Chris Wade Cutey and the Sofaguard & Home in a Tick Samples

8/6/2019 Chris Wade Cutey and the Sofaguard & Home in a Tick Samples

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the bleeps, were always my favourite bits of them movies. As I had

hoped, this lift was walled with mirrors. Praise god, I thought, for I

wanted to check my general physical appearance before getting up on to

the ward to see dear Philippa. I could check the hair out, squeeze any

spots that may possibly have gone puss infested in the heat of this day. I

had to straighten my suit too, make sure it was all prim and proper, etc.

etc. It was a new suit, well, not new to be exact, but newish if you

follow me.

Anyway, in the elevator I straightened my tie, all the time grinning at

myself. Looking good sir, I observed. Then, behind my nice reflection, I

saw a small elderly chap, also suited up, standing there at the back ofthe lift.

Howdy sir, I greeted in mock cowboy drawl, tipping the

imaginary hat to this finely groomed gent.

Quite, he replied, almost whispering, in his snobbish, dismissive

ignorance. What is with these people, I thought, all so miserable,

moping and roaming the Earth in their morbid ways, as if it were their

final day on the planet. Their faces like tanned arse cheeks, their mouths

drooping like a hammock beneath the bulky recline of a bloated sod. Iknow this is a hospital folks, but gees, lighten up. Of course, I was

feeling slightly perkier than usual, for I was soon to gaze into the eyes

of my beloved Philippa, the most radiant, colourful, inspiring of all the

women I had ever had the fortune, or occasionally the misfortune, to

meet. I pushed the switch for the seventh floor and watched the doors

slide to a close before my eyes.

Quietly, and quite happily in fact, I waited as the expected zoomingsound began. Yep, thats a good sign, I thought, and a healthy noise for

sure. As always though, my tum tum dropped instantly as the lift shot

up, and I got the feeling I would vomit. But this always happened in the

liftypoos and I never once blew chunks, so worry not, this story is not

about to turn distasteful just yet. Besides, I hadnt even eaten that

morning so vomiting was even slimmer in chance. I turned to the old

ponce and gave him a cheeky little grin, basically just to fill the silence,

but I got feck all back from him. God almighty I thought, what adepressing old webby bastard. There should have been dust all over his

face, the old antique that he was. But I didnt care; his boring presence


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couldnt shoot me down in my joyous state, for Philippa was moments

away.

She would be laid there, ill and slightly fed up but still glamorous

imagined, a gorgeous woman even with a drip in her arm. Philippa isnt

the kind of woman to let herself go, even in the gloom of a hospital bed.

No sick down her chin, no siree. This is a glam chick, and I dont mean

a T Rex fan, glamorous, beautiful, a sight for sore eyes, and a real

corker. You get the idea, this woman is fine. The sun will be shining

through the bedside window, a blaze to enlighten her hidden beauty for

all the heavens to see. God, up there in the sky, will see her and say, oh

yes, I remember making her. Yup, I am going to make sure she comesback up here to join me in the kingdom of heaven, providing of course

she isnt a blasted, filthy sinner and a downright rotter. She certainly is

a fine one alright, well done to me on that one! Those will be gods

words by the way, considering of course that he does exist, which he

probably does. I know that is quite a debated and much questioned

subject, if god exists, but if he does I can guarantee he has a beard. I

would bet all my socks and boxer shorts, and all my piggy bank savings

that he has a beard. All the wisest men had beards, and youll see this ifyou delve into the back catalogue of history. Zeus, the mightiest of the

Greek gods, was certainly a beardy wasnt he? Socrates, the legendary

philosopher, was not only a genius, yet a hairy faced wonder of the

highest order. Abe Lincoln, the much loved leader of the United States

of America, was an inspiration to millions, and was clearly a beardy git

too. And lets not forget Rolf Harris. The two go hand in hand, the

legend and the beard, inseparable as a duo, like Siamese twins. But onthe other hand, some of the evilest and most demented men of all time

had beards. Charles Manson brought hell to Earth with his

brainwashing and sick murderous views. Clearly no saint, in fact an

absolute devil of a man, but admittedly he had reached a rather

admirable point in the world of facial hair. Peter Sutcliffe committed

unspeakable crimes and disgraced mankind with his vile antics, yet on

the other hand he had become an expert in the fine art of beard groom

and growth. So, an overall view of the facial hair phenomenon is acloudy one really, yet I feel god, suggesting the being is male, would at

least have a little facial hair. Even if its only a little, just to add some


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power to his face. It might make him look older too in the process,

without a beard he may be a baby face, this god fellow. Who would fear

god if he had the face of a spotty 15 year old lad?

