‘Hello, mate. Long time, no see.’
‘Geezer. You all right?’
‘Yeah, good. You?’
‘What’s wrong with your voice?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Got a cold?’
‘No. D’you like it?’’
‘What? Your voice?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What happened?’
‘Operation.’
‘Shit.’
‘On me vocal chords.’
‘Cancer?’
‘No. We fancied a change is all.’
‘Eh?’
‘We decided to try me sounding different.’
‘We?’
‘Me and the Mrs.’
‘Sorry, mate, I still don’t get it.’
‘I’ve had a Vocal Enhancement Procedure.’
‘Cosmetic surgery? On your vocal chords?’
‘If you like. Go on, who do I sound like?’
‘Familiar. Is it a celebrity?’
‘Sort of. Actor.’
‘Fuck! Yeah. That bloke does the no win, no fee ads on the telly. What’s his name?’
‘Winstone. And it’s gambling.’
‘I’ll bet. Surgery’s always a risk. Don’t it confuse people? Your mum and that?’
‘They got used to it. Perked up our sex life.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘It was her what gave me the push to have it done. She’s got a thing about him.’
‘Yeah? Not exactly what you’d call a sexy beast is he?’
‘Not my type. She wants me every night, now.’
‘What? Sex?’
‘Sort of. She makes me talk to her.’
‘About what?’
‘Lines from his films mostly.’
‘Lines from his films?’
‘Yeah. News of my day at the recycling centre don’t do it for her.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘Beautiful, and full of fine promises. I was weak. I am sorry. So, so sorry. I have always loved you my queen.’
‘What’s that from?’
‘Beowulf.’
‘Got anything from The Departed?’
‘Well make more fucking’ money. This is America. You don’t make more money, then you’re a fuckin’ douchebag.’
‘That’s brilliant. Amazing.’
‘Cheers.’
‘Let me get this straight: you read lines from his films to your Mrs for sex? Are you OK with that?’
‘It’s easier in the dark.’
‘The dark?’
‘She don’t want to see me. Says it spoils things.’
‘How do you read with the lights out?’
‘I have to memorise them, don’t I?’
‘Shit. But the sex is worth it, right?’
‘It’s a bit one sided, if I’m honest.’
‘Go on.’
‘She’s become a bit…selfish.’
‘Oh. How much did it cost?’
‘Cashed in the ISA.’
‘I thought you was saving for an holiday?’
‘Me too.’
‘Still, if the wife’s happy. What it’s all about, in it? Marriage. Keeping her indoors sweet. ‘Take one more step, traitor, and I’ll chew you to pieces.’
She didn’t like that one. I’m not to do it.
The End.
(You know you want to read it again.)
Oliver Tidy 
So I was sitting on a bench, looking out to sea at Hythe when an old acquaintance from Dymchurch ambled by. We were talking about reading books and I asked if he had a Kindle, as there was a story set in Dymchurch, a murder by the Hospice shop. He said ” hey that’s where Oliver Tidy lives – he’s a bastard and threatened to flatten me once” No it wasn’t John C who is dead now, but a Parish Council car park attendant. The last remaining one. I did laugh …
haha. I’ve only ever threatened to assault one Parish Council car park attendant. On a busy weekend in The Children’s Paradise he encouraged someone to park across my driveway and block me in for the afternoon. I was livid. I felt bad about it afterwards. Mind you, next time I see him I might stick one on him for bad-mouthing me. 🙂
Surely, you don’t mean John Coker is dead? My ex-father-in-law. That’s a funeral I wouldn’t want to miss.
Best wishes.
Colts I think his name was – red headed blustering thug type. Even his dog bit me.
That poor car park attendant has never driven a car in his life. Possibly doesn’t understand a four foot gap isn’t a six foot one. Fights used to break out in the far field over bad parking and broken lights. Never a dull moment in Dymchurch.
I’m sure we’re talking about the same attendant now. You can understand why I felt bad about threatening him. Ashamed might be a better word. Still he gave us a good few laughs on Bank Holidays when he packed cars in so close together that some of them simply couldn’t get out. Of course, he’d gone home by then.
Colts’ bell might have tolled but his name doesn’t ring for me.