Short Stories Concerning Helen
The Introduction

“Come on Rascal, here boy!” Elijah commanded firmly to his Cocker Spaniel. The manic, ginger dog was bounding around on the lawn, chasing his tail. His sister Levonne yapped sharply at Rascal, scolding him for his foolish behaviour.
“Fwodo, Fwodo!” the 21 year old’s infant nephew screeched as he toddled towards his ‘Uncle Lijie’.
“Ahh, there you are young Dan,” expressed Elijah dotingly. “Come and say bye bye to Rascal and Levvie!” He grasped little Dan’s waist and picked him up, drawing him to his chest. “Our favourite doggies are going to piano lessons!” he informed his nephew.
“Plano!” imitated Dan.
Elijah glanced at his Rolex watch and frowned, then scanned the street with his eyes. “Hmm,” he pondered, “Where did that dog chauffeur get to? I hope I made the right decision calling that firm, I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to my pretties.” Elijah had called a dog chauffeur firm earlier that weed as his driving licence had recently been confiscated on the grounds of reckless, drunken driving.
Suddenly a strange-looking woman appeared at the gate. She was wearing sunglasses, a floral headscarf and dungarees dotted with patches. Round her neck hung a green feather boa.
She flung the gate open flamboyantly and entered the spacious garden, then slammed the gate shut again.
“Rosamunda at your service darlings!” she greeted her new clients. “I am…” she paused for effect, “The new dog chauffeur!” She extended her hand and shook Elijah’s vigorously. “My name’s Helen by the way.”
“But you just said…?” began Elijah with confusion.
“Yeah, Rosamunda’s just a front, I think it sounds more professional. So, you wanna have dinner?”
“But, the dogs…”
“Ah yes, the dogs, of course. Here Rachel, here Ledonne!”
Poor Elijah looked bewildered. “It’s Rascal and Levonne,” he corrected her nervously.
“Oh, sorry!” Helen giggled, rolling her eyes. “Can I have your phone number?”
“What?” Elijah replied sounding rather intimidated.
“The dogs! Of course, the dogs!” Helen began. “In case there’s a problem with the dogs! Not that there will be, of course.”
“Yes,” agreed Elijah. He withdrew a small black wallet and retrieved a calling card, which he handed to her, regarding her cautiously.
“Any, err, any queries?” she faltered, twiddling a strand of hair.
“Well naturally my main concern is the safety and well –being of my dogs,” Elijah confided. “They will be OK, won’t they?”
“Well,” laughed Helen, “I’m sure their dog chauffeur will take care of that.”
Elijah’s jaw dropped. “But I thought you were the…”
“No silly, do I look like a dog chauffeur to you? I’m a plumber!”
“But…”
“Only joking!” she shrieked with mirth. Dan pulled a pet lip and let out a huge howl.
“Shh Dan,” Elijah cooed and rocked his nephew gently.
“Oh look, it’s my friend Roz!” Helen declared, pointing at a traffic warden dressed in the customary uniform with the exception of the fact that she was wearing a short black skirt. She appeared to be talking to a dark-haired man with sideburns and a quiff, who had parked his Alfa Romeo on some double yellow lines. Helen and Elijah could vaguely hear what they were saying from where they were standing.
“But I swear vese double yellow lines weren’t here when I parked ve Tischmobile!” the man stated indignantly. “In fact vey’re still wet. Look at my shoes!” he lifted his right shoe, baring its yellow underside.
“I’m sorry sir, I’m afraid we’re going to have to tow your car away,” Roz informed him.
“Oh no, not again! For ve love of…”
“Magnesium,” Roz prompted him.
“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“…Used to teach you…you used to fancy me…didn’t know ve formula…”
Their voices became incoherent as a helicopter descended, with what looked like giant tongs attached to it. Slowly it picked up the big blue car and carried it into the distance.
“Oh dear, I was relying on that car to escort your dogs,” Helen confessed bluntly.
“Here, take the Frodomobile,” Elijah offered generously, and handed Helen his car keys. “And please Miss, erm…”
“Bottomley. Do call me Helen. Or Pie. Whichever you prefer really. Feel free to call me Little Thomikins if you wish…” She trailed off and flashed him a smile.
“Yes, quite. Erm, yes Helen, please take care of my darlings.”
“Oh, I will, I will,” she assured him. “Oh God, that sounded rather sinister didn’t it. Let me say that again. Ahem! Oh, I will, I will. I mean I will! I will take care of them. I’ll guard them with my life, I promise!”
“Yes, very good. Well if you’ll excuse me, Dan and I have a date with a stuffed little gnome.”
“Gnome! Gnome!” yelped Dan.
“By that of course I mean this,” he clarified, picking up Dan’s favourite toy from the grass. “The toys are having a picnic, aren’t they Dan>”
“Gnome!” Dan repeated.
Helen went to round up the dogs whilst Elijah set up the toy’s tea set.
“And by the way,” Elijah called to Helen as she was strapping Rascal and Levonne into their seats. “I’ll mention you to the director, he’s looking for someone just like you to play my girlfriend.”
“Th…th…thank you!” Helen stuttered with shock. She climbed in the driver’s seat and drove off down the road, past the poor, car-less man who was now sitting against a wall and staring listlessly into the gutter. His name was Andrew Francis Molloy.







