Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Chapter 10 - Pitside Zombie

Committee meetings at the Pitside Social Club had been well attended since the decision was taken to give each committee member two complimentary drinks per meeting.

Andy brought over a tray of Pitside Zombies, a cocktail designed by the committee to make the most of their free drink allocation.

“Thanks Andy,” said the chairman. “Can we just start with the management update since you’re here?”

“Sure,” said Andy. He sat down. “Well, employment remains very low in the village which affects the level of disposal income. Combine that with the fact that most under twenty fives are not coming into the club due to their preference for illegal drugs and the trading position continues to be poor and declining.”

Everyone laughed.

“So,” said the chairman. “I take it you mean we’re not doing very well at the moment?”

“Pish,” said Andy.

“And it’s getting worse?” asked the chairman.

“It’s as pish as I can remember.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Either more people need to get jobs so that they have more money to spend, we need to start selling illegal drugs, or the government needs to win the war against narcotics and young people start using alcohol again to get wasted.”

“Any sensible suggestions?” asked the chairman.

“Not from me,” said Andy. “I better get back to the bar. Give me a shout when you want another drink.”

“Anyone else got any suggestions?” the chairmen looked around the committee.

“Events,” said Hugh. “We need to put on more events.”

“What kind of events do you mean Shagger?”

“Anything and everything.”

“What like fundraisers for the United Ulster Force,” said another committee member. “We only took £300 over the bar at the last one and we raised even less for the fund.”

“Well no wonder,” someone else commented. “What do they need a United Ulster Force for anyway? There’s peace in Ireland. It’s a joke, the whole thing. Do you know how many tickets we’ve sold for the next one? Ten! At that rate the bar won’t even pay for itself.”

“Ten tickets?” said Hugh. “I didn’t realise it was that bad.”

“Why would anyone want to go? It’s just paying to get in to your own club.”

“We could try and book a Karaoke,” said Hugh. “That’s always popular.”

“Well, you’re not getting an advance from club funds,” said the chairman. “You’ll need to fund it out of the ticket sales.”

“Look,” said Hugh. “I know these things aren’t as popular as they used to be. Less people have been turning up every time. But we can’t just cancel it. What would I say to Jaffa?”

“You could tell him to use some of the money he makes selling drugs if he really wants to. That’s assuming he ever gives anyone the money he gets from the fundraisers.”

There was a murmur of approval from the committee.

“Do any of you want to tell him that?” asked Hugh.

There was silence.

“Look, I’ll say to him that this will be the last fundraiser, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

“Okay, onto the formal business,” said the chairman, keen to move on from talk of Jaffa. “First up, air fresheners. As you all know the smoking ban has had its effect on the smell of the place. Without smoke to cover all the other smells the place is stinking. We’ve had a company in who install automatic scent dispensers. They are installing the units next week, but we need to decide on the smell. There’s five choices…”

Hugh drifted off, thinking about Jafffa. How was he going to tell him? The guy was a psychopath and Hugh already owed him £500. Hugh had seen what Jaffa was capable of.

“Shagger! What do you think?” asked the chairman.

“Sorry,” said Hugh. “About what?”

“Cucumber fresh or Citrus Orange?”

Monday, June 15, 2009

Chapter 9 - A Star is Born

Lisa’s favourite film was ‘A star is born’. In fact her favourite films were ‘A star is born’. The 1954 version with James Mason and Judy Garland was her favourite of the three. She had seen the Barbara Streisand and Kris Kristofferson movie first and loved it, but the Garland version was hard to beat. She had, of course, also made a point of seeing the original 1937 film with Frederick March.

After Lisa first got together with Rob she had indulged herself in fantasies that pretty much followed the pattern of the movie. Rob had already broken up the band and despite doing a couple of things since, he had pretty much given up. Lisa meanwhile had been slowly building up a TV career. She had started as a junior reporter and was now the lunchtime entertainment anchor on the Scottish news. What’s more she’d managed to get a few slots on a networked holiday programme which had led to her own cable TV show. She was also in the running to present a new networked daytime show, Doghouse Makeover.