Anyway, back there in the silence of the elevator up to Ward 12, I

gently bounced up off my heels, awaiting our arrival quietly. The gears

of the lift were grinding thoroughly, I could hear that quite clearly, the

clinks and the clanks, the ropes pulling etc. At least thats how I

imagined the lift really worked, filling out its vertical tasking with

thick, cleverly intertwined devices, strings and pullies. Amidst these

healthy machine sounds which soldiered on heavily, I suddenly heard a

weird, awkward shift slowly getting louder in the collective compilationof noises. It was like a massive cheese grater scraping on a giant,

metallic hedgehog, a truly horrid sound. I didnt like it. It unsettled me I

must admit, and I began to breathe a little faster, like a panting sex pest

or something. I turned to the old man, my face curling up in worry and

stress.

Should it be making that odd noise? I asked him, somewhat

pointlessly, hoping he could settle me with some chosen words.

How would I know? barked the old man, reminding me of theharshness of his manner. Im not the lift attendant am I lad? Im here

to see-

Immediately after he said the word see, the old mans voice was

drowned out by the sudden deafening howl of the struggling machinery.

I covered my ears and yelped like a dog boy, dropping the bouquet of

flowers to the ground. The old man looked shocked too, on the verge of

a heart attack by the haunting expression that lined his wrinkly face. Heheld his bald head in sheer panic, while his eyes darted around the walls

like tennis balls on the go. It was a really horrible noise, unpleasant to

put it lightly. It was rather like a thousand out of tune electric guitars

playing out of an amplifier the size of a sky scraper, or a gigantic iron

burning into a hot boiler, like how you would imagine the end of the

world to sound. As I tried to shut this massive face shaking noise out, I

felt my skull vibrate and was worried I was going to swallow my

tongue, like when I was 12. I fell to my knees, dramatically, screamingin fear and frustration. It felt like my teeth were going to crack in my

mouth and run down the back of my throat. My toes shook in my shoes,


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and my body flew all around the lift like a raggy doll being thrown

across the room. The old man fell to the floor, nails scratching down his

own face, the horror, the horror. Then it got even worse, the whole lift

shook, like a conker on a string, banging off the shaft walls. I thought

we were done for, dead as Julius Cesar, basically doomed. It wasnt too

tragic for the old timer, for he had a good few years under his belt, but

if I had carked it, it would have been a sad state of affairs. A young man

like myself, cut off in his prime, upsetting really. I didnt want to die.

Then, just as it felt like my whole head was about to burst like a zit,

the lift grounded to a messy halt. It sent me and the old bloke hurtling to

the floor, where we landed on our backs roughly. The noise ceased. Inthe silent, doomy aftermath, I raised my head, as if I had just survived a

nuclear explosion, emerging finally from my bomb shelter. I looked at

the old man, to make sure he was okay. There he was in a crumpled up

mess, sat with his back against the wall, his tie over his shoulder.

Are you okay old lad? I asked him, standing to my feet, slow and

shaky, like a toddler doing it for the first time ever. The oldie gazed up

at me, weary and fucked up as he nodded.

Yes, he muttered, whimpering like a wounded hound. What. What happened?

The poor bastard was delirious, and he looked awfully shook up.

I dont know, I said, stepping closer to him for inspection. He

wasnt wounded anyway, that was a plus. I didnt want him dying on

me, no way. Imagine being stuck in a lift with a corpse. Not only would

it be unsettling, but also quite boring really too. There was a glazy look

in his wanky eyes.My wife, he whispered, sounding bewildered and lost as fuck.

Shes dying.

What?

