Category: taster

toomuchtoswallow

for Margaret

“Whose bright idea was it?” demanded Ben as he sat down at my table.

My eyebrows went up as I looked at his glass.

“Which idea? Is that a triple?”

“Yes” he took a gulp. “To ask my grandmother to speak at the Annual Dinner.”

“Henderson’s. Why?”

“That’s my question!”

“You know him. Any opportunity to look good with the women and the wrinklies. I mean, she’s been with the Association since year dot so it looks like he’s showing respect for long service. So what’s the problem?”

He took another drink. “You don’t know my grandmother!”

“True. Her heyday was a bit before my time, but she’s always been there in the background.”

“In her heyday, as you put it, she stayed in the background, doing the things you’d expect women to do in those days. Now it’s like her corset’s off – or whatever kept her in the background – and anything’s possible. “

“How old is she?”

“Eighty eight.”

“She’s still got all her marbles hasn’t she?”

“Most of them, as far as I can tell, but they’re likely as not to go off in all directions.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Don’t ask!”

He’d turned really pale. He finished his scotch, stood up and headed to the bar.

“Mine’s a pint!” I called after him.

“OK.”

Poor Ben. It occurred to me he had his own ambitions for preferment in the association and any embarrassment his granny might cause could impact on these. Still people’s memories are generally short when it comes to minor historical figures.

smile

Everyone agreed he was a big bloke – when he walked in the open double door of the bar, he’d brought half the door-frame with him. He bought a bottle of whisky, sat down at a corner table and started drinking. He did look horribly miserable, so Chesney had a bright idea and put a record on the juke box.

“Smile, though your heart is aching” sang Nat King Cole. “Smile even though it’s breaking When …” the record stopped with the screech of needle across grooves and a crash of breaking glass as the juke box exited via the bar’s big shop window.

“You could have used the reset button” said Frank, the bar owner, plaintively.

There was a yelp as he followed the machine through the glassless window.

Chesney went outside to complain to Frank, sitting up now by the pile of bent chrome-plated steel and plastic.

“My record didn’t get played. Can I have my nickel back?”

Frank was still staring at him blankly when the big guy appeared behind Chesney, gripped his hair and banged his thick head repeatedly on the side of the Wurlitzer until the cash box fell off. He then picked up a coin, inserted it into Ches’ open mouth, slapped the idiot’s back and returned to his whisky bottle.

When he’d finished swallowing, said idiot turned to Frank and demanded, “What are you going to do about all this?” Whereupon Frank swung that famous left hook and punched out his lights ….

a fairy story for the nearly grown up

Now
Snow White and Grumpy ran a guest house in the forest. It was a quiet place but had a loyal clientele who came for miles to enjoy the peace of the woods, to dive in the old, flooded quarries, to drink beer and eat Snow White’s pizzas, schnitzels and pan-fried potatoes.

The place looked over-grown and shabby because Grumpy was getting too old to care, but it was clean, comfortable and cluttered with so many knick-knacks like it was your granny’s flat. Had they been chosen by a designer, it would have been kitsch, but seemed rather gemütlich and organic instead.

In the jungly garden there was a wooden cabin, which looked on the point of collapse, for when it was too wet for a barbecue outside. In another corner was a little fishpond, half covered in weed, around which stood, amongst the other random statuettes, five garden gnomes containing the ashes of their former companions, except for Dopey who was still in rehab.

Grumpy had mellowed with age and had learned to be quite sociable with the guests. The years touring with their acrobatic act after the mine was closed had forced him to put on a front and be more amenable. But now the back pain and having to wear a corset turned him once more into his old, misanthropic self. He tended to stay in their rooms and watch TV while his wife looked after the cooking, the bar and the guests.

Snow White was a beauty no more – it was her hair that fitted the name these days, but the sparkle and the cheeriness of her nature were undimmed. She’d also shrunk down almost to Grumpy’s height.

Marriage to the prince hadn’t been such a good idea. Once the initial romance was over she hadn’t fitted into the routine and ritual of court life, while he was basically a self-centred prig. She had given him a son and heir, after which he’d started chasing younger, pretty women. Eventually, she’d quietly put together a few personal belongings and, one night, slipped away to the woods and the mountains. Working as a maid in villages and farms, she’d finally reached the dwarves and their little silver mine.