The Reunion

The Reunion began early, and the first to arrive were weather girls the Panda and her Oompah Loompah friend (otherwise known as “Eyeliner” and “Foundation”). They minced over to the drinks stall and asked, rather rudely, for diet coke.
“Oh my God, what gooks,” the Panda commented as some more people arrived. “Laura, who’s the biggest gook outta them lot?”
“Oh my God,” stated the Oompah Loompah, ignoring her ‘friend’. “Look at her hair, it’s so mingin’.”
“Oh my God, what a freak.”
Suddenly, Doctoress Deborah Penfold sauntered in. She was wearing a twin-set and pearls, and her shiny black hair was fixed into a tight knot at the back of her head, supported by hairpins. Her lip was painted with glamorous red lipstick, and on her right shoulder hung a classy Gucci leather handbag. She glanced around for familiar faces, and promptly decided to catch up with M the Goat and N.
“Hi!” she greeted them as she approached them. “It must be rather strange for you two to meet up again after all these years.”
“Actually, we got married,” N explained, holding up her left hand.
“Congratulations, that’s marvellous!” Doctoress Deborah enthused. “Do you still have that hoodie Marcus?”
“Yeah,” the Goat replied in a monotone. “The kids use it to dress up as the Grim Reaper.”
“By the way,” expressed Deborah in more hushed tones, trying to sound nonchalant, “Do you know if, err, ahem! If Ben and Claire got married?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen them,” replied N, slightly suspiciously. Incidentally, Ben walked in several seconds later wearing a lab coat.
“I came straight from work you see,” Deborah overheard him say to an old friend. “We were in the middle of a breakthrough, I simply didn’t have time to go home and change.”
Deborah briefly contemplated going over to say hello, but decided against it as she was suddenly overcome with shyness. “Shame that devil Molloy isn’t here,” Ben continued. “I finally thought of a retaliation for the time he called me an oozle.”
“Don’t worry darlings, Rosamunda’s here!” Ginger Helly expressed outrageously as she entered the room. She wore a green velvet dress and her hair had been dyed a deep, rich red.
“I see you ditched the daemon,” she remarked as she passed Scientist Ben.
“Helly!” Doctoress Deborah enthused. “How are you? Did you become a psychologist?”
“I’m doing a PhD at the moment,” explained Helen. “But I got my psychology degree, and I’m currently working as a dog chauffeur. It’s fabulous darling, one cannot comprehend the vast number of celebrities one can meet in the space of a year.”
“And what happened to Claire, did she become an actress?”
“Last I heard she was living on a barge with Mr Wilkinson.”
A petite woman dressed in a light blue flowing skirt walked in. The Panda nudged her ‘friend’ and commented, “Oh my God, that’s the girl that got caught knockin’.”
“Oh my God, what a gook.”
The woman was closely followed by ‘Thom’, who had admired her since year eleven.
“Hey, it’s Rukaya!” exclaimed Helen. “Oh, and ‘Thom’’s with her.” She shuddered as the infamous Ella Fitzgerald song began to haunt her mind.
“Hi!” Rukaya greeted her old school friends. “Do you all be ai?”
“I be ai,” said Helen.
“And I be ai too my dear penguin,” Deborah informed her.
“So what do you do Rukaya?” Helen inquired.
“I do be a graphics designer,” she stated, nodding her head. “I work opposite the place Thom works, we meet up for lunch every day.” Helen disappeared to find a brick wall to bang her head against.
“So where do you work Thom?” Deborah asked politely.
“Brunswick Warehouse,” he replied. “I sell coats.”
Suddenly Angela walked in. She was wearing PVC knee boots, black stockings and suspenders, a microscopic skirt and a low cut top that displayed her navel. Her hair was short and spiked.
“Gellie!” Helen and Rukaya enthused simultaneously.
“ROBBIE!” she replied. “Ooh, I saw Dr Robinson outside, he was hanging around by the girls’ toilets. He didn’t recognise me, I’m so offended!”
“Hey, I wonder what happened to Roz,” Helen pondered. “Is she coming?”
“Knowing her she’s probably lurking outside LHeaven,” Deborah commented, recalling with amusement Roz’s former obsession.
“Actually, she quit her job as a traffic warden in America and she’s currently touring with her Celtic rock band,” Rukaya informed them.
The five old school friends wandered over to the buffet and picked up paper plates. In front of them was the Turtle Formerly Known As Cheese, helping himself to pizza. He appeared to be wearing a slick Armani suit and tie, and his curly hair was swept back with gel. However, his eyebrow and upper ear were still pierced.
“Yo Turtle, respect man!” Rukaya ventured boldly. She extended her knuckle expectantly. The Turtle smiled shyly and hung his head. “Hi Rukaya,” he answered.
“Oh magnesium, are you alright?” she questioned him worriedly, raising an eyebrow. “What happened to the Cheese Charm?” He coughed anxiously and helped himself to a large slice of gateau.
“I, err, I’m a chartered accountant,” he whispered, and cleared his throat. The queue fell silent, and the Turtle turned to face his peers. “Yes, that’s right everyone,” he confirmed. “The former alternative electric guitar-playing skateboarder, the coolest Mosher in year nine, who everybody thought would become a rock star, is now…” he lifted his head and unshed tears were glistening in his eyes. “A chartered accountant,” he concluded.
“But it wasn’t by choice, oh God no. It was my only chance of a job, my only chance!” He scrunched up a paper napkin with his fist, and flung it into the fruit salad. “I hoped to find other work, better work, eventually. But I never did! And I’m STILL! WORKING! AS! A! CHARTERED! ACCOUNTANT!” The broken turtle flung himself onto his knees and wept bitterly. “I was a big cheese,” he sobbed. “I was a huge cheese! And now I’m nothing. Look at this suit, it’s not even mine!”
“Oops, I think I touched a nerve,” Rukaya stated regretfully.
“Nah, I think his filament got too hot,” Helen decided.
“Or maybe he lost his shell,” suggested Doctoress Deborah.
“I need a psychologist,” he wailed.
“I’m a psychologist!” expressed Helen. She produced an emergency pair of half-moon glasses from her handbag, placed them half way down her nose and peered over them at the distraught Ian. Finding a chair she sat down and clasped her hands together. “Now sir, what seems to be the problem?” she inquired professionally.
The rest of the group left her to help Ian, and found a table. “Hey, wouldn’t it be interesting to see all our old teachers again,” Deborah speculated. “I wonder if Charlie’s still here, and Mrs Coulter?”
“I don’t know, but it’s probably safe to say the Golden Monkey Daemon’s gone back to Germany,” Rukaya commented. “Unless he decided to stick around for another ten years…magnesium chloride and hydrogen, is that Ruth?” exclaimed Rukaya. She was looking at a woman wearing a silver sequin dress, with glitter in her hair. A tall man wearing an olive green tank top and a red bow tie was on her arm.
“Yeah, she works for a female escort agency,” Gellie explained.
“And is that…”
“Mr Whippy,” Gellie confirmed. The others nodded gravely.
“Looks like Malfoy’s here too,” Rukaya observed. A skinny man in sunglasses and a suit, with blonde hair swept back and a stony look in his eye, strode over to Ruth and Whippy.
“Excuse me,” he began importantly, prodding Whippy on the arm, “I am of the Reunion Police, and I instruct you to leave immediately.” Ruth and Whippy were stunned.
“On what grounds?” Whippy inquired, gob-smacked.
“On the grounds, sir, that your name isn’t on this register, and I most certainly do not recall you attending my, sorry, I mean this school.” His eyes narrowed with hostility. Whippy lowered his gaze and left in shame. Malfoy smiled smugly.
Another familiar figure appeared at Helen’s side, as she wandered over to her friends’ table after comforting the distraught turtle as much as she could.
“Fish!” she exclaimed. The heavily pregnant Elaine greeted her friends with the customary “Moining penguins!”
“Congratulations!” the Doctoress enthused over Elaine’s condition. “When’s it due?”
“Two weeks,” said Elaine. “And Claire’s not speaking to me because Orlando Bloom is my midhusband.”
“Oh, so you’re still in touch with Claire these days?” inquired Deborah. “What’s she doing lately? Is she OK?”
“Well, you know, the whole barge thing didn’t work out for her, I told her it wouldn’t but she didn’t listen. Basically she’s changed a lot, her hair’s gone back to its natural colour and she’s down to a size six, it doesn’t suit her.”
There was a short pause.
“So, how’s Lucy?” Rukaya strategically inquired.
“She was arrested last week for sellotaping Mr Molloy inside a phone box and sticking a sign on the door that said, ‘Molloy Meister - £27 a ride.’ It was hilarious!”
“Ruth wandered over to greet the group, looking exasperated. “I can’t believe they threw my boyfriend out,” she fumed.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing personal,” Gellie explained. “Malfoy’s hated ice cream since some got chucked at his loins by Trendy Edward at the Sixth Form Ball.”
“I wonder what happened to Edward?”
“Oh, he was at my college,” informed Elaine. “He burst out of the closet in the first year and started hanging round with a security guard called Jules.”
“Ahem!” Helen coughed, and avoided ‘Thom’’s gaze.
“Ooh, did anyone see that Western?” asked Elaine. Helen blushed deeply. Suddenly she heard the drum rhythm from the infamous song, and darted off in fright. She didn’t realise it was Roz drumming on the table behind them.
“I give you my greetings, my dear penguins!” Roz expressed as she approached them. She was wearing a warrior’s outfit, and had grass in her hair and a joint behind her ear. “I wasn’t gonna come but there was a rumour Molloy was coming and I wanted to slap him for asking me the chemical formula for water.”
“Actually, I started that rumour,” Rukaya confessed. “I wanted you to come so you could see that Thom isn’t really an evil fuckwit and he doesn’t hate you, do you Thomikins?” Rukaya smiled sweetly at the monosyllabic red haired man in a padded teal coat which looked about ten years old.
“Yeah, whatever,” Thom grunted unenthusiastically.
“Now say, ‘I don’t hate you Roz’,” Rukaya instructed him firmly. Thom rolled his eyes.
“I don’t hate you Roz,” he repeated.
“Thank you ‘Thom’, I truly admire the way you phrased that,” Roz replied sarcastically. “I really felt it came straight from the heart.”
“There, that settled things,” Rukaya concluded presently.
“Ooh look, there’s the Turtle Formerly Known As Cheese!” Roz exclaimed. “I’m gonna go and say hi.”
“Err, he’s a bit touchy…” began Doctoress Deborah, attempting to discourage her.
“Oh, isn’t he always,” Roz dismissed. She approached the Turtle. “Hi Ian,” she greeted him politely. A sad look appeared in his eye.
“You’re the only person who’s said that to me this evening,” he responded with emotion. “It’s been ‘Yo Cheese’ this and ‘Respect Ian’ that, I just can’t take all these reminders of the life I used to lead.”
“You mean you’re not a stoner anymore?”
“Nope.”
“But surely you still skateboard?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t tell me you gave up the guitar?”
“You need personality to play guitars. I lost mine.”
“Oh dear. What went wrong?”
“I became a chartered accountant.”
“I see.”
“You see, I’m a failure.”
“No, I’m the bigger failure,” a man called Richard with iron filings hair shouted across the room as he sat at a small table signing copies of his latest book entitled ‘How To Fail – An Oasis of Happiness in a Desert of Despair’.
“So you traded your skateboard in for a calculator,” Roz stated. “That’s not the end of the world, I mean to be honest we all thought the skateboarding thing was a bit lame. But all girls admire a mathematician. Just grow yourself some designer stubble, get glasses and try to look absent-minded, and you’ll have Turtlesses falling at your flippers.”
Meanwhile, Rah Rah Rick walked in with her friend Evil Lisa Bitch, the biggest gossip of year 11 2002.
“Look at Deborah,” Lisa commented snidely to Rick. “I bet she’s right posh now with her la di da PhD and her rah rah rah job and her cha cha cha suit.
“Oh, la da,” responded Rick agreeably.
“Hey, I wonder where that common slapper Roz is?” Lisa wondered aloud. “She was always so la da, always trying to be po-sh with her la di da accent and her rah rah rah grade 5 flute.” She said this with great bitterness and mockery.
“Look, there they are,” observed Rick, pointing at Roz and Deborah’s table.
“Hi Deborah, hi Roz!” Lisa greeted them with politeness and enthusiasm. “How are you?”
“I’m a doctor,” stated Deborah, seeing through Lisa’s act.
“And I play in a band,” Roz expressed. “A rock band.”
“So Lisa, did you become a marine biologist?” inquired Rukaya. Evil Lisa Bitch’s face fell.
“Actually, I changed my mind about that particular career path,” she retorted defiantly. “I changed my course part way through university.”
“Really, what to?” asked Helen.
“Health and beauty studies,” she stated proudly. “I am a beautician.”
“Good for you,” patronised Doctoress D. The others gazed at the table and smiled faintly.
“Isn’t Skirty a marine biologist?” commented Rick. Lisa glowered at her threateningly.
“Really?” Helen, Deborah, Roz and Rukaya exclaimed simultaneously.
“Yeah,” clarified Rick. “When Lisa dropped out there was a spare place and she….”
“Rachel, you gossip!” Evil Lisa Bitch whinged, and disappeared to talk to N and M the Goat about how la di da she perceived Deborah to be.
“Hi girls!” Skirty greeted the group. “Guess what?”
“You gave Tom a blow job and you think you might be pregnant?” Roz suggested.
“No silly, I broke up with him weeks ago! Guess again!”
“You’re entering the Eurovision Song Contest with your own adapted version of Part of That World from The Little Mermaid?” contributed Helen.
“Oh! What a good idea! But no, that wasn’t it. Guess again!”
Deborah gained their attention by raising her hand. “Don’t tell me..…You’re getting your hair cut?” she deduced.
“Oh! Actually, I am! How did you know? But it wasn’t that…”
“So…?” prompted Rukaya.
“Well…” she paused for effect, twisting some pink fluff on her sleeve. “I know stuff about fish!” she announced enthusiastically. “And turtles, and dolphins, and octopi! Oh!”
“Where’s your table Kirsty?” Elaine hinted subtly.
“Oh, I left it,” she replied dismissively. “It was getting like a jungle with all the flowers, I have a secret admirer you see.” She idly fluttered her eyelashes and twiddled a strand of peroxide blonde hair.
A sex-crazed old man with curly grey hair materialised in the doorway. He was wearing a bright yellow shirt and with large sweat patches at the armpits, and navy blue cords with a green bum-bag attached to them.
Helen frowned thoughtfully. “Hey Gellie,” she began, “Isn’t that Dr Rob?”
Angela’s head jolted upwards by reflex. “ROBBIE!” she shrieked, and strolled seductively towards the door to flirt with her ex biology teacher.
Roz was clutching a glass of punch when it happened, Helen was leaning over Thom trying to fix his camera, Doctoress Deborah was educating Elaine on childbirth, Rukaya was making a paper aeroplane with a serviette ready to throw at M the Goat’s head, and Gellie, of course, was flirting outrageously with Robbie.
The lights went out, and the room full of 28 year olds was subjected to pitch-blackness. There were low murmurs amongst the crowd, and the occasional scream could be heard as one person tripped over another’s feet and punch was spilt. Suddenly the stage was filled with a dim, yellow light, and the curtains were opened. A drum roll commenced, faintly at first, and grew louder. A voice recognisable to Helen, Roz and Rukaya as that of Evil Sophia Bitch, announced importantly:
“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Please give it up for! Mr! ANDY MOLLOY!” A song by the band named Semisonic began to play at full blast:
‘Oh, all about chemistry
Won’t you show me everything you’ve learnt?
I’ll memorise everything you do to me
So I can teach it when it comes my turn.’
A large screen at the back of the stage began to display motion clips of rotating test tubes and blue, frothy liquid bubbling furiously, and people began to clap heartily. A thirty nine year old man with black hair (which was blatantly grey at the roots) strolled confidently onto the stage. He was wearing a black Next suit with a purple shirt, and round, owl-like glasses.
“A’ight!” he greeted his ex students. There was more clapping, and a small amount of cheering. “Fank you people, fank you,” he responded egotistically, hinting for silence. “Hush now children,” he continued. The hall achieved perfect silence in a matter of seconds.
“Now, I’m here for several reasons,” Molloy explained. His tone was still as patronising as it had been when he was considered their superior. “One of vose reasons is to test you all to see how much chemistry you remember. Awww!” His eyes bulged and he cocked his head to one side. “A’ight. Roz.”
“Yeah?” the former introvert replied nonchalantly as she glanced up from her punch.
“Is vat a joint behind your ear?” Molloy inquired with interest.
“Yep,” she confirmed.
“I’ll see you afterwards, you naughty girl. Now, what’s ve chemical formula for water?”
“H2O,” Roz responded automatically, rolling her eyes.
“Superb,” he praised her sardonically. “Ben. Metal plus acid.”
Ben laughed coldly. “Mr Molloy, do you realise I’m a research scientist at the RSC?” Molloy raised an eyebrow.
“Good for you Ben.”
“And that I have a first class honour degree in chemistry?”
“Well done.”
“I also attended Oxford.”
“Looks like we’re about equal then.”
“Mr Molloy, I can guarantee you that I know more about chemistry than you do.”
The ashamed chemistry teacher gritted his teeth in fury. “Just. Answer. The. Question,” he hissed.
“Salt and hydrogen,” Ben replied with self-satisfaction. “Oh yeah, and I almost forgot. Remember the time you called me an oozle?” Molloy’s eyes were focused on the stage floor.
“Vaguely,” he admitted. “Ben climbed up onto the stage.
“Well, call me it again,” demanded Scientist Ben.
“Very well child,” consented Molloy. “Ben, I do believe vat you are an oozle.”
“Mwa ha haa,” Ben cackled, and swiftly abducted Molloy’s glasses.
“Oi!” Molloy yelled as loudly as he could, consequently deafening the whole hall. “Give vem back you insolent child!”
Suddenly, Scientist Ben burst into song:
“My eyes are dim, I cannot see
I have not brought my specs with me
I can no longer teach you chemistry.”