The idea of the show was to do a house makeover for dog lovers whose homes had been wrecked by their pets. The program would also build a state of the art kennel for the pooches to be relocated to in the garden after the makeover was complete. There were three people short listed for the show – Lisa, a weather girl and a former Miss Great Britain who was married to a footballer.

If Lisa could pull off the job, she would be living the movie. He was a declining star, she was a rising star. Of course it couldn’t last, she knew that, they were constantly arguing. As cruel as it sounded, though, she would really like to hit the big time before they split up. It might not be the romantic view of the movie but that is what happened in it. The rising star was helped on her way by her partner before he crashed and burned.

Rob had not opened any doors for Lisa, but he had made her more interesting in many people’s eyes. When she got a mention in TV World magazine she was introduced as holiday presenter and Rob’s girlfriend. He had been a national figure and to some extent he still was, although his fame was fading fast.

Lisa was well aware of her own cynicism and was untroubled by it. She had put a lot of effort into Rob. She had tried to steer him back to the music business, tried to motivate him. He had done a soundtrack for some low budget movie but that was it. If he didn’t take the opportunities when they came along there wasn’t much else she could do. It was a source of regret. A bittersweet regret, but regret nonetheless.

Lisa stood at the door of the media room looking at him. He was asleep in his recliner chair with a comic on his lap. A comic! This did not happen with Frederick March. It did not happen with James Mason. It did not happen with Kris Kristofferson.

A fucking comic! Where was the tragic dignity in that? True, he had taken all his gold discs down off the walls, but to lie there with a half drunk pot of coffee, a plate with the empty silver wrappers from some chocolate biscuits and some kind of kids comic on his lap! This was not the stuff of dreams.

Rob woke up, yawned and noticed Lisa standing, staring at the doorway.“Hi honey, how was your day?”

“Fine, how was yours?” she asked.

“Yeah good, I met up with Jack and Scott for lunch.”

“Scott told me. What’s that you’re reading?” she asked.

“Oh,” he sat up. “Orpheus Jones! You remember Frank McCusker, don't you?”

“Not really,” she said cutting him off. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Why don’t I head down to Byres Road and bring us both back a Chinese carry out?”

“Whatever,” she said. As soon as Doghouse Makeover comes through, that’s it, she thought to herself.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Chapter 8 - Deep Fried Supper

Shona watched as Kenny strolled up the path with Hugh.

“The hunter has returned,” he shouted as he came through the door. Kenny came into the living room and dropped the bundle of food, wrapped in layers of paper on the table. “Dinner is served.”

“Do you really think we’ve been sitting here waiting for you to come home with a bag of chips? We’ve eaten thanks very much.”

“Fair enough,” said Kenny. “All the more for me.”

“What did you get?” asked Shona.

“Chip supper for me, Steak pie supper for you and a sausage supper for Colin.”

“He never eats two of those sausages,” she said.

“Just one sausage, I got a half sausage supper,” Kenny corrected himself.

“Well, I suppose there’s no point in it going to waste. Sit down Shagger and I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Keeps saying she’s going on a diet,” said Kenny after she left the room. “And then she eats this lot.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have got it for her then,” said Hugh.

“Are you kidding? If I didn’t, she’d have eaten half of mine. Her idea of cutting back is washing a pie supper down with a can of diet coke.”

Hugh laughed. Shona didn’t look the best she’d ever done but then again Kenny wasn’t wearing too well either.

Shona appeared from the kitchen. “Is he slagging me off?” she asked Hugh.

“Course not darling,” said Kenny.

“I know you were. You shouldn’t do that in front of someone. It’s not right.”

“You were in the kitchen.”

“I mean in front of Shagger you halfwit.”

“He doesn’t mind. Do you Shagger?”

Shona laughed but slapped him across the head as she passed him. “Cheeky bastard.”

She shouted upstairs to Colin. “Your dad’s bought you a Sausage supper.”

“I'm not hungry,” he shouted back.

