A day older.
Every morning now I'm awake before the alarm.
Bad sign, that. Never used to be like that.
I lie here worrying. What about?
"Developing certain responsibilities" says Taffy.
The longer I lie here, the worse it gets.
I can hear people outside doing things downstairs.
Never look worried. Like the ring there on the dot, as usual.
Punctuality's a virtue.
Get yourself into a deep enough punctual rut, then you don't have to think...
so you don't worry.
- Come on, man! - Right. Now. Coming.
Last birthday it all started. Presents.
Bloody tartan shoe-cleaning kit and matching slippers.
Tone's growing. A quarter of the presents the year before bring a smile.
Lump in the throat. Tears in the bog.
Not 'cause of presents. Because I was 16. Adult.
"Stand on own two feet, he must."
Oh, damn it, damn it!
Listen to her downstairs.
"Honestly, he spends hours in the morning in his bedroom, combing his hair.
Squeezing his face. God only knows."
Oh, shut up, shut up.
I won't tell you again.
At the count of three, I shall rise smartly and dress without washing.
Got a good one last night. Just cleaned my teeth.
One...
two...
three.
God, it's cold.
What's today? Jogger first? Nobby's shrieking at us.
Scout. You're a born leader, boy.
Born leader.
Gosh, yeah. Born leader of fools, boy. Fools.
You don't like me, do you, boy?
- Do you, boy? - Yes, sir!
If it's war you want, it's war you'll get.
Poor old knob snorts in his sinus.
End of teller. Never had a girl.
Bitchery. Kept control till the dying end.
All nations great and small
All things wide and wonderful
The Lord God made them all
Towler. Late again.
Sun's warm. Nice day, I fancy.
Like the bloody Kremlin anyway!
Here I am, the only one in the world.
This minute, the only kid not in school in the land.
Once decided, relief.
Like an exam room, finishing bell goes.
Paper in front. Scot tea. Block caps.
Too late for slacking mind changes then.
Through the window, you see another world.
A dog, spotted, has a quiet pee against mooned shop-front.
Man, cloth cap, turns collar against wind...
around corner from quiet terrace.
The blue patch passes from arch to sill...
disappearing forever behind roofs opposite.
To think how great it would be to walk in that wind...
or to run out of houses to see where the blue patch got to.
I do that sometimes.
I'm on the outside now, till tea time, anyway.
Oh, bloody worky.
The specks on his face.
Smells of burning toast. Wetter, though.
Breathe through nasal fuzz at all times.
Taffy calls it a cancerous coast.
Tumors of industry, boy.
Best to lose five years of your natural--
if you don't breathe properly, that is.
Steamy smell, like burnt rubber.
Laundry smell, I guess. Or a crematorium.
Sat down the back of St. Hayden's smoking woodies.
Warm against the brick furnace.
Fresh green and cream paint.
You can't go wrong with that.
Imperial fish fryer supreme.
Certificate of Merit in modern hygiene.
Wonder why people are ashamed of going in fish shops?
Twenty-seven. Ernie Bianco.
Twenty-seven. Deana Generalissimo.
Nice people shop here.
Plaster fruit splits from the good old days.
Flypaper in ceiling.
Woman in front folding grubby ten bob.
Seen better days. Eyes screwed in cig smoke.
Shaves when it shows. She ought to try a wax treatment.
Maybe I ought to tell her.
"Excuse me, madam. A moment of your time.
For small consideration, I can rid you of your hairy complex.
One treatment. Hot wax on, rip it off. "
Rotten bugger.
Tuppenney eggs. The cheapest, naturally.
Watch flaccid hounds grasp fatly the ham buttock.
Doesn't wash after paying a visit, I'll be bound.
Yes, petal dust. I haven't got all day, you know.
Packet of rich tea, missus.
Cheeky get.
Just be queuing now. Hot pot and Sago.
Rubberized chocolate custard with flakes with Dolly mixtures on top.
Grace Bow your head
For Christ's sake, let's eat Amen
Agnes puts jam into barley. Old-fashioned smell.
Like sun on your neck.
"Set the tea, Tony. "
Company action. Funeral. No damn nonsense.