A tear trickled down the demoralised teacher’s stubbly cheek, and he wiped it away angrily with the back of his hand. For once in his life he could think of nothing to say.
“Ahh, revenge is sweet,” revelled Ben contentedly. Molloy left the stage and went to sit on the steps by the front of school so he could weep in privacy. When he arrived, Roz was already sitting there lighting up the famous joint.
“Ahh, there you are sir,” she greeted him expectantly. “I figured you’d come here, and that you’d want some of this stuff. Here, have a drag.” She passed him the long, expertly rolled joint.
“Fanks Roz, vis is grand” he expressed gratefully. “I just couldn’t stand it in vere any longer, wiv Ben humiliating me like vat. I mean was I really vat evil to him back ven?”
“Well yeah,” Roz admitted. “But he deserved it, he was a cheeky sod.”
While Roz and Molloy were getting stoned together, Ben had taken over Molloy’s role of stand-up comedian. He was wearing Molloy’s glasses and had managed to satirically impersonate his ex chemistry teacher rather well.
“Now remember boys and girls,” he imitated, putting on a Mancunian accent, “I am Mr Molloy and I AM GOD!” A tart in the audience lit a cigarette. “Are you smoking, young one?” Ben mimicked. “Vat’s ver-ry naughty, you’re too young to smoke! Detention!”
“Don’t forget Sports Day,” Doctoress Deborah reminded him from the front row.
“Oh yeah,” recalled Ben. “YEAH, COME ON WOOLER! YOU ARE MY LIFE! IF YOU LOSE I’LL GIVE UP SMOKING!” He began to jump up and down, waving his arms about. “Now I’m just going to take vis picture of me and put it on my pin-board in LHeaven so all ve females can see it. But I’ll put ve test tubes next to it as a reminder vat vey’re here to study chemistry, not me.” Ben made his eyes bulge and attempted to raise an eyebrow.
At that moment Roz and Andy stumbled in together, linking arms. Their eyes were bloodshot. All eyes turned to them. It was notable that Andy had stuck yellow straws in his hair, and Roz was wearing a mass of silly, prissy little bobbles.
“Hi, I’m Ben and this is Claire my daemon,” Andy announced. There was immediate applause and someone threw a tomato at Ben. Andy had won them back.