She is dying up there. He said, bolder than before, with intense,

haunting eyes fixed on mine. I gave him an uncomfortable smile, what

else could I do?

Well get out of here. Dont you worry, I said, leaning over and

patting him on the shoulder.


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In a flash of heroic brilliance I rushed to the control panel by the

doors. There were 20 numbered switches, and one single, solitary

button with a bell signal on it.

AHA!! I yelled, wasting no sodding time in pushing it. With

much excited expectations, I hoped for a sudden acceleration in

progress, a shoot up, an alarm, or even a tiny ding dong, anything. But,

I was absolutely gutted to find nothing but a long silence instead. I

waited, eyes in wonderment, and then pushed the switch again with a

jittery finger. My arm was shaky.

Come on, I said to myself. In my desperate frenzy, I must have

pushed this blasted switch 20 times before I accepted nothing was goingto happen, and when I let this sink in, I let out a big, deep sigh.

Whats happening? said the old bewildered fellow. I turned to

him, seeing that formerly up tight, smart, presentable prig in a sharp

suit, now reduced to a wounded, messed up, spaced out, sprawled pile

of shitty rags.

Were stuck, I let out, turning back to the panel and leaning my

head off the doors. My mind was in turmoil now. I was desperate to see

my love, Philippa, the very sight of her would be enough to lift anyamount of gloom from my body. But on the other hand, I felt for the old

gentleman too, with his dying wifey textures up there on deaths door

step. He had to see her, give her those last wishes. I mean, he must have

spent most of his damn life with this woman, I was sure he would have

had a boat load of things to say to her, before seeing her off to the choir

invisible. But my god, what if he got there and was just too late? He

would never get the chance to say goodbye, and it would all be myfault. I would never have forgiven myself. My mind flashed. This was

important, very important.

We have to get out of here! I dramatically voiced, putting my

hands on my hips and sticking out my chesty as if I were Superman

himself. But I was no superman, not at all. What could I do?

Well, for starters, I could try the emergency switch again, and that is

what I did. Why not eh? It might work now, I thought. Well I was

wrong mate. My inner enthusiasm and heroic proud posture began toslump slowly, confidence dropping as I knew I could do naff all. In

frustration, I thumped the control panel and cursed with some


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distasteful word, my face screwed up like a little boy in the midst of a

tantrum. What I wanted, ideally, was a huge iron fist, so I could pull out

the control panel with sheer brute force, tearing the sheet metal like it

was tracing paper, and then I could expertly rewire all the circuits

together. Then, my friends, we would be rocketing all the way up to

ward 12. Hoorah for heroes! But in the real world, all I did was hurt my

dainty hand and bruise my sodding knuckles.

Bollocks! I yelled, no longer that ragged hero man I had hoped to

be, instead a hopeless twat of a man. It would have been extra great if I

could have got the lift working right there and then. If I was a big bulko

guy, I would have picked up the poor old timer and hand delivered himto his wife for their cinematic, romantic final hour. Then I could head

down to ward 12, for a big smooch off with dearest Philippa. But no, I

had failed. The old man and I seemed to be stuck for good. Realising

this cruel defeat, I dropped my head; all pride had left the building now.

Leaning on the elevator wall I held me self up with weak hands.

Sorry old timer, I whispered, in a 70s disaster film drawl. Were

stuck in here guy. I didnt even want to look at the guy, I was guilty.

His poor heartbroken face, those pissy eyes all puppy dawg anddisappointed in me, were too much too bare. He sighed.

But my wife.. he said, so tired and weary. This was movie gold

here, but there were no cameras, just him and me. I turned to him, and

leaned my back off the doors.

Well, dont you worry. Theyll soon realise that the lifts stuck and

theyll come racing up here like Redford or McQueen, and well be

saved.I always wanted to be like those old action heroes in real life, the

Paul Newman, John Wayne, the Kirk Douglas of the real world. But

instead I always wound up the dunce in distress, Rick Moranis, Charles

Hawtry, all those weedy chumps, screaming and waving their arms

about as the tears coming flowing out their icy eyes. This hero stuff was

never going to fit with my slender, yet wiry frame.

Is that it? said the old man, a hint of anger invading his voice.

