundaries on it. Telephones and emails and social media all jockey for the latest fake news story to see if they can get a reaction. It does not matter the consequences. Blood! Blood! Blood! Its as though I'm watching a Gladiatorial fight to the death from afar.
I'm crying. Like a gentle cool brook tumbling across fierce stones.
I would like to speak of 3 people.
Firstly Trevor. I screech to a halt in a rather quiet and empty lay-by looking for the next thing to throw at Audrey II. In a strong booming voice I say 'Have you seen the white whale?'. Being that John o Groats is still far off I get a reply that brings me down to earth with a bump. Trevor hands me a white napkin and points out I've blown a great gob of snot onto my tee shirt. We chat, me gloriously about the search for the white demon and oh how I laugh about the abuse I've given to Audrey II, the Balloon Dog, Brooks and Hairy Melon; and, the twins. Quietly, he finishes his work and hands me some fuel for the chute. He insists that I do not pay. 'Mate' he says, 'I want nothing from you'. Then ' Just know that I want you to succeed'.
Later that day I'm passing a hairdressers and a young woman is in the shop. I waltz in and similarly shout 'Have YOU seen the white whale'. Shelley sits me down, mops my fevered brow and cuts my hair. She tells me in that matter of fact way how her mother is being treated for cancer. 'I want nothing from you' she says. 'Give the 7 quid to CRUK please'. After dusting me down, like a newly baked cake, in icing sugar flavoured talcum powder 'to help keep me cool', I rage out of her saloon and thoroughly thrash the family back onto the boat
And finally Pat. Kathryn's octogenarian mum. Because she only ever sees the good in things. Even when bad. Always with a 'fantastic' and 'that's beautiful' she endures the trials of this life and encourages only the best in people. She will be our salvation.
It's now 5am. Light is starting to show around the edges of the curtain. I have things to sort today, including myself. I settle my head back onto the tear drenched pillow hoping for a little more sleep for today will be a glorious day...
The Fire Detector and the Emergency light bathe the room in a pale green shine as though to try to settle my worried brow. My legs, the overloaded mule that they are, are on the floor struggling to get up. Screaming and braying for mercy. I whip and thrash them within an inch of their lives. I snarl "GET UP, GET UP!". And they try. But they can't.
I'm weeping.
The twins have been crying too. A lot. Both of their rooms are now full of tears. Audrey II has gone. I don't know where because that irritating but in its own way, loving 'feed me, feed me' is no more. I have abused her, throwing everything and anything that would burn down the pipeline without a single thought about her. She, like the twins, have only been there to do as they are told! To listen to their father. They MUST NOT answer back. I don't care that they are a part of me and that they love me. No! I am the one that MUST be obeyed. I have thrashed them within an inch of their lives.
Oh, what a sorry mess I am in.
I push a cold greasy kebab into the overloaded pipeline to try to appease Audrey II. But no, she has left me with a flight load of outbound remains of the day which are now stuck on her 'old 1980's Greek baggage carousel. The children are sat atop the stairs with red stingy eyes. They're still very sore from the last beating I threw their way yesterday.
The 5 bar gate is bleeding. Her black blood is smeared on my right leg. Oh God no. Have I thrashed her too? She looks back at me with soulful eyes and whispers 'sorry boss, I'll see if I can fix it for you.'
Balloon dog is dead. I can no longer feel him nor see him. For sure he has gone. And ignoring this mad fool, Brooks and Hairy Melon have been getting down and dirty with it and have left my bits with a huge non-love bite.
And finally, the family back home are fighting. Remoteness puts no boundaries on it. Telephones and emails and social media all jockey for the latest fake news story to see if they can get a reaction. It does not matter the consequences. Blood! Blood! Blood! Its as though I'm watching a Gladiatorial fight to the death from afar.
I'm crying. Like a gentle cool brook tumbling across fierce stones.
I would like to speak of 3 people.
Firstly Trevor. I screech to a halt in a rather quiet and empty lay-by looking for the next thing to throw at Audrey II. In a strong booming voice I say 'Have you seen the white whale?'. Being that John o Groats is still far off I get a reply that brings me down to earth with a bump. Trevor hands me a white napkin and points out I've blown a great gob of snot onto my tee shirt. We chat, me gloriously about the search for the white demon and oh how I laugh about the abuse I've given to Audrey II, the Balloon Dog, Brooks and Hairy Melon; and, the twins. Quietly, he finishes his work and hands me some fuel for the chute. He insists that I do not pay. 'Mate' he says, 'I want nothing from you'. Then ' Just know that I want you to succeed'.
Later that day I'm passing a hairdressers and a young woman is in the shop. I waltz in and similarly shout 'Have YOU seen the white whale'. Shelley sits me down, mops my fevered brow and cuts my hair. She tells me in that matter of fact way how her mother is being treated for cancer. 'I want nothing from you' she says. 'Give the 7 quid to CRUK please'. After dusting me down, like a newly baked cake, in icing sugar flavoured talcum powder 'to help keep me cool', I rage out of her saloon and thoroughly thrash the family back onto the boat
And finally Pat. Kathryn's octogenarian mum. Because she only ever sees the good in things. Even when bad. Always with a 'fantastic' and 'that's beautiful' she endures the trials of this life and encourages only the best in people. She will be our salvation.
It's now 5am. Light is starting to show around the edges of the curtain. I have things to sort today, including myself. I settle my head back onto the tear drenched pillow hoping for a little more sleep for today will be a glorious day...
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