*****

“How are we this evening then ladies?” the stout, ginger-haired extrovert class clown of 2002 inquired boisterously to the table of people which consisted of Roz, Deborah, Helen, Rukaya, Elaine, Thom, Ruth, Gellie and Rah Rah Rick.
“We do be ai,” several of them chorused.
“Nice to see you,” the jocular prick commented.
“To see you nice,” Roz replied. Helen, Rick and Rukaya smirked as they recalled the old joke involving Bruce Forsyth and a certain ‘Fat Prick’.
At the other side of the hall, Molloy and Ben had made a temporary truce and were talking about Ben’s break-up with the Mouse Daemon. Ben was knocking back sherry while Molloy was gulping Guinness; both men were slouched in their chairs and Andy had unbuttoned his shirt half way.
“And then she said to me, ‘Ben, I can’t marry you. I don’t want to spend my whole life with just one person’.” He bit his lip and gazed at the table. Molloy involuntarily replied, “Good on ‘er. I wouldn’t want to spend my life wiv you eiver.”
“Ben glared at Molloy loathingly. “Bet I know more chemistry than you,” he stated.
“We’ll have to see ven won’t we?” Molloy replied. “I have an idea. Get a pen and some paper.”
“OK,” agreed Ben suspiciously. “Hey Deborah, can I borrow that pen?” he asked the Doctoress as she walked past their table.
“Certainly,” she said as she handed him a heavy, silver fountain pen.
Meanwhile, another latecomer arrived. She had dark blonde hair and was extremely slim. She was wearing dungarees and clumpy black boots, and on her arm was a tall man with golden spiked hair and a rather protruding chin.
“Claire!” exclaimed Elaine. “What’s he doing here? You said you’d finished with him!”
“I only said that ‘cause you didn’t approve of him,” explained Claire calmly. “But now I don’t care who knows. I love this man, and I’m going to marry him regardless of that you think Elaine, and regardless of his monthly tendencies to sprout excessive body hair and bite people.”
“He looks rather familiar,” Roz whispered to Rukaya. “Do we know him?”
“Would the words ‘what’ and ‘where’ jog your memory?” replied Rukaya. Everyone stared at Claire and Jonathan in amazement.
“Wolf!” exclaimed Roz, as she realised who Claire’s fiancé was.
Doctoress Deborah strolled over to the arguing scientists. “Can I have my pen back now please?” she asked Ben, smiling sweetly.
“Just give me two more minutes,” Ben relied. “Me and Andy are writing down everything we know about the formation of diamond. When we’ve finished we’ll compare notes, then we’ll see who knows more about chemistry! Mwa ha haa!” An evil glint appeared in his eyes. Doctoress D. bit her lip to prevent herself from giggling.
“I have every faith in you,” she whispered. He smiled handsomely.
“Hey!” Molloy complained. “I was nice to you in chemistry. Why did you take his side?”
“I think, dear Andy,” Deborah began, “That we’re forgetting the little incident of Mater and Pater and crumpets by the fire?”
“Oh yeah,” Molloy recalled guiltily. “I’m sorry I insulted your family vat time, but I was stoned you see. I didn’t mean it really.”
“Yes, I’m sure you didn’t. Right, I’ll leave you two alone now. May the best man win.” She winked at Scientist Ben. His lips curved into a secretive smile and the Doctoress returned to her friends.
“What was that about?” Roz inquired, narrowing her eyes. Deborah was staring into space with a dazed look on her face.
“Deborah!” Roz yelled.
“Oh, sorry,” said Deborah as she returned to reality. “Ben and Mr Molloy are arguing over who knows more about chemistry.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” replied Roz. “Andy knows way more chemistry than Ben.”
Deborah frowned. “But Ben’s a research scientist and Andy’s just a lowly teacher! How on earth did you work that one out?”
“Andy provided the base of Ben’s knowledge!”
“But Ben has a first class honour degree!”
“How do you know Andy doesn’t?”
“Oh come on, do you think an alcoholic like him could get a first at Oxford? And even if he did, he wouldn’t be working here.”
“He’s not an alcoholic, he’s just fond of a drink every now and then, that’s all,” Roz retaliated expressively. “Anyway, haven’t you noticed the minor fact that Ben’s been downing sherry like there’s no tomorrow?”
“I believe,” Deborah began importantly, “That poor Ben is still recovering from the shock of his break-up with the Mouse Daemon. Nine years ago.”
“Deborah, you’re talking magnesium. Anyway, he’s been eyeing you up all evening.”
“Ooh, really?”
“Yeah!”
There was a crash at the other end of the hall as Molloy pushed a table over. “FOR THE SODDING LOVE OF MAGNESIUM!” he bawled at Ben. “I’M ELEVEN YEARS OLDER THAN YOU! I KNOW MORE CHEMISTRY THAN YOU DO!”
Ben flushed a deep crimson colour, stood up and threw his chair to one side. He positioned himself so he was facing Molloy directly, with his legs slightly parted. “Exactly how many years did you spend at Oxford?” Ben questioned him snidely. Molloy peered down his nose at Ben with pride. “Four years,” he stated confidently.
“Ha! Beat you!” sneered Ben arrogantly. “I was at Oxford for five years.”
Suddenly, Molloy could take no more. Ben had driven him over the edge. He lashed out with his fist and punched him in the face. Doctoress Deborah grabbed Ben round the waist and hauled him back before he had the chance to get revenge. Roz did the same to Molloy to prevent him from causing Ben any further harm.
“Come on now Ben, calm down,” Deborah murmured soothingly. “He’s not worth it, the egotistical sod.”
“But Ben started it!” Roz pointed out. “And don’t call Andy egotistical, you’ll hurt his feelings.”
“I think you’ll find Andy was the one who punched Ben,” retaliated Deborah. “He started it.”
“He wouldn’t have resorted to violence if Ben hadn’t provoked him,” argued Roz. “Ben played on poor Andy’s weak points until he could take it no more!”
“Fanks Roz,” said Andy as he began to breathe normally again. “I’d have really gone for him if you hadn’t stopped me.” He gave her a hug.
“I believe that your knowledge of chemistry is far greater than his,” she muttered confidentially. Roz could feel his appreciation as they embraced.
“Don’t worry now Ben, it’s all over,” Deborah assured the injured scientist.
“He just makes me so angry!” Ben snarled through gritted teeth. A thoughtful look appeared on Deborah’s face.
“I know a great way to relieve anger and tension,” she stated. “Aerobics! Follow me everyone!” She led a small group of people, including Ben, into G5 where she began to teach an aerobics lesson to the song ‘It’s Raining Men’.
Meanwhile, Rukaya was designing a paper aeroplane with the power to knock people out.
“Whatcha doing Rukaya?” asked Ruth, peering over her shoulder.
I do be making a paper aeroplane,” she explained. “But it needs a runway. Thom, could you make me a runway please?”
“Sure,” the Fox grunted, and disappeared down the corridor to the gym to fetch some crash mats.
“Excellent,” marvelled Rukaya on his return. “My creation is complete!” She held up the aeroplane for all to see, and there was much appreciative clapping. Rukaya bounced off the walls in excitement, yelping with glee, as Thom began to assemble the mats in a line.
Suddenly, after a very enthusiastic wall bounce, Rukaya flung her arms up in the air, accidentally letting go of the plane. It sailed swiftly over to M the Goat and hit him on the head. His eyes rolled around in their sockets and he collapsed backwards into the punchbowl.
“Dear God!” exclaimed Claire. “Won’t somebody please think of the children?”
“”Erm, Claire, there are no children here,” Helen reminded her.
“Oh yeah,” Claire replied, blushing deeply and sinking into a chair. Jonathan placed a hairy hand on her shoulder and she smiled at him lovingly.
“I think there might be by the end of the evening,” expressed Elaine, her face wrinkling in pain.
“Oh, good God, the contractions have started!” Claire exclaimed in panic. “Are you alright Elaine?”
“I think so,” replied Elaine, wincing.
“Just remember what Orlando Bloom told you. Take big, deep breaths, and don’t hyperventilate ‘cause my mum knew this woman who passed out and…”
“That will be all Claire,” stated Deborah firmly. “You may go now, I will take over.”
“I thought you were teaching aerobics,” retaliated Claire.
“I was, but then I heard Elaine needed medical attention so I came to her aid.”
“I’m sorry Deborah, we don’t need you,” conceded Claire. “Elaine’s my friend, and I’m going to deliver her baby.”
“You bloody well will not!” affirmed the pregnant Fish. “I need Orlando Bloom and I need him now!”
“Elaine, I’ve never seen you like this!” declared Claire.
“Pardon me for being rude Elaine,” began Deborah inquisitively, “But if you don’t mind me asking, who’s the…”
“I THINK YOU SHOULD GET OUT THE HALL!” a man bellowed as he crashed through the doors of G8.
“GET OUT THE HALL!” shouted Helen co-operatively.
“Orlando!” shrieked Elaine, who was now lying across a two chairs and clutching her swollen abdomen. “You’ve come!”
“Yes, I have come,” he announced dramatically. “I sensed you were in trouble Elaine, and so I came to your side.” He produced a pocket mirror and briefly checked his hair, smoothing it with his hand. “I’m going to deliver Elaine’s baby now,” he announced to the reunion guests.
“That means get out the hall,” translated Helen.
“You heard the woman, shoo, shoo!” He made dismissive arm gestures at the guests.
“Like I was saying before,” continued Deborah, “Who is the…”
“Deborah, can I sit next to Elaine now?” requested Claire. “I was the one who went to all the anti-natal classes, remember?”
“Certainly, how rude of me,” responded Deborah sarcastically. “Honestly,” she remarked discreetly to Helen, “The way she’s carrying on you’d think she was the father!”
“By the way Elaine, who is the...” began Helen, and was cut off by Orlando.
“Nice big, deep breaths Elaine, that’s it! Now push! Well done! You ‘re doing fine.” Tears of frustration were streaming down Elaine’s cheeks, while people diffused out of the hall through both doors.
“For the love of magnesium Elaine, who’s the father?” demanded Molloy bluntly, materialising behind the distressed mother-to-be.
“Well it’s not you, that’s for certain,” she replied haughtily. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last teacher on earth.”
“Why not?” inquired Molloy, sounding offended. “What’s wrong with me?" Is it my grey hair? Is it my suit, or perhaps my shoes?” Roz squeezed his hand comfortingly, and he smiled with his eyes.
“Elaine, do you know who the father is?” asked Deborah inquisitively with much impatience. “We’re all dying of curiosity here!”
“Owww!” grimaced Elaine. “I think I’m having another contraction.”
“Elaine, that was fake and you know it!” Claire accused her. “Now tell them who the father is.”
“You mean you know?” ejaculated Helen.
“Of course I know!” replied Claire. “I was the one who bought her the pregnancy test!”
“OK,” agreed Elaine reluctantly.
“You don’t have to tell them you know, it’s your choice,” Orlando reminded her gravely.
“No,” decided Elaine.” They have a right to know that the father of my child is…”
“”Her long-term boyfriend of three years,” announced a new guest.
“Phill! You came!” enthused Elaine with relief. “I thought you were going to miss the birth of our first child, I was so distraught!”
“Well I’m here now,” Phill reminded her placidly. “Sorry I was so late, I was buying weed. Does anyone need a fivers’ worth? I have a large supply in my car and I’m willing to share.”
“We’ll make arrangements after the birth,” Roz murmured inconspicuously.
Meanwhile, Molloy was swaying back and forth clicking his fingers. “Hey sister, go sister, go sister, go sister,” he sang quietly to himself.
“Andy, this is hardly the time or the place,” scrutinised Doctoress Deborah disapprovingly.
“What was vat?” enquired the baritone Mancunian as he removed an earphone. “Sor-ry, I was listening to ve Moulin Rouge soundtrack. Have you seen it? It’s a ver-ry good film. Absolutely marvellous.”
“I’ve seen it!” remarked Scientist Ben as he meandered over, looking rather squiffy.
“You’re squiffy!” exclaimed Rick at the dazed man in a lab coat.
“I am not!” he replied, in a manner which would indicate otherwise. “Anyway, I came to apologise to you Andy,” he stuttered, gesticulating clumsily at the smooth teacher. “I was very, very wrong to say I knew more about chemistry than you, and I must say I’m truly sorry. I hope one day you might forgive me.”
“Fanks Ben!” replied Molloy, sounding elated.
“That was very noble of you Ben,” Deborah praised him with admiration, and gently dabbed at the sherry stains on his coat with a pristine, crisp, starched white handkerchief.
“I always respected you Andy,” Ben continued emphatically. “You were my favourite teacher all the way through grammar school!” He reached his arms out to hug Molloy, whilst the Nirvana fan stepped back in alarm.
“I fink perhaps you’ve had too much to drink child,” commented Molloy with mock concern. “Go home now, go home to your daemon…ahem! Sor-ry, I mean empty bed.”
“How dare you, you arrogant, insolent, supercilious man!” retaliated Deborah, stepping in to defend the semi-conscious Ben. “This gallant, admirable man took the liberty of apologising to you! He knew he’d made a mistake and he stepped down from his high horse to make amends. His was an act of great courage, and I’m proud to have witnessed it!”
“Damn proud!” reciprocated Helen in the background.
“I think we can all learn something from dear Ben tonight,” Deborah concluded.
“Yeah, never get sozzled around people who hate you,” contributed Phill Da Physh. “It’s a good thing Ben won’t be seeing Andy tomorrow, or he’d never live it down.”
“Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir,” Roz and Molloy pelted expressively, dancing flamboyantly in synchronisation.
“Is this a rhetorical question?” speculated Helen.
“I think they’re asking each other,” Claire explained grimly. “They’ve been flirting outrageously with each other all evening.”
The moon appeared from behind a cloud. “Ow-ooh!” Jonathan howled, and began to break out in think body hair and grow sharp fangs.
“I thought you’d taken Andy’s potion tonight!” shrieked Claire at him in distress and frustration. “You said your ‘problem’ was under control, you LIAR!” She began to hit him with a copy of Richard’s bestseller. “Now you’ve embarrassed me in front of all my friends, you bastard!”
“Ow-ow!” was Jonathan’s response, and he fled the room in fear of Claire’s wrath.
“So how are you doing Elaine?” enquired Claire with disturbing serenity. Elaine regarded her with concern.
“I’m fine Claire, but how are you?” she replied. “I never knew you suffered from schizophrenia.”
“My girlfriend said I was a schizophrenic,” Ben remarked glumly. “And then she broke up with me. Oh God, the pain! The emotional pain!” He collapsed into a fit of hysteria at Deborah’s feet, and she knelt down and held him firmly in her arms, rocking him soothingly back and forth.
“I fink it’s disgusting ve way some people misuse alcohol,” commented Molloy distastefully to Roz, giving Ben an appalled look. “He’s just taken it too far. Look at him; he’s out of control. I don’t see how people can treat veir bodies in vat way, what’s ve attraction of it? He’ll kill himself if he carries on.” The egotistical sod lit a king-size cigarette and inhaled hungrily. “Mmm, vat’s good,” he expressed. “I can just see him hammered off his face after closing time,” he continued. “I bet he spends most nights crashed out on a park bench, when he doesn’t get moved on by ve police vat is.”
“Disgraceful,” Roz agreed, lighting another joint. Phyll Da Physh temporarily left Elaine’s side to share in the joy of stoning.
“Push harder Elaine, push harder!” Orlando instructed encouragingly. “It’s coming! I can see its head!”
“Phill, I need you!” shouted Elaine, and the stoner came rushing back to her side.
“It’s a boy!” Orlando announced presently. He flung off his shirt and wrapped it round the new baby, then handed him the Elaine.
“Oh Phill, he looks just like you!” expressed Elaine joyfully.
“Awww!” everyone chorused.
“What are you going to call him Elaine?” asked Deborah, whose tear-stained face showed she was touched by the small miracle.
“Call him Andy II – Return Of Andy,” Molloy suggested. “Or Andy Incarnate!”
“How about Craig?” Roz suggested. “It’s a nice, Scottish name.”
“Call him Legolas,” Claire suggested. “Like from Lord of the Rings.”
“I think it’s only fair the baby should be named after me,” Orlando agreed. “I did deliver him after all. Therefore I second that idea, and I compliment you on the brilliance of it Claire.” Claire blushed and giggled.
“What do you think Pie?” Deborah asked Helen, who was sobbing heartily.
“It’s so beautiful!” she wailed. “Call him Frodo, please, it’s only right! Dearest hobbit child!”
“There there,” Deborah comforted her.
“Any suggestions Rick?” asked Roz.
“Nah,” the impassive Seagull replied.
“How about a nice Christian name, like Joseph or Jacob?” suggested Ruth.
“I think he should be called Robbie,” Gellie stated. “Or Dolly, or Johnny. It has to be something kinky.”
“I’d like to call him Francis,” conceded Fish. “What do you think Phill?”
“Yeah, I can live with that,” the stoner replied. “But are his eyebrows really floating off his head or is it just me?”
“I think you should give that stuff up,” Deborah advised. “You have responsibilities as a father now.”
“She’s gonna call him Francis!” affirmed Molloy. “Vat’s my middle name vat is!”
“Speaking of middle names,” began Phill, “What do you think of Thomas, Elaine?” Helen’s sobbing abruptly ceased, and Roz responded by drumming on the table.
“Certainly not,” Elaine decided firmly. “What if Roz and Helen involuntarily started singing Night and Day in the middle of his Christening?”
“Like the beat beat beat of the…” began Roz, but was silenced by a kick from Helen.
“I like the name Ebenezer,” Ben stated.
“Yes, I fink it suits you ver-ry well,” Molloy retorted.
“I think we’ll leave it open for discussion,” Elaine decided. “But meanwhile I think me and Phill should be going. I’d quite like to get some sleep actually.”
“As long as I can have a drag of that joint first,” stoner Phill expressed with longing.
“Well Elaine, I believe this is where our correspondence ends,” Orlando announced emphatically. “I shall be sending someone from the clinic round to check up on young Francis in due course, and subsequently, I regret to announce that I will be leaving for California immediately.”
“Sounds swish,” remarked Claire. “Sounds very swish in fact.”
“I don’t hesitate to add that I will be sending you all postcards,” he continued. “Particularly you,” he mumbled in Claire’s ear. Her cheeks coloured with pleasure. “Farewell, dear acquaintances,” he bade them as he left.
“Wait, Orlando wait!” Claire expressed urgently. “I’m coming with you!” She dashed out of the room to catch up with him.
“Well, vat was interesting,” Molloy commented after several seconds of bewildered silence. “She arrived wiv Jonafan and left wiv Orlando! You’d never catch me messing men around like vat…”
“Dearie me, what a revelation!” Ben marvelled smugly at Molloy’s error of speck, which had provided him with a substantial amount of ammunition.
“I won’t even bother trying to justify vat,” Molloy decided, knowing that whatever he said would be manipulated by Scientist Ben.
“Right, I’m going to turn in now,” stated Deborah, stifling a yawn.
“And I’ll join you,” announced Ben. “I mean, I will also go to my respective home now, and sleep…” A look of embarrassment crossed his face and spread to Deborah; spontaneously they dashed out the hall and into the awaiting night air.
“Hey, Rukaya disappeared,” observed Gellie. Helen cleared her throat and began,
“I feel I should explain that Rukaya slipped away discreetly before the birth, on the grounds that she was feeling rather squeamish.”
“And where’s Thom?” demanded Gellie.
“T..er, he left with her!” Helen resolved. “And I also feel I must return to my abode now, as I am fatigued and wish to retire.” She flamboyantly whipped on a headscarf and a pair of shades. “Don’t worry darlings, Rosamunda was here tonight, and will remain with you all, in your hearts, for the remainder of the evening. Goodnight.” She flounced out, tripping over Molloy’s microphone wire in the process.
Elainemphill, the child-blessed duo bade their gratitude to the remaining guests for their support throughout the birth, and departed with exhaustion.
“Bye,” saluted Rick tranquilly, and Roz responded with the traditional ‘Rachel mating call’. Gellie left the reunion with Rick, hoping for one final ogle at Robbie.
Finally, Roz and Molloy were alone together. “I saved vis number just for you,” he uttered smoothly at her as he switched on the stereo. The lights dimmed and a giant disco ball descended from the ceiling. Night and Day began to play at a gentle, moving volume, and Molloy offered Roz his hand. “May I have vis dance?” he asked earnestly.
“I’d be honoured,” was her reply. He drew her close, and they shuffled cosily around the dance floor. “Ow, you’re standing on my feet!” Roz moaned several seconds later, breaking the romantic mood. “Ahh, Andy, you’ll break my toes…ow!” They toppled over into the punchbowl and were drenched by the fruity beverage.
“Sorry Roz,” Molloy apologised with discomfort. “I can’t see a sodding fing wivout my glasses!”