Youre giving up already are you? It is pathetic boy, pathetic.


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He stood up slowly, hunched over slightly like a rising beast guy.

All of a sudden I felt like the pupil to his bulldoggish headmaster. I

could almost see the cane in his wrinkled hands.

Just like that, he continued, growling as he got closer to me. As he

reached me as I stood at the doors, he sized me up and down, a look of

disgust on his old mug. When I was your age, Id slaughtered ten of

those rotten Nazi bastards in a single half hour. I killed six of them with

these bare hands. He lifted his hands up to my face, and for a moment

I imagined them covered in blood and bits of bone. I bet he was a hard

bastard when he was off on one.

And then I look at you, and all your generation, poncing about theplace like great poofs. Young ones today make me want to be sick.

He shook his head and cackled, smug and arrogant, before turning

away and walking back to his corner. It was like a boxing match, we

both had a corner each and he was sizing me up as if he wanted to

punch my lights out. For a moment, I imagined an old manager rubbing

my shoulders from behind me, wiping my blood with a towel and

shouting, Get that bastard! What are you, a man or a mouse? I felt

low and weak, now threatened and intimidated by a little old man. Itwas old age having a go at the arrogance of youth.

Well, he continued with a strained tone. She might be dead now,

up there alone and dead on the ward. Fifty years Ive been with her,

fifty bloody years. Do you understand how long that is lad? His tone

suddenly grew darker, more aggressive and I found myself extremely

disturbed by his anger. Its a hell of a long time, too fucking long, way

too long. Women, they go on and on and on and on, so an hour feelslike a day. And the orders, my god the orders! Do this, do that, fix this,

fox that, dont do this, dont do that. You never get a moment to

yourself. Never! Theyre on your back, constantly on your case. You go

to work, you pay the rent, and you share a house with this woman, this

walking pair of lungs. His voice was even louder now, and it seemed

as if 50 years of hell was gushing out in an unstoppable outburst that

shook the metal around us. It was like a beast had been let out of its

cage, like a hell fire a blaze. Those eyes of his bulged out of his headand veins pulsated in places that dont usually have veins. I really

dont mind being stuck in here, I really dont. Shall I tell you why? Its


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because she is up there, on her last legs, still ticking away no matter

what disease tries to take her down. She is drugged up to the eyeballs

now, up there, imagine what nonsense shell be coming out with. God, I

couldnt deal with it. I couldnt stand another moment of that horrid

woman. I cant stand the thought of her voice, drilling into my head for

any longer. She has grated on me for all these years, and I have been

nothing but a Mr Mouse to her barking maniac. Finally, at the end of it

all, I might just get a bit of peace now, a bit of silence thank god. I

really hope the old rat bag has passed on; I really do, just so I dont

have to put up with that rotten bag for another minute and all her drivel.

Thank god in heaven!That was it; his rant finally came to an end. Fifty years of silence, of

being put upon and dictated to. His old body finally relaxed, his

shoulders untensed and the old man looked at rest. Relief was all over

him like a rash, and he nearly smiled for a moment. A good thing

happened for him there, but it was then I remembered we were stuck in

this horrible situation, and that my dear Philippa was up there on ward

12, awaiting my arrival with anticipation. I prayed to that bearded god

above that she was okay, not on my knees or with hands in preyingformation you understand. But I had asked him, with sincere hope, that

he treasures Philippa with care, the petal in my flower.


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HOME IN A TICK

SAMPLE CHAPTER

ONE

Is anybody sitting there?

It was like a clichd opening line from the start of a romantic

novel, where a husky voiced babe sits down beside some bloke on a

plane or a train or a bus or some other form of public transport and thepair of them hit it off, sparking a steamy affair and lots of hard, fast,

speedy and thorough knobbing, that results in him getting cock rash and

her convincing the red raw sucker to murder her rich bastard of a

husband. Then the two of them piss off abroad with all the dosh and

change their names or something. Or something like that. Anyway, it

wasnt actually a sexy woman that disturbed me from my moment of

pondering this time. In fact it was a very thin man in a rather ugly

mustard coloured suit, looking all pale and crap.Ummm, I muttered, peering up at him as he stood in the

