Elvis
Elvis lay spread-eagled on his back under the bright morning sun. He wriggled violently,
waving his paws in the air, making a kind of aararggraagruf noise. This is Dog for “ooh,
lovely stretch”.
Incidentally, this is proof of the lower social awareness of dogs world-wide compared to
humans, who usually do this kind of thing in the comfort and privacy of their own homes.
You don’t?
Try it.
It’s terribly liberating.
Elvis now lay still, panting, and contemplated his lot.
Hgruf.
Well, it was all rather pleasant, wasn’t it? The grass of the lawn was soft and comfortably
cool. The sunshine agreeably warm. Mr Squeaky, his favourite plastic hedgehog, lay close
by, ready for a long and protracted mid-morning chew. The birds were flitting about here
and here, giving the scenery an interesting degree of flappiness.
One of them now alighted on the fence nearby. Elvis fixed it with a look, the canine
equivalent of “and?” followed by a raised eyebrow. It took to the air again, aware that it
wasn’t being paid by the hour.
No, life was pleasant. Elvis lay, basking in the sun (the activity of basking is not restricted
merely to sharks, however many law suits they threaten).
With a final hruf, Elvis turned to lie on his side, and gave the grass a contented snuffle.
Heaven.
How could anybody not enjoy a day like this?
Dave
“Stop the car.”
“Pardon?”
“Stop the car. Turn it around.”
“What? No!”
Dave flicked the gonk on the dashboard, and watched as its eyes pinwheeled round. He
sympathised, and decided to go for broke.
“Take us back and breakfast’s on me. Sausages, bacon, mushrooms…”
“Shut up.”
“…Black pudding, scrambled egg, fried tomato, fried bread. Coffee so strong even the
mug gets all jittery and talkative, followed by…”
“Shutupshutupshutup…”
“Followed by a cigarette and a relaxing half hour scanning the papers, stick a pound on a
horse, a cheeky lunchtime pint or three, pick over the bits of the papers that weren’t
accompanied by pictures, another pint, couple of bags of chips in the middle of town, couple
more pints, then potter back to our respective homes safe in the knowledge of a job well
done. Not done,” he corrected.
Paul rubbed his forehead wearily.
“Shut up.”
“It’ll be fine,” continued Dave, brandishing his mobile, “I’ll call in. Say we both have
leprosy but we’ll be better tomorrow.”
“One more word and I’ll stick this car in the river,” answered Paul, pointing out of the window.
“Promise?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
By now they had reached the school entrance, and drove past the sign proclaiming
“Deadwood School, School of Leaders”. Or would have proclaimed, had someone not
swapped the “L” and “D” around.
They eased to a halt in the space next to the Deputy Head’s car, on the grounds that, faced
with the choice of trashing an elderly Ford or a shiny BMW, Paul’s car would probably be
spared.
The radio was playing soothingly in the background. Dave and Paul sat quietly for a
moment, painfully aware that, any moment now, one of them would switch it off, and they
would have to get out.
Twenty-seven minutes later the radio was silenced. They sat for another few moments.
“Still got that ice scraper?” enquired Dave, politely.
“Glove compartment.”
“Ten pounds if you stab me in the leg with it.”
“Fifteen.”
“Only got ten.”
They climbed out of the car and, heavy-hearted, walked towards the main entrance.
“Mark all your books if you knock a tooth out.”
“Stop it.”
Dave tapped an incisor, grinning weakly.
“No police, no lawyers.”
Paul sighed, and gently took hold of Dave’s nose.
“Do you like having a roof over your head and money in the bank?”
Dave considered this.
“Yeb.”
“Want to scrape a living in some nightmare call centre instead?”
“Nobf.”
“Then get in.”
Dave was allowed to retrieve ownership of his nose, and they walked through the door.
They exchanged the usual pleasantries before heading to their department pods, Dave
Science, Paul English.
“If I don’t make it, tell Janey I love her.”
“No problem,” replied Dave, “And if I go first you get my bike.”
They shook on the deal, then parted.
The Sanity of the Prep Room
Dave walked through the English pod, employing a technique known as selective deafness.
“- y’ get the wire, and stick it in there –”
“- n’ y’ waggle it up –”
“- n’ then there’s a clunk –”
Useful to know if you’ve locked the keys in the car.
He climbed the stairs, circumventing the enormous yet anatomically incorrect paper towel
sculpture, and headed through the double doors, towards the sanity of the prep room.
He was greeted by Alan, the head tech of the department.
“Good morning,” said Alan, with a hint of sarcasm. He was buried up to his elbows in the
aftermath of yesterday’s electricity lessons, and the broken wires snaked around him.
A slice of toast frisbeed through the air towards Dave, propelled by Janet, the second dep
tech. Dave attempted to catch it between his teeth. He brushed the dust off, then took a bite.
The George and Dragon
By lunchtime, Dave knew how the rest of the day would pan out, and had made the
necessary arrangements. It was now three fifteen. It being Friday, Dave would normally stay
for a couple of hours to get Monday sorted out, allowing for a relatively relaxed weekend.
Not today. He had a taxi booked for 3.17, and he’d been quite terse with the tired sounding
woman on the phone about this.
He considered taking the quickest way out of the building but, after a moments thought,
moved away from the window and headed for the stairs instead.
The taxi pulled up at 3.18.
“Heavy traffic?” asked Dave as he climbed in.
“What?”
“Never mind,” said Dave, as he crawled in and grabbed the seat belt.
“Where to then, boss?”
Dave took a second to breathe normally.
“Get me to the George and Dragon in ten minutes and I’ll be extremely grateful.”
“Aaaannnnd, we’re off.” The taxi pulled away.
All Sorts
“I don’t know, in my day…”
Dave closed his eyes and allowed the familiar speech to wash over him. He nodded and
said “mmm” in the right places out of habit and repetition.
“…And after I’d had the cane I realised I’d done wrong and I’d learnt my lesson.”
“mmm.”
“And it never did me any bloody harm!” he screamed, leaning in.
Dave, thankfully with his eyes shut, said “mmm”.
“Still see the red mist occasionally,” he remarked conversationally, “’Part from that, no
bother.”
The driver’s face gradually faded from pink back to its usual grey.
“Bet you’ve seen all sorts, mate. What’ve you seen? All sorts.”
“mmm.”
“All sorts, eh?”
“mmm.”
“Seen it all, then? What’ve y’seen?”
“mmm.”
The driver took a deep breath.
“So, what’ve you seen?”
“mmm. Oh. Sorry. All sorts.”
“That’s right,” said the driver happily, the balance of the universe restored.
They pulled up outside the pub.
“Six pounds twenty mate.”
Dave looked at his watch. 3.26. Not bad.
“Keep the change,” said Dave, slipping his sleeve back over the watch.
“From a tenner? Thanks very much, sir!”
“No problem,” said Dave, already imagining how good the first pint would taste.
“And don’t you let them little buggers give you any…”
Dave watched the taxi pulling away, then stepped into the haven of the Dragon.
“Afternoon Dave,” said Sal as he walked to the bar, “Usual?”
“Several,” said Dave, and offered her a battle-worn smile.