The Afterthought

Doctoress Deborah hazily opened one eye. She was lying snugly beneath her king-size feather duvet towards the left side of her suave four-poster. Scientist Ben appeared in the doorway wearing a floral apron. Only a floral apron. He was carrying a tray stacked high with warm, buttered crumpets. A fire crackled cosily in the grate as the Doctoress yawned contentedly.
“Thanks for last night,” the Scientist expressed in low, seductive tones as he handed her a crumpet. “By the way, the phone rang while you were asleep. Mater and Pater send their regards, and invite you to high tea at the mansions this afternoon.”
“Oh dear,” Deborah replied with anxiety. “I hope you didn’t reveal anything incriminating.”
“Fear not darling, for I informed them I was your…Butler! Ha ha ha!” The Scientist laughed heartily, and Deborah joined in.
“You were marvellous last night,” Deborah complimented Ben with admiration. “All those moves! It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I simply can’t believe how many you can do!”
“Well it takes a lot of practise to get this good,” Ben explained modestly. “I used to do a lot with Claire, you see.” Once we got down to some serious stuff we couldn’t stop. We sometimes used to play together all night long, over and over again. I learnt all my best strategies from her.”
“So… how was I?” ventured Deborah. “Was I…oh, I can’t even say it! Was I as good as her?”
“Darling, you were miles better,” he assured her warmly. “Of course you’ve had much more experience than her, what with all those boys you took on at school. As I recall, you sometimes even used to have two or three on the go at a time. I always admired you for that – if anyone could tackle a man it was Deborah. And not to mention the girls. They used to surrender to you in a matter of seconds, you were so good.”
“Why thank you dear, what a compliment. But I must ask you, you know that thing you did right at then end?”
“You mean right at the very end, before we stopped, when I found your weakness?”
“Yes, that. Well…did you ever do that to Claire?”
“Not of that exact nature of course darling, but I often used to do something similar. However she would get awfully impatient with me when I stopped for a breather.”
Deborah’s eyes glazed over and she began to reminisce. “Ahh yes, I remember my school days,” she expressed with affection. “I had a lot of competition with Rukaya about though, especially in the sixth form. We were equally experienced, and used to compare our totals all the time. Rukaya’s was slightly higher than mine though, as she used to do year 7’s. They all wanted Rukaya to be their teacher.”
Ben’s eyes gleamed lustily. “Shall we have another quick session now?” he suggested.
“Oh Ben, you have so much stamina!” commented Deborah, sounding impressed. “Are you sure you’re up for it? We were at it a long time last night.”
“I know, and I particularly enjoyed your moans and groans as you succumbed to me,” he marvelled.
“What else could I do?” she answered. “You had already taken so much from me that I reached a point where I couldn’t fight against you anymore. You played on my weaknesses until I had to surrender. And when your big king entered my territory I was lost for words. I had nothing left…except a couple of pawns. And my king of course.”
“And then, a couple of moves later, checkmate!” Ben concluded. “Ahh, sweet victory!”
“So why did you quit chess club? Was it because you couldn’t handle me? Honestly, I mean Rukaya won more matches than me but you didn’t see me quitting. And Ben, I do wish you’d put some clothes on. I may have permitted you to sleep on my sofa, but I certainly didn’t expect you to lay fancy dress with my antique cooking aprons.” Ben glanced down at himself in embarrassment.
“Sorry, I was pissed,” he explained. “It must’ve been all that wine we drank after the reunion. Not to mention the sherry, of course.”
“But of course,” Deborah responded with a sly smile, and shifted slightly to conceal the bottle of Ribena on the floor, which she had, been drinking form the night before. After all, a drunk Ben is a logically incompetent Ben, and Deborah had won the last few matches…