“Right,” said Shona as she sat down. “Does anyone want some extra chips and I’ll take the sausage.”

Kenny winked over at Hugh who was trying to avoid eye contact.

“Where did you two losers go today?” Shona asked.

“Just down the club.”

“You didn’t get soaked walking back from there,” she said.

“Well,” said Kenny. “We talk a walk down to the grotto and got caught in the rain on the way back.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t tell Armando that when you were getting the chips. We were away smashing up one of your holy sites Armando, plenty of vinegar on mine.”

“We didn’t smash it up,” said Kenny.

“It’s got all sorts of protection now,” said Hugh. “We couldn’t get near it.”

“Good,” said Shona. “It’s about time you lot grew up.”

Hugh finished his dinner and left to head back down to the club for the committee meeting.

“I wish you wouldn’t hang around with him so much,” said Shona, after Hugh left.

“Do you know he tried to kill himself today!” said Kenny. “Seriously, he did. He needed a bit of company.”

“How come he didn’t succeed?” asked Shona.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Well, come on! How many people try and kill themselves and then just go for pint and a fish supper instead?”

“Anyway, who else would I hang out with in Pitside?” said Kenny.

“There’s a wee guy called Colin upstairs! He quite likes football.”

“It’s been raining,” said Kenny.

“On his PS2! Fifa World Cup!”

“Aw Christ Shona,” said Kenny as he reluctantly dragged himself out of his seat and headed up the stairs.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Chapter 7 - Golden Fry

Armando was the only Catholic in Pitside. He did not actually live in the village but spent so much time there that he might as well. Armando owned the Golden Fry fish and chip shop. As it was the one and only fast food shop in the village he made an extremely good living from it. This made it all worthwhile. It compensated for the barrage of comments made by customers every time Celtic lost a football match. Armando had noticed over the years just how much business increased at dinner time on a Saturday if Celtic had lost their afternoon match. Whenever Rangers beat Celtic the shop was literally queued out of the door. The comments were never aggressive and Armando did not feel threatened but they were relentless. It did, however, pay for an annual six week holiday back home in the village of Barga in Tuscany. It had also helped Armando build up a tidy little nest egg for the future. Armando considered himself lucky. He had a number of friends who had left the chip shop business in recent years. The growth of fast food chains had hit a lot of them hard and there just wasn’t the same money in it any more.

Pitside, however, was too small to ever attract a McDonalds or KFC and Armando knew he could deep fat fry for as long as he chose to. Armando planned to work until he was 55 and then retire to Italy. His son was not going to go into the business. He worked for a bank in Edinburgh and had no intention of swapping that for a Pitside Chippy. Armando intended to rent out the shop and had a young cousin who had expressed an interest. He only had two years left to go and that helped keep him going, that and the constant innovation. A few years ago, deep fried pizza seemed like the limit of where you could go. Then a newspaper reported a chip shop in Glasgow that covered mars bars in batter and deep fried them. Soon Armando starting getting requests for them. He thought it would be a craze that died down after a while, but they were still as popular as ever and he had now put a mars bar supper, deep fried mars bar and chips, on his menu board. Another favourite was a chip supper, chips with chips. In other words a big bag of chips, but Armando thought a chip supper sounded better. He also did deep fried pickled onions. Cover pretty much anything with batter, deep fry it and it would sell.

Kenny and Hugh entered the shop, drenched by the rain. Neither one with a jacket on.

“What can I get you lads,” asked Armando.

They shook themselves down like a couple of dogs coming out of a pond.

“I’ll have a chip supper, a steak pie supper and a half sausage supper,” said Kenny.

“What are you after tonight Shagger?”

“What’s new?” asked Hugh.

Armando turned and looked at the shelves. He turned back to face Hugh. “How about a Curly Wurly Supper?”

“A Curly Wurly supper! Nice one. Think I’ll stick to fish and chips though.”

“Fair enough,” said Armando. Hugh never went for any of Armando’s specials. He always ordered fish and chips but liked to challenge Armando to tempt him with something new.”

“When are you off to Italy then Armando,” asked Hugh.