Landed

“Tell me again why we’ve got to put up with this tourist.”

“Because the French want him here and our government want to keep them sweet.”

“Oh for f… This is a scientific mission, not the White House lawn!”

“He has scientific credentials ..”

“He’s a botanist!”

“I know.”

“Coming to a lump of rock with no atmosphere and so no native plant life … no life period!”

“You’ve heard the story. He’s done the training. He’s landing any time now, so give it a rest.”

The speaker in the wall announced “Touch down in 5 minutes.” The reception party sat and chewed on their own thoughts.

“Touch down in 1 minute.”

“Touch down in 30 seconds … in 20 seconds … in 10 seconds. Landing completed.”

There was the hum of machinery as the docking corridor connected with the craft and the hiss of the air pressures being equalised. Then the door to Moonbase 3 opened and their guest walked in … a little unsteadily in the low gravity.

“Welcome to the Moon M. Cyrano. I’m Steven Corrigan, commander of this station, and this is my second-in-command and head of science, Gus McMurdo.”

“Pleased to meet you. Please call me Matthieu .. or Matthew, if you prefer.”

“So, how was the flight Matthieu?”

“Splendide. Fantastique. A real experience after all that preparation, but slower than I imagined.”

“I know. Everyone thinks so but we don’t want people crash landing. Now, do you want to rest or can we offer you some refreshment?”

“A beer would be wonderful. Do you have such?”

“Yes we do, but only low alcohol because of the low gravity.”

“Low gravity beer would be fine.”

They sat in the refectory with their drinks. The visitor drained his glass in one go.

“Please excuse me, I was thirsty.”

“That’s alright, we’re used to incomers being a little dehydrated,” said Corrigan, “that’s why we got you two.”

The Frenchman took a swig of his second beer and regarded the other two – Corrigan looking bland and McMurdo somewhat irritable.

“Go on then. Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” asked Corrigan.

“Where is the nose?”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, come on. You must know the story of my ancestor and his long proboscis! Don’t worry, I am used to it. ”

Corrigan’s face reddened and McMurdo appeared baffled.

“It never crossed my mind.”

“Then you are exceptional people.”

“We are.” McMurdo announced.

“Good. That saves time, but do you know why I was chosen for this mission?”

Solidarity

“Come, we are brothers now”
say the dolphins to the fish,
“the sharks have all gone.”

Discretion

I’m coy like the carp –
hide my colours in plain sight,
flaring like a flag.

Blackbird – White Night

Blackbird on a power-line,
singing a 240 volt song
to a one kilowatt dawn.

Augury

In a checkerboard field
a convocation of magpies
consider the entrails of the new year.

The Capitano tells of his war wounds

“I lost my leg when we took Omdurman
but the Sultan’s surgeon sewed it back on.
I broke it again at the battle for Rome
but I just carried on and refused to go home.
At the siege of Prague I was shot in the head,
my soldiers went on and left me for dead.
This made me shaky and, at a ruck in Tyree,
a lousy horse-thief stamped on my knee,
so ignore the tales and dismiss them as bunk
that I injured it falling downstairs blind drunk.”

The Capitano

“I’m not Harlequin or the old Clown
nor any you’ve seen in your town,
no, I’m not one of those mentioned above,
my character’s plain and so is my fame –
I am the pirate of love.

In my suit of rich flames, with more reprobates,
I drum what you feel in your heart
and, if you like to play games and to reach heightened states,
you’re welcome to join and take part.

It is a matter of common record
that women like pirates aboard
so, when they hove to and I came alongside,
their hatches were soon open wide.

I do not boast anywise but many of my prizes –
succumbing after a long cannonade –
had already met brigands of different sizes
and allowed that my shots were well laid.

There must be something scaring about my proud bearing
that had women daring
to trial my skill with the sword,
but I was too caring,
despite the mask I was wearing,
and, all too soon, those pretties were bored.

I enjoyed taking capture and ravishing their honour
but valued the treasure I took.
Now I’ve quit the sea and don’t sail upon ‘er,
I just count up my hoard in a book.