*****

Niall was standing at a table slicing vegetables with great precision. “Damn, three millimetres too long,” he muttered with annoyance, as he measured the dimensions of a slice of carrot. “It’s no good, I’ll have to chop some off, otherwise I won’t be able to enjoy this meal, knowing there’s a slice of carrot in there somewhere that I was too careless to chop properly.”
“Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Niall pedantically laid down his ruler at right angles to the edge of the table and gently opened the door. Rukaya was standing on his doorstep holding a large stuffed Pikachu. “Hi Niall,” she accosted him enthusiastically. “I came round to give you this Pikachu as a token of our friendship, and to tell you that I’m completely obsessed with you! What were you doing last night at 12:44 by the way, because it was nagging at my mind for ages. Were you in the shower perchance? Or perhaps the bath? And one final question – can I draw you?”
“Thank you, I’m flattered, I was online working on my latest mass email containing disclosed information from Thom’s new online diary at onlinediaries.co.uk/thom’s_opinions_on_girls_who_fancy_the_pants_off_him, no, no, and yes you can draw me,” Niall replied, providing answers to her many questions in chronological order. “Although you can’t draw me now, I’m busy.”
“Really, what are you doing?” Rukaya inquired with interest.
“I’m doing men’s stuff,” Niall hurriedly replied, whilst still managing to sound calm and nonchalant.
“What kind of men’s stuff?” Rukaya probed. “Chopping firewood and other such macho activities,” he explained.
“Is that garlic I can smell?” she demanded sceptically.
“No, no garlic at all,” he defended coolly.
“Are you cooking, Niall?” she accused him. “You are, aren’t you? You are so insecure of your masculinity! Thom would never hide something like that from me.”
“Aha, you discovered my well-masked secret young one,” he yielded without the slightest hint of embarrassment, and invited her in. Rukaya noted that his kitchen was decorated with union jack wallpaper, and pictures of various Royal Family members were hung all over the walls. One of them was signed: “Queen Elizabeth II – Golden Jubilee 2002”. This was evidently Niall’s favourite as it was encased in a chunky gold frame.
“Why didn’t you come to the reunion, you fuckwit?” she snarled playfully at him, whilst continually punching him on the arm.
“I was otherwise engaged,” he answered impassively. “Anyway, what would I want with all that sentimental crap? I perceive school as a catalyst that has helped me reach the work station I’m in now, not something worth reminiscing over.”
“Aargh, that is so thingy!” Rukaya fumed with irritation. “Don’t you hold any fond memories of your past?”
“I never think about the past,” he responded. “Tomorrow is the way forward. I don’t believe in all that nostalgia crap.”
Shortly there was an impatient rapping at the door. Niall found an extremely flustered Helen standing outside, holding a Polaroid camera. “I need to leave the country,” she blurted fearfully.
“What?!” Rukaya expressed in astonishment.
“Greetings Helen,” saluted Niall with quiet amusement. “It’s been awhile.”
“I don’t have time for small talk,” Helen dismissed. “I knocked Elijah Wood out with a paper aeroplane and ran over a sheep. The police are after me, I need to emigrate and I don’t have a passport. Help!”
“Slow down, let me get this straight,” Rukaya intervened. “You actually managed to make a paper aeroplane at the same standard as mine?”
“No,” Helen explained. “It was your aeroplane. I abducted it after it knocked out M the Goat at the reunion, and used it afterwards at a film premiere for the purpose of transporting a photo of myself to Elijah Wood. I never intended to deprive him of consciousness, I just wanted him to know that I was there, supporting him like any half decent dog chauffeur should!”
“I see,” replied Rukaya sympathetically. “Then what happened?”
“Well, I stole a car,” she informed them bluntly. “It’s considered the norm to abduct vehicles in California you see, and I forgot I was in England. Naturally the police chased me through central London, which I must say was a liberating experience.” Her eyes glazed over as she recalled the frantic police chase of the night before. “Anyway, I managed to lose them somewhere in the outskirts of Wolverhampton where I knocked over a sheep. They were so concerned with the well being, or lack of, of the poor defenceless farm animal I’d just unintentionally annihilated that they forgot about me. I was subsequently planning to head to Manchester airport and jump on the first plane to South Carolina, when I realised my passport must’ve somehow fallen out my handbag in London somewhere. So my next thought was to drive back to Yorkshire and seek help from you little people. I drove through the early hours of the morning in my newly acquired purple Nissan Micra none stop, and here I am now.”
“I have an idea,” Rukaya announced immediately. “Roz has this secluded cottage in the Scottish highlands which she won’t be using for awhile. You could hide out there for a bit until you get a new passport.”
“That’s a brilliant idea Rukaya, thank you!” she exclaimed appreciatively. “But are you sure Roz won’t mind?”
“I have a better idea,” Niall muttered mysteriously. “I could scan in my passport photo and edit it to make it look like you. Then I could replace my photo with the new one and you could use my passport.”
“That’s absurd Niall!” Rukaya contradicted. “Helen doesn’t look a thing like you. She’d be much better off with Thom’s passport.”
“That’d work too,” Helen commented. “Then all I’d have to do is explain to customs why my name is Thomas.”
“Tell them your parents wanted a boy,” suggested Rukaya optimistically.
Suddenly Roz walked in. She was wearing corduroy trousers, a corduroy jacket (a rebellion against the trendy denim movement) and her dad’s hat.
“Roz, can I stay in your house?” Helen asked desperately.
“Sure,” Roz replied in her laid-back stoner attitude. “But I’ll have to warn you it has no TV, no central heating and a mouse. I named the mouse Wild Thing, and if you listen very carefully you can hear it speak Welsh.”
“I think you’ve been living alone up there far too long,” Rukaya opinionated worriedly.
“No TV?!” Helen stuttered in shock. “But how will I get my daily dose of Lord of the Rings? I won’t be able to hear my Lijie! Dear God, how will I cope?”
“It’s either that or get convicted,” Niall reminded her.
“I bet you don’t know how to spell conviction,” Roz teased him.
“Does it have a computer?” Helen demanded breathlessly.
“That it does,” Roz assured her. “I use it to order my weekly shopping from Tesco Direct.”
“Excellent,” marvelled Helen gleefully. “And a stereo?”
“Complete with record player,” Roz confirmed.
“Right, I’d better get going promptly then,” she decided. “Can I have the keys please?”
“Damn, I left them in my friend’s car,” she cursed. “It’ll be too late now, he’ll be in London. I’m so sorry.”
“London?!” Helen yelled in aggravation. “But I’ve just been there, I might as well have stolen your friend’s car instead of that bloody purple Nissan Micra with milkshake spilt all over the dashboard.” Roz lifted her head slowly.
“Did you say purple Nissan Micra?” she inquired pensively. She rose from her seat and peered thoughtfully through Niall’s kitchen window. Suddenly she gasped dramatically. “That is my friend’s car!” she remarked.
“Well, honestly, I might as well not have bothered stopping at all!” Helen observed.
“Except you don’t know where my cottage is and you might be needing directions,” Roz pointed out.
“That might be helpful,” Helen replied humbly. Roz began to scribble directions down whilst Niall resumed his task of slicing carrots for the traditional English shepherds’ pie he was making. Rukaya observed him hypnotically, as Helen discreetly abducted a handful of forks from Niall’s kitchen drawer. She had an unhealthy fixation with shiny objects.
Finally, Roz handed Helen the directions and briefly explained them to her. “And then you drive through this remote village, and the post office is on your right.”
“Is there a local shop?” Helen inquired. “As I am looking forward to patronising the local businesses.”
“Yes, there is a small shop,” replied Roz. “And there’s also a pub with pictures of fish on the walls.”
“Ooh, pub!” enthused Helen.
“I’d stay away from the shops if I were you,” advised Rukaya. “There’s bound to be ‘wanted’ pictures of you all over the place, people might recognise you.”
“Good point,” Helen admitted sullenly. “Oh, how I wish I could tell my Lijie I meant no harm! I bet he’s lying in the A and E now, all helpless and vulnerable, wondering why his trusty dog chauffeur tried to kill him with a paper aeroplane containing a Polaroid of herself. Oh, the pain, the intense emotional pain! I can’t take it, dear God, I can’t take it anymore!” She burst into tears.
Suddenly, Rukaya’s mobile rang. “Please be Lijie, please be Lijie,” Helen chanted repeatedly.
“Roz, it’s for you,” Rukaya announced, and handed Roz the compact blue phone.
“Lijie!” Helen wailed mournfully.
“Hi…yes, that’s my friend Helen crying in the background…the PA broke down?…Oh dear…you’ve had your car stolen?...Yes, I know, my friend Helen has it…You can’t reach over to press play?…No, I haven’t got your ashtray…Yes, I’ll tell her…The Scottish highlands…OK, bye.”
“What was all that about?” asked Rukaya inquisitively.
“That was a friend of mine, the one whose car Helen stole. He says he’ll come to the cottage to pick it up I a couple of weeks time, and he’s glad it’s in safe hands.”
“Oh, that’s such a relief!” Helen expressed. “I was afraid he’d be cross and sue me.”
“He’s not the type to sue,” Roz explained. “He’s not very materialistic, you see.”
“Well, I’d better be off then,” Helen stated conclusively. She put on a scarlet headscarf and a feather boa. “If I’m not quick on my feet the police might find me, and then I’m doomed.”
“Good luck on the run!” Rukaya wished Helen as she climbed into the driver’s seat of the purple Nissan Micra.
“And don’t forget to change your identity!” Roz reminded her. Helen turned around and brushed the back of her hand with her forehead.
“Don’t worry darlings, Rosamunda is on the run from the London Metropolitan Police, and will be going into hiding in the highlands of Scotland very shortly. Fear not my pretties however, for Rosamunda will remain with you always, in the heart of your souls, regardless of her future fate. Good day to you all.” She turned the key in the ignition and sped off down the road, knocking over a wheelie bin in the process.
“Well, there she goes,” commented Rukaya, staring after her anxiously. “I hope she manages to remain anonymous.”
“I hate to say this, but with Rosamunda in control she doesn’t stand a chance,” expressed Roz sadly. “She should’ve chosen a more introvert alternative personality, instead of that flamboyant, immoral car thief.”
“Would I be correct in presuming she’ll be spending every evening in the local tavern?” questioned Niall, attempting to appear intelligent.
“I don’t think you’d be far wrong,” answered Roz. “She prefers piss-ups at home though, and she usually keeps a bottle of whisky in her glove compartment.”
“Which explains why she causes so may car accidents, and is wanted by the police in five different American states. That excludes California of course, as she goes there to seek refuge whenever she encounters a brush with the law elsewhere.”
“Will Helen be playing any David Bowie records while she’s up there, do you think?” speculated Roz. Because I forgot to warn her that Wild Thing has an, erm, a vendetta against his music.”
“Really, how remarkable,” pondered Niall, as he tipped the immaculately chopped vegetables into a frying pan and set the timer for 5 minutes and 47.3 seconds. “I wasn’t aware mice were particularly discriminatory in the field of contemporary music.”
“Wild Thing is a special mouse,” informed Roz proudly. “He speaks Welsh with a Russian accent.”
“Were you perchance stoned when you made this discovery?” Niall inquired patronisingly. Meanwhile, Rukaya was imitating a seal and balancing an onion on her nose.
“Wee, look at me!” she squealed with delight. She began to bounce off the cupboards in euphoria.
“Steady now,” Niall instructed nervously, guarding his pan on vegetables. Rukaya ignored the command, and accidentally knocked the frying pan handle with her elbow. The pan flipped over in the air and vegetables were splattered randomly in all directions. “Gaaaah!” Niall roared with rage. “You careless bitch, you overturned my pan of perfect vegetables that took me three hours to chop!” Rukaya flinched with fright, as she had never experienced this side of the ironic, placid Niall before. She speedily fled the room as Niall began to charge after her, armed with a sizzling hot frying pan.
“Roz grinned slyly as they both left the kitchen, producing a black pen and began to deface Niall’s vintage portraits of the Monarchy.