“Not till July.”

“Must be nice getting away from here,” said Hugh as he continued to shake the rain from hair.

“It’s good to get a break.”

After they’d been served and left the shop, Armando took down a Curly Wurly from the shelves and opened it. He turned it over several times examining it. The lattice shape of chocolate covered toffee would hold the batter well. It could work. He dipped it in the batter mix and brought it out. Yes, it would definitely work. Armando dropped the Curly Wurly into the deep fat fryer and waited for it to turn golden brown.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Chapter 6 - Botanic Gardens

After lunch Rob decided that he had better walk off the booze and strolled over to the Botanical Gardens. He bought a coffee from the stall at the entrance and went into the Kibble Palace greenhouse. Rob walked over to the pond near the entrance to look at the giant goldfish. A mother was standing holding her young daughter as she peered over the railing into the water.

“What age must they be to get to that size?” said Rob.

The woman smiled but didn’t answer. Rob continued into the main part of the greenhouse. A tramp was sitting on one of the benches.

“Beautiful flowers,” said the tramp pointing at a banana tree.

Christ, thought Rob, having a sudden moment of realisation. That woman probably thinks I’m some kind of down and out too. Rob cupped his hands and breathed out. He could smell the booze and thought about how he looked. He had just thrown some clothes on and hadn’t bothered to even fix his hair or wash.

“It’s a banana tree,” he replied at last, deciding not to jump to any conclusions of his own.

“Who are you,” said the tramp. “Jacques fucking Cousteau?”

“Jacques Cousteau was not a botanist. He was a marine biologist.”

“Fuck off,” said the tramp.

Rob was about to answer when he noticed the woman and child had entered the main section and were walking towards them. She stopped, hesitating. Rob smiled at her, and watched as she turned round and left.

“You know what,” said Rob, turning his attention back to the tramp, “It’s fair enough you coming in here to get out of the cold, but not when you start scaring other people away!”

“Fuck off,” repeated the tramp.

Rob decided he’d had enough and turned to walk away.

“That’s right, run!” the tramp mumbled after him.

A park keeper appeared from the entrance. “Right, both of you out!” he shouted.

Rob shook his head in disbelief. As he walked back past the pond, he saw the woman and child standing to one side, presumably waiting for the greenhouse to be cleared of drunks and mad people before she ventured back in. I’m not like that other guy, he wanted to tell her. I’ve just been to Omni for lunch. The booze you can smell is Cab Sav. Rob smiled at the thought of it and started to laugh. The woman pulled back and frowned.

Rob thought about his drinking as he walked home. He had been the only one to take a drink at lunch. Jack was heading back to his restaurant to oversee the final fittings and Scott was presenting a football highlights show later that evening. Rob, on the other hand was hanging out. Yeah, he was drinking too much, but it was just because he was between projects. He rarely got really drunk and he enjoyed the feeling of being slightly inebriated. He would, however, need to start a new project soon. He had been drifting for too long now.

When he got home Rob looked out his boxes of graphic novels.

Lisa didn’t like them being on the bookcase, so he kept them in a cardboard boxes in the hall cupboard. He searched through the boxes till he came across Orpheus Jones. It was written by a local guy, Frank McCusker. Rob had met him a few times. They had expressed admiration for each others work, as people do, but Rob meant it and he got the feeling that Frank did too. He certainly knew a lot about the band and their albums. As far as Rob was concerned Orpheus Jones was Frank’s best work. It was like all good graphic novels, both derivative and original. It was the story of a character, Orpheus, whose girlfriend, Izzi, is killed in an explosion on the London Underground. His girlfriend’s body was never recovered and Orpheus comes to believe she is still alive within or below the underground. It was the mythical story of Orpheus mixed with Japanese style storytelling and recent political events. It was the story of someone who wants to recover the past. It was like all Frank’s work, tragic, funny, deep and silly all at once. Rob loved it.

