As expected, our exploits did not get a mention on BBC Newsline, but Kimba was still mad that I ripped my jumper.
- You’re a fuckin’ dick, Danny Pongo - moaned Kimba. – They’re gonna get your DNA of that. You’ve been inside for fucks sake. They’ve got your DNA on profile.
I felt like I was going to boke. I left, headed toward the bus stop on the main road, when a peeler appeared at the top of the street, coming round the corner. I turned on my heel and pulled my peak cap down over my eyes before remembering the other end of the street was a dead end and I couldn’t go back into my house as I was afraid John Law was going to pay me a visit.
I got to the house on the corner, number 49 with the neat blue numbers painted on the gate. Who lived here was a kind old lady called Mrs Mulberry who stood at her front door all day stroking her cat and staring off into space and who also put her Christmas Tree up in September.
I found an old student card in my wallet and in an officious way opened Mrs Mulberry’s gate and (in the same manner) walked up her short path that was bordered delightfully with colourful and well kept flowers.
- Mrs Mulberry, I’m from The Government, - I said quickly flashing my student card before her faraway eyes. – I’m from the Energy Saving Division and I need to inspect the power source for that Christmas Tree.
- Come in, - she said, bemused.
I went into her small front room. Everything from the carpets to the curtains were stuck in the ‘50s, including a very old fashioned tele where you could pull two slidy doors across to meet in the middle so’s to hide the screen. I reasoned that in the olden days it was considered that you had ‘no class’ if you owned a tele.
I got down on my honkers and looked at the plug for the tree lights for a good minute or so. I nodded my head now and again like I were having a conversation with it and it & I were agreeing on the facts of something. When my knees began to get sore I shot up turned to Mrs Mulberry and said,
- That’ll be all for in here. Now I need to go and check your oil tank.
- I don’t have an oil tank.
- I’ll need to check your grass then. I am from the Energy Saving Division and I need to inspect the back of your property to establish its suitability for a wind farm.
- You could inspect the back of me, check my suitability for a wind farm. The smelly gusts that issue from my mud hole! – said Mrs Mulberry slowly waving her hand in front of her face and pursing her lips in mock disgust.
I stifled a laugh and said, - Maybe in the year 2525, Mrs Mulberry.
Outside I arbitrarily walked round her garden bending down to feel the grass every few steps.
- This house is excellent for a wind farm. Now, Mrs Mulberry, I must get going. Do you mind if I leave through your back gate. Just I saw a dangerous looking dog out on the street earlier and I don’t want to go out the front.
- Of course, son. But if you wouldn’t mind, its, you see I’m very lonely after my husband passed away a few years ago, and I especially miss our dancing. I haven’t had anyone to dance with since he died. If you wouldn’t mind stepping back inside with me here to dance to my favourite record...?
Inside she put this number on her turn table. I took her hand in mine and gently placed the other on her frail bony right buttock. Then, as I began to notice the smell of TCP rising from her old body, we swayed slowly to the music.
- You’re a fuckin’ dick, Danny Pongo - moaned Kimba. – They’re gonna get your DNA of that. You’ve been inside for fucks sake. They’ve got your DNA on profile.
I felt like I was going to boke. I left, headed toward the bus stop on the main road, when a peeler appeared at the top of the street, coming round the corner. I turned on my heel and pulled my peak cap down over my eyes before remembering the other end of the street was a dead end and I couldn’t go back into my house as I was afraid John Law was going to pay me a visit.
I got to the house on the corner, number 49 with the neat blue numbers painted on the gate. Who lived here was a kind old lady called Mrs Mulberry who stood at her front door all day stroking her cat and staring off into space and who also put her Christmas Tree up in September.
I found an old student card in my wallet and in an officious way opened Mrs Mulberry’s gate and (in the same manner) walked up her short path that was bordered delightfully with colourful and well kept flowers.
- Mrs Mulberry, I’m from The Government, - I said quickly flashing my student card before her faraway eyes. – I’m from the Energy Saving Division and I need to inspect the power source for that Christmas Tree.
- Come in, - she said, bemused.
I went into her small front room. Everything from the carpets to the curtains were stuck in the ‘50s, including a very old fashioned tele where you could pull two slidy doors across to meet in the middle so’s to hide the screen. I reasoned that in the olden days it was considered that you had ‘no class’ if you owned a tele.
I got down on my honkers and looked at the plug for the tree lights for a good minute or so. I nodded my head now and again like I were having a conversation with it and it & I were agreeing on the facts of something. When my knees began to get sore I shot up turned to Mrs Mulberry and said,
- That’ll be all for in here. Now I need to go and check your oil tank.
- I don’t have an oil tank.
- I’ll need to check your grass then. I am from the Energy Saving Division and I need to inspect the back of your property to establish its suitability for a wind farm.
- You could inspect the back of me, check my suitability for a wind farm. The smelly gusts that issue from my mud hole! – said Mrs Mulberry slowly waving her hand in front of her face and pursing her lips in mock disgust.
I stifled a laugh and said, - Maybe in the year 2525, Mrs Mulberry.
Outside I arbitrarily walked round her garden bending down to feel the grass every few steps.
- This house is excellent for a wind farm. Now, Mrs Mulberry, I must get going. Do you mind if I leave through your back gate. Just I saw a dangerous looking dog out on the street earlier and I don’t want to go out the front.
- Of course, son. But if you wouldn’t mind, its, you see I’m very lonely after my husband passed away a few years ago, and I especially miss our dancing. I haven’t had anyone to dance with since he died. If you wouldn’t mind stepping back inside with me here to dance to my favourite record...?
Inside she put this number on her turn table. I took her hand in mine and gently placed the other on her frail bony right buttock. Then, as I began to notice the smell of TCP rising from her old body, we swayed slowly to the music.
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