The Hideout

“I just wanna thank my dogs, Rascal and Levonne,” Elijah announced dramatically, stifling sobs. “Because no matter what, they’ve been there for me, through thick and thin. And I respect that. I truly respect that. They are the glue that holds me together!” He brushed tears away with the back of his hand in lamentation. “Thank you Rascal, thank you Levvie! For without you I am nothing!” There was a moved silence throughout the audience. “And one more thing,” continued Elijah, clutching a gleaming Oscar. “I’d like to say thank you to my dog chauffeur, Helen Bottomley, who served my dogs and me for three honest years. Sadly she can’t be with us tonight as she disappeared under mysterious circumstances three months ago and hasn’t been seen in either California or her home town of Bingley, England since an odd incident at the premiere of my latest film in which I was knocked out by a paper aeroplane with a photo of Helen attached. And can I just say – Helen, I don’t know where you are right now, but if you’re watching, please come back to us! Rascal won’t eat, and Levvie keeps howling at night, I’m so worried! And they don’t wanna go to their piano lessons anymore! Please come back to us Helen. Thank you and goodnight.” There was an uproar of applause as Elijah left the stage.
Meanwhile, in the living room of a small remote croft in the Scottish highlands, Helen clutched a small portable TV shouting “Noooo, don’t go! I’m here Lijie, I’m here! Tell Rascal and Levvie I love them dearly with all my heart!”
Several seconds later, a mouse scuttled across the bare floorboards. It appeared to be speaking Welsh with a Russian accent. “What’s that Wild Thing?” Helen inquired through tears. “Lijie can’t hear me? Dear God! You mean to tell me I’ve been talking to the TV all these months and the people inside can’t hear?” She took a swig from a small whisky bottle to ease the pain of this revelation.
A man began knocking at the door, but this information took awhile to diffuse into the dog chauffeur's conscious mind. The man continued to knock patiently however, and presently Helen registered she was not alone. Her first thought filled her with panic as she guessed the police may have discovered her haven and that she would finally be convicted for the numerous petty car theft crimes she had committed over the last six years. However she was reassured as the man at the door bellowed: “I’ve come to collect my car” in a Scottish accent.
She stumbled across the room and opened the door to a respectable-looking Scotsman in his mid thirties, clad entirely in corduroy. “Hi, I’m a friend of Roz’s,” he stated. “And I understand you have my purple Nissan Micra.”
Helen frowned. “Purple Nissan Micra…” she muttered incoherently. “That must be the car I stole right after the metallic grey Fiat Punto, and before the indigo Alfa Romeo…”
“You mean you don’t have my car?” demanded the bewildered Scotsman.
“What?” barked Helen abruptly, snapping out of a trance. “Oh right, your car…no, I’m afraid I don’t have it. I mean I don’t have it with me right now…”
“So, where is it?”
“It’s sort of not really a car in itself anymore, if you know what I’m saying…”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t, will you please elaborate on that one?” he requested calmly.
“Well, lets just say it now exists as a burnt out carcass lingering in the middle of a secluded moor-land,” Helen conceded hurriedly.
“What?” the Scotsman exclaimed in shock. “But my Ella Fitzgerald records were in the boot! They may have survived vomit on New Years Eve but I doubt if they could stand fire too.”
“Oh don’t worry, I took them out,” Helen assured him. “They’re right here, if you’d like to come in.”
“Thank you,” he expressed in confusion, and followed the criminal into the cottage.
“I’m sorry about the car,” Helen apologised as she handed the Scotsman a carrier bag containing several records. “But I had to retain my anonymous status you see, and my only option was to destroy and abandon the car to avoid recognition. I then abducted an Alfa Romeo from a used car dealers garage and headed straight for this little hideout.”
“A very interesting story,” the Scotsman remarked edgily, regarding her with caution. “But how have you been getting your food?”
“I’ve been using a stolen credit card to order my shopping off the Internet,” she explained. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to…John Travers,” she commented, reading from a credit card on the coffee table. “If he’d have been sensible enough to chase after me through that crowd of people at the service station in Aberdeen, then maybe I’d be starving right now.”
The Scotsman began flicking through his records to check they were all still intact after their brief endurance of the criminally insane dog chauffeur. He stopped at one and frowned, then flipped over the case to inspect the other side. “Why have you circled the song ‘Night and Day’ and written ‘die evil Jules sod die’?” he enquired curiously.
“Oh, that’s not all, you should see the sleeve,” Helen dismissed. “I got a little carried away whilst listening to the opening drum rhythm.”
“You mean the one played by a tom tom?” the Scotsman asked, as he was familiar with the song. Helen shuddered.
“Like the beat, beat, beat of the tom tom…” he sang in a rich, deep voice.
“Oh please, just because I destroyed your car it doesn’t mean you have the right to come into my secret lair and start belting out the lyrics to my most feared song since ‘Ghetto Superstar’ in 1999.”
“Sorry,” the quiet man replied, ruffling his bird’s nest hair.
Suddenly, Helen’s attention was diverted to an interview on TV…
“I’m passionate about music,” Elijah declared. “I think The Hives are wonderful, and I’m rather fond of Idlewild as well.” The modest Scotsman smiled secretively.
“What are you grinning at?” Helen asked him avidly. “And who are you anyway? I think it’s rather rude of you not to introduce yourself.”
“My name is Roddy,” he informed her.
“Well that just explains everything then doesn’t it?” Helen responded sardonically. “I mean for all I know you could be some escaped mental patient from an institution for the criminally unstable. Or that Idlewild guy…ha ha ha!” Roddy laughed shyly.
“I hear you recently split with your long-term girlfriend Franka,” the interviewer addressed Elijah on television.
“Ye-ah,” he clarified, frowning expressively.
“Ooh!” enthused Helen, admiring his ‘orgasmic’ face.
“We broke up a couple of days ago, it was quite sad really. She said she couldn’t stand Rascal and Levonne anymore so I told her to just get out. ‘Pack your bags and get out, you dog-hating bitch!’ I yelled. Of course Rascal and Levonne never really liked her in the first place, but once my dog chauffeur left they started picking on Franka and she used to lose her patience with them. I couldn’t take that. They’re just a couple of sad, vulnerable dogs who miss their dog chauffeur, who can blame them for that?”
“No one! No one can blame them!” Helen shrieked. “And the bitch has gone! She’s gone and it’s all because of me! Mwa ha haa!” She took out two glasses from a dusty cabinet and filled them both from the whisky bottle. “Let’s celebrate!” she yelled.
“Yo do realise that’s alcohol-free whisky?” Roddy observed, peering at the label. Helen slowly turned round and picked up the bottle. She coloured with embarrassment as she realised Roddy was right.
“Stupid dodgy fake ID guy by the gambling machines in the pub with fish on the walls…” she muttered grudgingly. “He said he had whisky in his car so naturally I hot-wired it while he was on a roll with the one-armed bandit machine and took all I could find. Come to think of it, he did say he was on his way to a kids’ party.”
A pair of feet appeared in the fireplace. “Quick, get the chainsaw!” commanded Helen. “We’re being abducted!”
“Fear not my friends, for it is only me,” Niall reassured them as he emerged, contaminated with soot. “I bring good news Helen – I managed to modify Thom’s passport photo to make it resemble you, and I must say the finished result is quite a work of art.”
“Gimme!” Helen exclaimed, bouncing up and down excitedly.
“Patience Helen,” the serene Niall reminded her. He produced Thom’s passport from an inside pocket in his coat and opened it at the back, presenting a picture of Helen with designer stubble and sideburns. “Erm, about the facial hair,” he began uncertainly, “You can just tell customs you’re a former bearded lady, and that you decided to change careers and undergo electrolysis treatment on your face. They’re bound to accept it.”
“Was there no way of editing this out?” Helen demanded angrily. “And we’ve been through this before – the likelihood of two parents naming their first daughter Thomas Paul Stewart is exceedingly small.”
“Panic not O Young One, for I, Lord Nialllo, conjured up a solution to this predicament. I used my great and masterful powers to…change the name to Helen Bottomley!”
“Let’s have a look,” Helen suggested, and Niall handed her the passport. “Niall, you spelt my name wrong!” she criticised.
“I do apologise,” he asserted tranquilly. “Would this imply you require me to return home to my den of fraud and make corrections?”
“Oh, be off with you,” she snapped.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Niall interpreted smoothly. “Farewell comrades.” He climbed back up the disused chimney.
“I hope he manages to perfect it soon,” Helen enunciated, suddenly sounding mournful. “I miss my Lijiechu and I wanna go back to California.”
“I also miss my car and would quite like to go back to Edinburgh,” Roddy informed her. “It really is a shame. I’m not a materialistic dude but I was very attached to that car. I used to listen to Nancy Sinatra on the car stereo when I was depressed. Ahh, it was grand, aye.” He lit a cigarette.
“You smoke too much when you don’t do much,” Helen remarked. Roddy sighed. “Look, if you really want I can steal you another purple Nissan Micra,” she offered. “Although if I get caught you’ll have it on your conscience all your life that you sent down your friend’s friend.”
“I don’t want stolen property,” Roddy responded placidly. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life, not even a Wham! bar. I’d certainly never steal records either. And as far cars, well!”
“In that case it’s out of my hands I’m afraid,” Helen concluded regretfully.
“I suppose I can always buy a new one,” Roddy speculated pensively. “But I was actually saving up to buy that derelict croft half a mile up the road.”
“Oh yes, I know the place,” Helen related. “So what’s stopping you?”
“The toilet’s condemned,” Roddy explained. “You can’t live somewhere without a toilet, and it’d cost me a pretty penny to have it renovated.”
A key turned in the door and Roz let herself in. “Anybody home?” she hollered.
“Aye,” Roddy indicated.
“Don’t worry darlings, Rosamunda’s home!” Helen chirped.
“Moining my dear penguins!” Roz saluted as she entered the room. “I just dropped by to ensure you’d given Roddy his car back Helen.”
“No can do I’m afraid,” Helen expressed ornately, shaking her head. “No can do.”
“Aye, well it’s a damn shame,” Roddy dwelled. “My poor wee Nissan Micra, lying in its own rust amongst wild, overgrown bracken.”
“Oh dear,” Roz sympathised. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, oh God yes!” Helen enthused. “Send me to California Roz, please, it’s only right!”
“Not you; Roddy!” Roz clarified patronisingly. “He loved that car you know.”
“Did you know it’s against my principles to buy cars because they’re bad for the environment?” Helen stated. “I’ve never owned a car in my life, and don’t plan to either.”
“Good for you…wait!” Roddy replied, suddenly comprehending the irony of Helen’s statement. “Anyway, my chief problem now is how I’m gonna get back to Edinburgh. The lads and me need to get some serious practice in before our next gig, and I could do with nipping round to Colin’s for a bath too. Our central heating’s broken and we’re too busy to fix it.”
“Excuse me, did you just say gig?” Helen asked in disbelief.
“Aye,” Roddy answered.
“So you’re like in a band or something?” Roddy drew a deep breath.
“My name is Roddy Woomble, I was born on Friday 13th August 1976, I’ve lived in Scotland for most of my life, and spent some time in South Carolina as a teenager. I went to an American high school for two years there. I have a sister, I’m obsessed with corduroy, I currently live in New Town, Edinburgh with my flatmate Allan, I studied film and photography at Edinburgh for awhile, and last but not least, I’m the lead vocalist of your ex client’s favourite band.”
“Oh my God, you’re from The Hives?” Helen cried. Roddy exchanged an exasperated glance with Roz.
“Guess again,” Roz hinted. Helen’s brow creased, and eventually she became enlightened.
“Idlewild!” she deduced contentedly. “I’d never have guessed, I always thought rock stars were dead aloof and arrogant.”
“Not our Roddy,” Roz praised.
“So how on earth did you two become friends?” Helen inquired.
“It all began when my band ‘Suck the Cans’ became Idlewild’s support band,” Roz illustrated informatively. “We were very privileged to be given such an opportunity, as we’ve always admired Idlewild’s ability to generate intellectual, pained punk rock with lyrics that work on so many different psychological levels.” Roddy briefly glanced at her with his secretive blue eyes, and then abruptly averted his gaze.
“Aye, well I reckon Suck the Cans are one of the best contemporary Celtic rock bands around,” he asserted, returning the compliment.
“I have an idea about how to get Roddy his car back!” proclaimed Helen.
“Uh-oh,” Roz and Roddy automatically groaned.
“If this involves the phrases abduct, coat-hangers, police chase, fake ID, rocket belt, stowaway or illegal drugs den, I don’t want anything to do with it,” Roz confessed.
“Me neither,” Roddy assured Helen firmly.
“Don’t worry darlings, it’s all legitimate,” Helen pledged persuasively. “My plan is to get Elijah to buy you a new car under the condition that you perform for him at his private celebrity party on Saturday.”
Roddy’s eyes widened. “Would it be a purple Nissan Micra just like the old one?” he questioned passionately.
“Anything you want my dear, anything you want!” cackled Helen.
“What’s in it for you?” adjured Roz suspiciously.
“I’ll be gaining a substantial amount of Elijah’s respect for a start,” she justified. “And plus,” she continued, her voice dropping in volume, “I might be able to persuade him to pay some of my legal fees. I’m rather in the red at the moment, what with all those parking fines, and not to mention my…Ahem! Kleptomania for shiny objects…Magnesium, that was a big fine…I don’t think I’ll ever go to Alabama again.”
A loud thud was audible to the scheming trio as Niall’s feet reappeared in the grate. “Greetings equals,” he saluted as he climbed out of the narrow opening. “Helen, I made amends to the slight error on ‘Thom’’s passport concerning the incorrect spelling of your name. I also succeeded in removing the designer stubble from ‘Thom’’s face – consequently the photo now resembles a relatively human female, if of course you account for the sideburns I was unable to conceal.”
Helen peered at the altered passport. I give it my mark of approval,” she resolved. “Your timing was perfect, thank you.”
“I’m only glad I could be of service,” Niall confided.
“Hey, wait a minute, why are you dressed as a leprechaun?” directed Helen, suddenly noticing the gentle Niall’s peculiar costume.
“I came straight from a children’s party,” he defended himself calmly. “It was rather odd actually, the children seemed to be drinking alcohol-free whisky.”
“But enough of this chatter,” Helen prompted the group. I have my passport and I’m all set to fly to California, land of my Lijie.” Her eyes glazed over momentarily. “Roddy, you round up the band in Edinburgh, and Roz, you give Roddy a lift to Edinburgh,” Helen dominated officiously. “Niall, you can bugger off now, and I shall head off to Inverness airport. Roddy, I’ll see you there.” She began flinging clothes into a suitcase, and then zipped it up pointedly when she’d finished packing. “Don’t worry darlings, for Rosamunda is returning to California with the excellent band Idlewild, to win her dear Lijie’s heart. Goodnight.” She made a dramatic exit, slamming both doors on the way out.
“She could’ve done with a puff of blue smoke,” Niall commented, before heading back up the chimney. Conclusively, Roz and Roddy locked up the quiet cottage and climbed into Roz’s minute, ecological Ford Fiesta.
“To California!” Roz announced.
“Wait, it’s to Edinburgh first,” Roddy reminded her.
“Oh yeah. To Edinburgh!” And they were off, on yet another obscure adventure.