He made a pot of coffee and took it through to the media room. He sat back on his lazy boy chair and lost himself in the book. A perfect afternoon lay ahead.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Chapter 5 - Omni

As Rob entered the restaurant, he could see Scott seated at a table in the internal courtyard between a giant cheese plant and a mural depicting sloth, one of a series throughout the restaurant representing the seven deadly sins.

“Hi Rob,” Scott shouted over and waved.

“Alright Scott,” said Rob as he sat down.

Scott noticed a few of the other customers looking over. He could spot the look a mile away. They had recognised either him or Rob, probably Rob, but couldn’t quite figure out where from. Scott smiled over at them.

“How’s the job going Scott?” asked Rob.

“Loving it,” said Scott. “Getting to watch top quality football, getting to talk about it and being paid for it, fantastic!”

“Top quality football?” said Rob. “I thought it was the Scottish League that you’re covering?”

Scott laughed. “Okay, okay. You know what I mean. It’s amazing though, isn’t it? Me ending up working at the same station as Lisa!”

“Crazy,” said Rob.

“It’s a different life to being in a band, but it’s great.”

“It’s good to move on Scott. You’ve done well for yourself.”

“Listen, I was thinking. What about us all doing a small band set at Jack’s opening night? It wouldn’t need much practice. We could do it with our eyes closed. I think Jack would love it and it would be great publicity for him.”

Before Rob could answer Jack appeared. “Jack, are you going to be late for your own opening?” said Rob. “Remind me, it was you that invited us out for lunch wasn’t it?”

“I know, sorry,” said Jack. “Things are kind of hectic.”

“Right, let’s eat,” said Rob handing Jack a menu.

Rob glance over the menu.

Ayrshire Wedges
Organically grown Ayrshire Potatoes. scrubbed, chipped and cooked in a blend of extra virgin olive oil and organic Aberdeen Angus Beef fat.

Pollo Parma
Corn fed, free range Perthshire Chicken breasts, wrapped in Parma Ham and pan fried.


“I’ll have the chicken and chips,” said Rob when the waiter appeared to take their orders.

Jack smiled. “Make that two.

“I hope your menu isn’t going to be as pretentious as that,” said Rob after the waiter had left.

“Don’t worry,” said Jack. “Italian recipes with mostly Scottish ingredients. That’s it. No essays to describe it.”

“By the way,” said Scott. “I have two more footballers coming to the opening, so that is my table full.”

“That’s great,” said Jack. “I really appreciate the effort you’ve gone to Scott. What about Lisa?” he asked Rob.

“Oh yeah, she’ll be there too,” said Scott, before Rob had a chance to answer.

“Good,” said Jack. “I guess I just need to get the fixtures and fittings in place and we should have a good night organised.”

“I was just saying to Rob before you arrived,” said Scott. “We should do a band set at the opening, just the three of us.”

“I’ll be too busy on the night Scott. I’ve got a band organised though. They do covers, that kind of thing, but they’re very good. I’ve seen them play.”

“Yeah but…” Scott was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.

“Do you do Football Night?” asked one of the customers he’d smiled at earlier.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I thought it was you. You wouldn’t mind signing this would you?” he said, handing Scott a pen and paper. “My son love the show!”

“No problem,” said Scott. “No problem at all.”

Scott could barely contain his excitement. Here he was out with Rob, and someone was asking for his autograph, not Rob’s. Not both of them, but only Scott’s. Fantastic! Scott completely forgot about the band set as he asked the man what his son’s name was.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Chapter 4 - The Headless Virgin

The grotto of Mary’s Junction had been a target of vandalism from soon after it had been completed in the 1920’s. The Virgin Mary at the centre of the grotto had been decapitated so many times that locals now referred to her as the headless virgin. The grotto had been built on the site of a temporary railway camp by the mainly Irish Catholic workers who were upgrading the line.

When the camp had first been established there had been regular fights between the railway workers and the Protestant Pitsiders on Saturday nights. This was mostly fuelled by drink, and a Catholic priest had been called in to tend to the spiritual needs of the labourers and hopefully reduce the amount of alcohol consumed. An agreement was reached that the Pitsiders would continue to get drunk on a Saturday night, but that the railway workers would get drunk on a Sunday afternoon with their Sabbath finishing at midday. With the two communities avoiding being drunk at the same time they no longer clashed and went back to having small scale fights amongst themselves.