carriage aisle, clutching his yellow suit case. His little wanky eyes

looked at me in hope, desperation almost. The thing that instantly

seemed odd to me was that the train had loads of empty seats left; the

bloke could have had any of them to himself. He could have got all

cosy on his own, done a crossword, put his bottle of drinkpoos in that

little net bit they have on the back of the seat in front of you, if he had adrink with him of course. He might have had san sans or nibbles or

something. But you know what bothered me the most? He could even


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have had one of those big tables to himself, because a few of them were

still free as well. I remember that quite clearly. The bastard didnt know

how lucky he was to be in such an ideal situation, the choice of the

whole fucking train to himself like that. He could have had it all. He

could have been a contender and all that. But no, he chose to invade my

personal space instead and request a seat beside me, the twat. It was

odd, but something told me he really wanted this seat. No, REALLY

wanted it.

Well? he asked again, his voice full of optimism, a smile

appearing on his rubbish face. Is anybody sitting there?

I felt sorry for the guy, standing there looking like a homelesspup with his very being oozing misfortune. I couldnt lie to him and say

the seat was taken could I?

No mate. Sit down if you want. Make yourself cosy. I said,

kindly. God, Im actually a pretty nice bloke really arent I? A lot of

people would have told him to piss off.

I moved my shoulder bag out of the seat and put it on my lap.

The bloke smiled at me, clearly pleased I had chosen to let him join me

in this long journey to destiny.Thank you kind sir, he said, his voice higher than the average

mans and overtly friendly. He was acting as if we were old pals now.

With a happy little sigh, he slid on to the seat snugly, putting the

suit case flat on his lap. Then he gave me a warm smile, the kind of

dirty smile you give someone when youve seen them in the nudeybums

and they dont know you have. Almost immediately and rather

bizarrely, he rhythmically began to tap his spindly finger tips on thatyellow leather case of his. I do believe he was doing that long drum roll

from the song Wipe Out, I think thats what its called. He was

annoying me already this bloke and as he tapped away, he grinned like

a total wank chops, as if he was really trying to impress me and win me

over. He was a confusing man I tell you, not just in his manner.

Physically, he was kind of like a very young man with an old mans

face that was being made to look young, if you follow me. Like it was

being covered up with makeup and bits of flappy rubber. Like apensioner disguising as a twenty something. I couldnt work out how


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old he was and this baffled me. Anyway, he still drummed away and

looked for my reaction with a stare that made me feel rather uneasy.

Good rhythm there, mate. I said, the words confusing even me

as they spat out of my gobbywob. Why did I say that to him? That

would only encourage the chap for sure to continue in his Cozy Powell

moment.

Thank you, kind sir, he chirped, his voice so unbelievably

happy and out to create the best impression. He ceased the taps and held

out his hand for me to shake. My name is Gareth... Gareth Fingerfun. I

am very pleased to meet you.

Likewise, I mumbled, shaking his hand, but coming nowherenear the enthusiasm he expressed in this strange meeting of palms. He

shook mine really hard and smiled so incredibly warmly at me, as if we

were proper pals going back a long way, or fuck chums or something. I

hoped he wasnt trying it on with me, because I really wasnt in the

mood for someones unwanted gay advances. Not that I have anything

against those types of people you understand, but still, its not on the

top of my list of things to do, brushing off come ons from sweaty and

overly horny fellows.You recognise me dont you? he said. I can tell. He

sniggered to himself and shuffled about in his chair. I didnt recognise

him at all, what was he on about? I used to be the drummer in a band,

but you already know that dont you? he continued, a forced arrogance

invading his tone. It was when I was in my early twenties. We toured

the world, playing to packed out audiences everywhere. We were called

Ginger Fingers in the Toy Box. Yeah, youve heard of us right? Wewere really fantastic as you know. A real tight rock and roll unit. We

had Winston Alarm Knuckle on the bass guitar, he was a real party

animal; he could down a bottle of whiskey while simultaneously

juggling five grenades and having a Piranha down his boxer shorts.

What a wild man he was eh? Ha ha.