All relations in front room snivelling.
Put their head round the door.
"Just going to put the kettle on and make it all feel better."
It does, though.
Just Annie's cup of tea.
She'd wander around here for hours.
Funny how silent and cut off it is.
Just like the toy cupboard in those sunny stories.
At night the toys come to life. Sinister stuff for kids, really.
Terrifying if all this stuff came to life.
That teddy pressed its gut.
Monica Moore's soft and fluffy.
Played charming stuff inside.
Stared at me with kindly glass eyes.
Bobby Shaftoe's gone to sea
Silver buckles on his knee
Her eyes were blue and gold Oh, hell!
God, it's quiet.
Broken sticks like bones.
Dave Shipitoe snapped his femur. Left member.
Splintered like green wood. Sappy green-bone fracture...
and damaged groin, just like that.
Put him together with silver bolts.
Finger and brown paper
Now it locks so far.
I had my groin cut when I was a kid. Double hernia.
Doc still is polite to Mum.
Afraid the boy can't urinate properly.
Blockage of the tubes.
He'd seen tapeworms in Mexico 20 feet or more.
Raw pork does it.
Stones build up against groins.
Inland Uranus ocean.
Fat yellow Jell-O.
Hell's bloody bells.
Shelter, quick.
Like snail smells, this mud.
Dikes.
That kid kept his finger in the hole that the rat had made.
To stop the flood. What's his name?
Hans from Holland.
Bit corny, that. Can't be true.
Holland's level. Wouldn't like living there.
Like mountains. Like climbing. Fly climbs out dog's nose hole.
Poor things. I wonder how long.
Don't fear death.
Most people are scared stiff of dying.
Doesn't worry me. Not yet, anyway.
Everybody dies sometime.
Comes at odd times and compromising positions.
Best way. Like going to sleep.
Dropped off with a smile on her lips.
Wet, though, here. Must get inside.
Wonder who lived here. Not very particular.
Mum would do her nut.
Yeah, must get back at usual time.
Of course, I'll get it in the neck for not taking the mac this morning.
"I told you so. Don't walk there. I've just finished the floor.
I've had a heavy day. And don't eat biscuits in the pantry. "
It's bloody murder at tea time.
She thinks she's the only one who does any work.
Let's see. Be a sparse tea.
Cold meat and potatoes fried up from Sunday on Monday.
Be something out of a tin today.
Tate and Lyle's Golden Syrup.
Dead lion's belly. Funny symbol.
Fondue Lyle.
Oozing amber from sunken belly.
Busy bees to germinate in flesh.
Sweet for hot buttered toast.
Put that in Riggs' grocery list.
"Item: One tin lion brown rotted flesh juice. "
See his face.
Hickory dickory dock. The mouse ran up the clock.
Someone must be living here. Oh, hell. Shut up.
Bread.
Foss plum field, Plum tree marine apothecary.
Little Women. Louisa M. Alcott.
Gran had that one.
She's gone, like Grandpa.
Grandpa. Fetch bogeymen. Eat up.
Gravy farmlands on my plate.
Crush it with spoon and pusher.
Watch it flood. Hills and valleys all go under.
Kettle for a friend. Scald pot first.
First Commandment.
She looks just like Mum. Wonder what they laughed at.
And where they went afterwards. She's just like Mum, you know?
Like that photo in the album at home.
I can remember certain moments very clearly.
Little things. Pointless, really.
The tiny cut-glass salt cellars...
at Mrs. Smith's in Harton.
The salt poured very smoothly on the cold white chicken that night.
The rubber strip around the French windows rubbed between my fingers...
a plaything.
Gran sits in faded rust...
silk from deep chair.
Four crumbs around a sauce bottle. I placed them there yesterday.
Funny how Mum's getting more like Gran every day.
I can remember her. Not Grandpa.
Faceless, as if he sat in the shadow always.
Face turned to the wall. Scrawny, collarless.
Mum says it all seems Christmases now.
Right. I will remember now.
When I'm 80, I'll look back at this day, this very minute...
and remember that I said I would.
And it'll all be like yesterday.