This, however, left the railway workers with nothing to do on a Saturday. It was then that the priest came up with the idea of building a grotto celebrating the Virgin Mary. After working all week with railway sleepers and digging foundations, the grotto was a welcome relief, providing relatively light and detailed work. It soon became a genuine labour of love for many of the workers and its’ fame quickly spread. The Sunday morning mass began to attract worshippers from miles around. The camp, being temporary, had no name. This was a problem when directing people to it on a map. Keen to avoid further conflict with the local community, the priest did not want to call it Pitside Grotto, so he renamed the nearby railway junction, the only other landmark, Mary’s Junction. A map showing Mary’s Junction on flyers was handed out in nearby chapels. The workers painted over the old junction name and by the time the camp was dismantled, the junction had been renamed without anyone every officially agreeing the change.

The only problem the Grotto faced after the camp was dismantled was that there were no longer one hundred Irish labourers to protect it and a long history of vandalism began, with decapitation of the virgin a favourite pastime.

Kenny and Hugh stood staring at the Perspex box the Virgin Mary was now safely protected within.

“When did they do that?” said Hugh, not expecting any kind of an answer.

“Must have cost a fortune! Look, they’ve got lights as well. She must get lit up at night,” said Kenny.

“What a waste of money,” said Hugh as he threw a rock and watched it bounce off the transparent wall. “I hope it was the RC’s that paid for it and not the council.”

“It’s not the same, covered up like that,” said Kenny.

They sat on the dry stone wall admiring the strength of the construction as they lobbed a few more stones at it.

“Let’s go,” said Hugh eventually. “No point hanging around if we can’t even vandalise it.”

“End of an era,” said Kenny as they made their way back along the road back to Pitside.

The London to Glasgow train passed over the nearby junction, drowning out their voices momentarily. Kenny looked up towards the train.

“Why do you think it’s called Mary’s Junction? Who do you think she was?” said Kenny.

“No idea,” said Hugh.

The clouds opened and it began to rain.


Sunday, May 17, 2009

Chapter 3 - Pitside Social

Pitside Social Club was deserted. Apart from a couple of guys playing snooker, Hugh and Kenny were the only customers.

“You coming to the committee meeting tonight?” Andy, the bar manager, asked Hugh.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Another drink?” asked Kenny.

“One more and then we’ll go.”

“And there was nothing then?” said Kenny, asking about the suicide bid.

“Not a thing. My mind was a blank!”

“Maybe you just haven’t done enough,” said Andy as he poured the pints.

“You’re right Andy,” said Hugh. “I’ve no job, no prospects and not much of a past.”

“You ever thought of getting a job?” asked Andy. Andy asked this question to as many people as he could. Working in Pitside Social Club consisted of mixing with a group of people who for the most part had never worked a day in their lives. Despite this fact, most of them complained about their lot. What did they expect? Why did they think that the state owed them a better quality of unemployment? It was understandable two generations back when Pitside Colliery had closed. The village was abandoned without hope of any replacement employment. No new factories or office blocks were ever going to be built in the middle of a Lanarkshire moor that looked like a moonscape on a good day. But now, two generations later, what were people waiting for? The local council had put on a subsidised bus service to Hamilton in the hope that Pitside would become a commuter village. After a few years of running empty buses, they had put on a bus to Glasgow, deciding that there were more opportunities there and that, perhaps, people didn’t like having to travel via Hamilton. This, however, was no more of a success than the Hamilton service, and now two buses ran in and out of Pitside every day, only occasionally troubled by paying customers. So, Andy’s quest to ask everyone in Pitside if they had ever thought of getting a job continued. It made no difference and had become a kind of catchphrase that everyone took as a joke.

“Joking aside,” said Hugh, “I’ve got to start a ‘Back into Employment’ training course tomorrow. If I don’t go, my benefits get cut.’