On the next seat across, a man who had previously been asleep

had now awoken and he scowled viciously at Gareth as if he had caught

him knobbing his grandmother or something. Unaware of the loudnessof his irritating voice, Gareth continued on:


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The lead singer was Billy Beauty; fans called him General

Crumble for his love of pudding and custard. The guitarist was called

Poddler Stoggy. He was a guitar whizz kid. A total freak out rock god, I

tell you. It was all great fun, a fantastic time indeed. I got to take the

druggies, dick the chicks and go on Top of the Pops. I was a brilliant

drummer as well on a technical level, really great, ranked as one of the

best in the world by some magazines. And god knows, they know their

stuff. Then the drugs took over, as is always the case in rock and roll. I

was just too wild, you know what I mean? I was like a perv boy in a

brothel, constantly aroused and ready for more action. I took it all with

both hands and came all over it and then rolled around in my own juicesand fluids. I really did go too far and I nearly died of a drug overdose.

Can you believe it, looking at me now? Excess! Thats all it was.

Excess! Too much of a naughty thing.

I really did get the impression that Gareth was lying completely,

just to impress me. Anyway, even if he had been a rock star doing all

these devilish things, it wouldnt make me like him more. It would just

make me think he was a total buffoon. Anyway, he carried on in his

unprovoked rant:The band split up in the end and we all went our separate ways.

Billy choked on Scampi and died soon after the split. They found him in

his home as blue as a smurf; had been dead for days they say. Poddler

was killed in an armed robbery in a sex shop. Tragically, the owner

tried to grapple with the masked robbers and in the struggle one of the

thieves bullets went rocketing into Poddlers face, just while he was

browsing the animal porn section. When the cops showed up to arrestthe scummers and take the bodies away, Poddlers dead hand was still

gripping a copy of Homeward Bound and Gagged. His grip was pretty

tight too, he just wouldnt let go. In the end, they had to twat his fingers

with a toffee hammer just to loosen the grasp. I mean, imagine if they

hadnt got the video out of his hand and his family wanted an open

coffin funeral. It just wouldnt be right would it, him having a canine

porno in his dead fingers? Awful way to go down all the same. Winston

died in a fight over the last packet of condoms in a chemist. Me... well,the press got me well and truly so they did, the buggers. Oh the scandal.

I ended up on the front page, because they managed to get a truly


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horrendous snap of me caught in the act so to speak. I was naked, save a

thong made of fish scales, upside down in a brothel by a pile of used

condoms, with a cucumber inside me, covered from head to toe in

cream and jam, like a sex scone, with no chance of a comeback. The

paper labelled me a grotesque has been and that was that. I never rocked

again. But, as you can see.... I still got the talent. Its still in there,

waiting to get out of me. Just waiting.

He winked at me and pretended to fire a gun with his index

finger. This guy was a total knob boy. What was with him? Why was he

telling me all this? I think he was trying to impress me. Was he trying

his best to be cool? If that was the case then it certainly wasnt working.So, I muttered, for some strange reason furthering this one

sided conversation. I am just a glutton for punishment I guess. What

do you do now then?

Gareth sighed deeply and came back down to Earth from the

planet HEAVY ROCK.

I own a property and rent out the rooms to various people,

mostly students, drifters and salesmen. Its like the friendliest hotel in

the world and god I enjoy it. You meet some colourful characters andmake good friends. Occasionally the guests dont pay me, well quite a

lot of the time actually, but I dont mind because were all great chums.

Lets just say they pay for their rooms with friendship, how about that?

He laughed, almost pathetically and nudged my arm with his elbow. His

little spindly face and pointed nose pulsated as he chuckled like a dirty

old man who had told a rude joke.

Oh, I said, slightly uncomfortable with such closeness, seeingas I didnt even know the fellow. Thats nice. So you spend a lot of

time with your guests then?