“So, that’s why you tried to kill yourself,” said Kenny.

They all laughed.

“Right,” said Hugh, “What are we doing next?”

“Dunno,” said Kenny. “What do you think?”

“Not sure,” said Hugh.

Andy retreated to the store room to change a beer barrel. The sound of two Pitsiders trying to work out what to do with their time was more than he could bear. By the time he had finished and come back through to the bar they were still at it.

“Do you want to go and visit the headless virgin? We haven’t done that for ages,” said Hugh.

“You won’t be able to vandalise it,” said Andy. “It’s much better protected now.”

“Oh really,” said Hugh sceptically.

“Yeah,” said Andy. “But I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you take that as a challenge? You can tell me how you get on tonight at the committee meeting.”

“Let’s go Kenny,” said Hugh.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Chapter 2 - West End Morning


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Rob was woken up by his dream. In it he was frantically searching for a toilet. Every so often he would find one and begin to urinate. He would then realise it wasn’t a toilet at all. As was always the case when he had these kind of dreams he was vaguely aware that it was a dream and eventually thought to himself, have I wet myself? Rob felt the sheet he was lying on in a circling motion and was relieved to find no damp patches. He got out of bed and found a real toilet. It felt good to finally urinate after so many frustrating attempts. 

Looking in the mirror he saw puffy eyes and dishevelled hair. No drink tonight, he decided. He was glad Lisa was at work. By the time she came back he would be respectable looking and he wouldn’t have to endure another lecture. He shuffled his way downstairs and poured himself a bowl of Sugar Puffs, emptied the remains of the coffee machine into a cup and heated it in the microwave. Sitting at the breakfast bar he flicked on the TV that Lisa had recently had installed. It was a ceiling mounted plasma screen. He had been sceptical about it at first but he had to admit it was good for hangover mornings when every movement was painful. All he had to do was get to the kitchen and everything he needed was within a few steps.

Rob thought about the previous night and shook his head. Everything was a fight these days, from what to have for dinner down to what time they went to bed. Rob didn’t see why they had to go to bed at the same time but Lisa felt as though he was undermining her career by staying up to watch a movie.

“I’ll keep the sound down,” he’d said.

“But I’ll know you’re up.”

“And?”

“If we’re a team we should do things together.”

“Fair enough Lisa, I shouldn’t have had a Pot Noodle for dinner before you came in, but sleeping isn’t really in the same category. Once you’re asleep, you’re asleep. It’s not really doing something.”

“I’m working tomorrow!” she shouted.

“I’m not,” said Rob.

“Exactly! You don’t work, you don’t do anything. Where’s the future in that?”

And that, he had concluded, was the problem as he drank his beer and eat his macadamia nuts whilst watching Apocalypse Now. It bugged her to see him doing nothing. Why do busy people get so annoyed by other people doing nothing?

Now, in the cold light of day he admitted to himself that he had drunk more beer and eaten more nuts than he had planned, probably out of spite. Just before heading off to bed he had taken down the gold discs from the wall of the cinema room. It had been Lisa’s idea to put them up and Rob had never been comfortable with them. He felt like an African dictator wearing a shirt with a self-portrait on it. He was embarrassed to have people in the room as a result, which irritated him because he loved the room and enjoyed watching movies with friends.

Rob’s review of the previous night was interrupted by a mobile phone advert on TV. A boy and a girl appeared on a split screen. She walked through cold grey streets of a British town, he walked in sunshine. The two scenes merged in the middle with them holding hands. They both held mobile phones and talked and laughed with each other. The soundtrack was a simple keyboard accompaniment and Rob singing.

I can still hear your voice from five thousand miles away,
I can hear the sound of rain on a warm summer day,
The line from Johannesburg is absolutely clear,
But all I keep thinking is I wish that you were here.

Rob hit the breakfast bar with his middle finger, ‘Ka ching,’ he said. “I am working even when I’m not.”

Four years after it had appeared on the band’s last album the song was making him money all over again. I’ve got a great future behind me, he thought to himself. Pleased with the line he stored it away for his next argument with Lisa.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Chapter 1 - Pitside Mornings


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Hugh had a belt round his neck when he opened the door to Kenny. It was looped through the buckle and pulled tight like a choker. Kenny wasn’t sure what to say about it, so he said nothing.

“Are you coming for a pint?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Hugh, stepping out of the house and closing the door behind him. Hugh loosened off the belt and then started to loop it through his jeans as they walked.

“That hurts,” he said, rubbing his neck.

“It can be dangerous you know!” said Kenny.

“Of course it is”

“Was it any good?” asked Kenny, clenching his fist and shaking it as if he was masturbating.

“Oh, right,” said Hugh. “No, it was nothing like that. I was trying to kill myself.”

Kenny laughed, “You had me worried for a moment there.”

“What do you think I am? Some kind of pervert?”

“Well, you’re not called Shagger for nothing!”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” said Hugh.

Thirty minutes earlier Hugh, Shagger to all who knew him, had decided that he had had enough of life and all that it had to offer him. He made the decision to try and kill himself. He was, however, only going to try. He had no intention of succeeding. The idea was to go as close as he could to the edge and see how it made him feel. He had some vague notion that his life would flash before him and that he would then find, amongst the trail of memories, a long forgotten reason to go on, something which would give him both direction and enthusiasm. He made a noose out of a belt and then threw the loose end over the top of the living room door. He then shut the door over to keep the belt in place and by relaxing down off his toes tightened the noose. Unfortunately Hugh only had two belts. The better of the two was real leather but had a large eagle motif as a buckle. This had a hook for securing the belt, which made it impossible to create a self tightening noose. The other belt was a cheap patent look plastic belt which came free with a pair of black polyester trousers that he once bought for a funeral.

As he relaxed down off his toes, the main flaw in his plan became apparent. The belt stretched with the weight of Hugh’s body. The noose did tighten enough to partially restrict his breathing but he was in no danger of having to pull back from the brink of death. He could have stood there all day without coming remotely close to passing out.

As Hugh stood there, deflated by the situation, his attention drifted to the TV in the corner. Hugh’s TV was switched on in the morning and stayed on all day, whether he was actually watching or not. The TV was treated very much like a radio, on in the background with Hugh dipping in and out of programmes. At that moment some daytime magazine was on. It was presented by a greying ex children’s TV presenter. This presenter had replaced another ex children’s presenter who had been sacked after it had been revealed that he was having a cocaine fuelled affair with his fiancé’s mother.

The presenter was either gay or sexless, which pretty much amounted to the same thing as far as Hugh was concerned. There he was interviewing a woman who taught pole dancing as a fitness activity. She was dressed in a diamond studded bikini and he was interviewing her with no more excitement that he had spoken to the previous guest, a grandmother who had just completed her fifth charity walk to Machu Picchu.

The recent history of daytime TV was flashing before Hugh’s eyes instead of his life. Daytime TV was Hugh’s recent life. At that moment he heard someone at the door. It was almost 11am. It would be Kenny looking to go for a drink. Hugh pulled the door forward to release the belt and ended his suicide bid.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Introduction - To a Mars Bar

Think Green, Vote Tory
Picture by Annette62 on Flickr

Hail, chocolate covered fondant bar,
Greatest confection near or far,
Above them all you take your place,
Bounty, Snickers, Milky Way.

Wrapper torn, from your body,
Dipped in batter, then you’re ready,
Deep fat fried, until golden,
Cut in two, the centre molten.

Scotland wants no healthy snacks,
Fruit and veg will be sent back,
If you want to be held dear,
Deep fried Mars Bars raise a cheer

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Cousins Rob and Hugh live in the land of Burns, where deep fried Mars Bars have replaced Haggis as the local delicacy. Despite the different paths their lives have taken, they are both stuck in a rut of their own making.

Things are about to change though, as Hugh tries to solve his problems, and sees Rob as the answer.

Think Green, Vote Tory
Picture by Werewegian on Flickr