Oh yes indeed sir. He replied. I mean, for example, only last

week, two of the guys who have been renting out one of the rooms were

down the local boozer. They were playing a drinking game together,

involving a bottle of whiskey, some acid and a dead duck. So I went in

and joined them, as Im always game for a laugh. I always was a bit of a

jack the lad you know. Anyway, they seemed very excited by myarrival. They both started hitting me really hard and stuff and then they

both dragged me outside by my nostrils. They were beating me up and


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kicking the shit out of me on the street and spitting on me as well. They

were laughing raucously as they did so. They poured a bin over my

head and shoved rotten old food down my throat. Of course I was sick

quite heavily, but remained a good sport throughout and kept on

laughing. Then one of them came right down to me as I lay on the floor,

right in my face and said Fuck off you wanker. And then they both

walked back inside the pub, rubbing their hands together. It was funny.

I dont mind that, because it means were all lads together doesnt it? I

mean, when they walk away with my blood on their fists or on their

shoes, its as if theyve taken a piece of me with them. Its as if were

really proper mates, blood brothers almost. And they have fun too, so Isuppose its my way of having fun with them, making them happy. I do

like to make people happy in my special little way.

Gareth smiled at me with wide eyes, not knowing just how

tragic he was coming across. The poor guy. Did he have any idea of

how his guests were taking advantage of him? Not only that, they were

also being downright nasty to him as well. I scratched my head and

gave a nervous little laugh. But he carried on telling me about his

guests.We have one gentleman called Douglas Chaney, who calls

himself The Night Ship Captain. He is in charge of a ship at night, but

is the only man on board, simply due to the fact that the ship is locked

up at the harbour and EVERYONE is tucked up in bed.... but him. In

the blackness of the night, he sneaks on to the ship and orders himself

around. DOUGLAS!!YES, NIGHT SHIP CAPTAIN?MOP THE

DECK!AY AY CAPN DOUGLAS. He is very lonely and sad inside,but still a nice chap once you get to know him.

Well it certainly sounds like a lot of fun, Gareth.

It is, he excitedly exclaimed, not even taking a breath before

he carried on telling me of the many joys of his fruitful life, like a giddy

kid recalling a great day at school. I love my guests and they love me

too. Were like, he paused to think up the most lovely thing he could

say and finally it came out, and boy oh boy, the tragedy of it made my

heart ache. One big happy family. I even knitted one of those littleHome Sweet Home things for the wall, so I could hang it in the main

living room where we often sit together. It took me ages to make. I even


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knitted in little versions of me and the guests outside the house, all

waving happily, smiling. I put it in a nice wooden frame too. When I

showed it to the two fellows hiring out the room they spat on it, and one

of them smashed it in half over his knee. Then they threw it to the floor

violently and stamped on it until it was just a pile of torn nonsense.

Then they both induced vomiting by sticking their fingers down their

throats and were sick all over it. It was very funny. I laughed and so did

they. They laughed a lot harder than me though I must admit, but thats

okay. I like to see my guests happy. It makes the job worthwhile.

Oh god, this was breaking my heart. It was very upsetting. I

wasnt sure if he knew these incidents were horrible or whether he wasperfectly aware, but was just too nice to voice his displeasure.

Something told me the man was very lonely and would do anything for

a friend. I dont know what it was, but this pathetic desperation exuded

from him profusely. I could have been wrong of course, but in pity I

smiled at him and he smiled right back like a lovely chap. I felt for the

bloke, I really did.

So where are you heading? he asked me, folding his arms and

looking genuinely interested in my life.Oh nowhere in particular, I replied, sounding like a real

traveller man, a gypsy bloke, a restless rolling stone on the rugged hill

of life. Im just drifting on by. Seeing where the world takes me,

seeing who will accept me in this crazy globe we call the Earth.

I rubbed my chin, and my nails made a scraping sound on the

stubble. You see, I was being all rugged and great, just calmly

pondering my choices. I gazed outside at the vast green world availableto me as I passed it so carelessly on the speeding vessel of opportunity.

The possibilities, oh the possibilities. The world was my oyster.

Actually I hate oysters. I prefer crab sticks; theyre my favourite, in my

top 5 foodies actually. The rest of the chart is occupied by a fully

cooked one at number 5, groped hot dogs at number 4, cold golden wig

wams at number 3, pork scratchings at number 2 and as previously

mentioned, juicy crab sticks at number 1. So I guess the world was my

crab stick. Yeah, thats more appealing isnt it? The world was my crabstick. Anyway, then, Gareth the sad character disturbed me from my

moment of pretentious thought.


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Well, said Gareth. If you fancy a break in my little town, I

have a spare room free. You can stay there if you like while you get

yourself sorted.

I laughed lightly and shook my head, acting like a proper man of

the land, laughing at the idea of settling down. I was putting on a bit of

a front here, playing a part, getting into a role. I guess it was kind of sad

really, me pretending to be someone else, stepping outside from the real

me. Maybe I was just as tragic as Gareth was. Maybe I was a little bit

lonely too. Oh I dont know.

No, thats OK. Im a bit of a drifter Gareth. I live off the land at

the moment. I said, eyes almost closed altogether in a sort of coolsquinty way, like Clint Eastwood, or Squint Eastwood I suppose. Ha-ha

that was a good one. Anyway, Id better get back to remembering what

happened next. Oh yeah, I was speaking to Gareth.

I have been sailing on by for some time now and I am enjoying

it, being at one with Mother Nature and all her sons and daughters. Plus

I dont have much money, so I couldnt pay the rent. Thanks for the

offer though Gareth, very kind of you, but I cannot be tamed.

Oh god, why did I say that? Of course I could be tamed. Even alion can be tamed. I was being just as daft as he was now.

Hey no worry mister, butted in Gareth, excitedly, tugging on

my jacket like a kid. You can stay there for free buddy, just while you

get yourself sorted. I dont mind, itll be nice to have some company.

Well, more company, cos the place is so full of life already you

understand. But it sure will be nice to have another character around the

place. Really, it would be an honour.I thought for a moment, features all serious and dramatic and I

peered across at him, his shitty face so brightly awaiting my reply. This

guy really wanted me to take up his offer didnt he? You know, when I

thought about it, I had been drifting for a while by then, living off my

savings, staying in hotels, camping in the wild. Well the last part isnt

true actually, but it sounds cool and it went with my new character

didnt it? It wasnt as if I had been all alone or anything, I did have

some company at times, but the thought of a proper place to stay wassounding very appealing. Everyone likes a place to go home to, to call

your own. The kind of place you can get all cosy in. You get home and


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lock the door, leaning your back off it with a sigh and then you walk

around in your pants, sipping tea, or coffee, or your preferred beverage

of choice, whatever it may be. If youre really lucky you have kids who

you take to bed on a night and you say to them, dont let the bed bugs

bite. Then you tuck them in all safe and warm under their covers like

the meat in a sausage roll. Snug, oh so snug and safe. You dont eat

them like you would with a sausage roll though, that would be just plain

horrific; you just walk off and turn the light out on the way, leaving the

door open a crack if thats what they want. They might want the door

shutting all together, as they might have tackled their fear of the dark

altogether by now. Either that or they could be teenagers, in which caseyou wouldnt be tucking them in and pecking them on the forehead

would you? Because teenagers get all embarrassed with stuff like that

dont they and they would say Get off me, dad you toss man, Im 15.

Im not a baby.

Anyway, the point is that having a home is important and

Gareths offer sounded very nice indeed. I pictured myself living this

same life in 20 years time; one of those tragic beardy blokes with a back

pack and a Planet Hollywood T shirt on, bits of cheese and onion pastystuck in the hairs on my face; roaming the earth like a sad little penny

fuck of a man; trying to start conversations with ATMs and begging for

money so I can buy myself a flapjack or some malt loaf or something. I

didnt want my life to end up like that. Right, I had made up my mind

now, I would stay there at Gareths house and that was it. But of course,

to keep up with this cool drifter part I was playing, I pretended to

ponder a little longer just to keep the suspense up for Gareth who SOwanted me to say yes. It was all dramatic and ace. His pissy eyes were

all watery and excited. I couldnt let the guy down could I? Besides, it

was a total bargain he was hanging before my eyes wasnt it?

Sure Gareth. Why not? I said, all serious in that film drawl,

feeling like a movie man. We shook hands and I smirked lightly, while

he nodded, looking very happy indeed.

Great stuff, mister. He said. You wont regret it, I promise.

Documents

Chris Wade Cutey and the Sofaguard & Home in a Tick Samples