The Party

Phill was sitting cross-legged on his living room carpet with an ashtray in front of him and a fat joint placed between his finger and thumb. In the background a phone was ringing and a baby was crying, but the composed Phill had reclined into a hazy fantasy world.
“Shh Francis, Mummy’s here…Hello?…Oh hi Claire…No, not you! I was talking to the baby…Free complimentary tickets courtesy of who?…Oh my God!…No, I’ve never heard of them…With Orlando?…Congratulations…Are you sure?…Oh, thanks! That’d be great!…OK, bye.”
Elaine hung up the phone and shuffled anxiously into the living room with Francis attached to her hip. “Phill, stub out that joint and pack your bags, we’re going to LA!” she nagged him urgently.
“Wha…?” the stoner replied in confusion, regarding his girlfriend with a dazed smile.
“Orlando Bloom’s paying for us to go to America!” she elaborated excitedly. “Elijah Wood’s having a party and he insists we attend! Well, at least that’s what Claire said Deborah said Helen said, and she’s Elijah’s dog chauffeur so she should know!”
“I like brown,” Phill responded dotingly.
“Our flight leaves at 10:00am tomorrow,” Elaine continued. “I’m leaving Francis with Stive, that is if he’s available. It’s hard work being a train conductor these days.”
“Do you want a drink of vanilla yoghurt?” Phill asked her, giggling.
“This could be our big break Phill, this could be our only chance to mingle with the stars!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, ignoring Phill’s nonsensical ramblings. “And in Roz’s words, I’ll be magnesiumed if I miss it.”
“Awww, but do we have to go?” grumbled Phill objectively. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t leave the country right now, Ed Morrow’s coming back from Holland with a right stash and he swore I’d be the first person he’d call on.” The unscrupulous hedonist flashed a lop-sided smile at his distressed partner.
“It’s OK, if you really don’t wanna go you don’t have to or anything,” the easy-going Elaine yielded light-heartedly. “It’s just that you know, I thought it’d be nice for us to spend time together as a couple, free from the constraints of imperative pampering of perpetually soiled babies’ bottoms. And make up your mind quickly, I have to tell Orlando how many tickets to book.”
“Ask me again when I’m clean,” Phill resolved.

*****

The airport was buzzing with middle-class business people in classic-cut suits muttering into mobile phones, and blaze holidaymakers clad in vulgar leopard-print leggings and Hawaiian shirts. A rather perilous-looking symphony orchestra consisting of twenty or thirty rugged, kilted Scotsmen loomed to the right of the duty-free, and were hypnotically pelting out Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf. An aura of tranquillity engulfed the airport as people chatted with their familiars and wandered around the shops browsing for perfume and Sony Walkman headphones.
Presently the atmosphere of serenity was disrupted as an eccentric, red-haired woman in dark shades and stilettos began to heave an extremely weighty trunk across the shiny linoleum, emanating a constant, piercing squeak in the process. Two stewards were striding briskly behind her, and eventually caught her up.
“I’m sorry Miss, you can’t take this with you on the plane,” a stout, shaven guard articulated in a Cockney accent. “Allow me colleague and I to escort you to the baggage checkout where your luggage will be transferred to the storage section beneath the relevant plane.”
“But my books are in here!” the woman debated defiantly. “I need my Tolkien to keep me sane! The Shire is my homeland; Gandalf’s reflections are my only form of self-help, my soul lingers within the subtext of The Hobbit, and the Silmarillion is my religion. And Frodo, my dearest Frodo! He is the centre of my mental stability! Please Mr Airport Man, don’t deprive me of my Tolkien, I beg you!”
“Look Miss, you can take books with you in your hand luggage, but bringing substantial artefacts such as this trunk here onto a plane is strictly against regulations, namely because it consumes aisle space and holds the potential to cause a hazard at the time of an emergency. I do hope you understand.” The woman lowered her haze conspiratorially and fished in her wallet for notes. She presented a crisp twenty-pound note and slipped it discreetly into the steward’s breast pocket. Little did he notice the money was lacking the watermark of genuineness.
“Enjoy your flight,” he enunciated satisfactorily, patting his pocket.
“Oh, I’m sure I will!” the content drama queen confirmed.
For dishevelled young men entered, followed by people who appeared to be carrying musical instruments. “Oh look, it’s my friends!” the extrovert woman cried, and dashed over to greet them.
“I brought the band like you said,” a gentle Scotsman with a mop of tangled brown hair stated.
“Good,” the woman approved. “Have you explained to them what they’re doing?”
“I can’t even remember who I am, or where I am, or what on earth I’m doing here, or what on earth I know,” a peroxide blonde conceded.
“I told you Bob, we’re going to America,” the Scotsman whose name was Roddy reminded the sociable bass player. “We’re performing for some celebrities so I can get my purple Nissan Micra back.”
“I thought you said we’d never perform for the rich and famous,” Bob contradicted.
“And I also thought my car would always be with me,” Roddy snapped, appearing suddenly moody.
“Darlings, I’m so glad you made it!” the outrageous Helen enthused. “Here, go and buy yourselves some treats.” She dished out twenty-pound notes to the uncertain four.
“These are fake,” informed the man with dark brown, floppy hair whose name was Colin. “My younger brother managed to acquire a counterfeit tenner at Glastonbury without realising and he got arrested. They released him on bail when he told them his brother was the drummer from Idlewild, but my family have been checking for watermarks ever since.”
“No wonder,” said Roddy.
“That was the year it was really windy, and we had problems with the sound,” reminisced Rod, the skinny Indie rocker from Leeds.
“Aye, and we found out Semisonic are rubbish live as well as on record,” Roddy contributed.
“Oh puh-lease, can we STOP talking about fecking rock festivals?” Helen snapped exasperatedly.
“Sorry Helen,” said Roddy.
“Helen?” queried Helen, pointedly rotating her head left and right. “Who’s Helen? I see no Helen here, only four rock stars, some men carrying instruments and me, Thomas Paul Stewart Western.”
A blonde woman in pink cords and a beige hat sneaked up behind them and began to drum the ominous rhythm on an Early Learning Centre children’s tom tom.
“It’s you,” Helen muttered witheringly as she turned round to find her old school friend Roz lurking behind them.
“It certainly is,” she replied. “My band are supporting Idlewild, remember? They’re taking the later flight as they’re currently at a Terry Wogan convention called Togfest.”
“Yes my child, I recall,” Helen expressed enigmatically. “But be prepared for some competition mind.” Roz and Roddy ignored her, as they had deduced at that point that Helen had a tendency to regurgitate snippets of nonsensical dialogue, and was not to be trusted.
“Mad Dog, you shaved!” Roz exclaimed with approval at Bob.
“Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side,” was the bassist’s response.
“Passengers for the 10:00am flight to Los Angeles proceed to gate 17,” a tinny voice announced over the tannoy.
“That’s us,” prompted Roddy. He began to direct the instrument beholders to the conveyor belts which would transport the drum kits, numerous guitars and 3 large amps onto the plane.
Helen gasped spontaneously, then began to stride briskly in the opposite direction to the departure gate.
“Where are you going?” hollered Roz.
“Just nipping to the Bureau de Change darlings!” she replied. “Save me a seat, and stall the plane if necessary.”
“This is the final announcement for the 10:00am flight to Los Angeles, that’s the 10:00am flight to Los Angeles,” the woman with a false, professional voice forewarned over the intercom. “Depart to gate 17, all passengers proceed to departure gate 17. Thank you.” Following the announcement a man repeated the message in Gaelic.
“Oh, where’s Rosamunda?” fretted Roz, standing on tiptoes and raising her head in an attempt to view the extrovert dog chauffeur on her return from her expedition of exchanging pounds with dollars. Eventually a mass of ginger hair crowning the frantic car thief appeared; Helen darted through the crowd which had accumulated in the departure hall. She was being chased by a security guard who was bellowing, “These notes are fake! Come back here you fraud!”
“Quick, get on the plane!” Helen instructed urgently to Roz, Roddy, Rod, Colin and Bob. “I’ll handle this!” She seized a heavy chair and flung it in the security guard’s path as he was about to handcuff her. The guard fell flat on his stomach with a groan, and Helen raced determinedly through the barrier, flashing her ticket and passport at an attendant on the way. The attendant frowned and yelled, “That passport’s fake! You’re not a man with sideburns named Thomas!” But her attempts to prevent Helen from escaping were extinguished, as the unethical woman had reached the plane half a second before the door was closed, and the plane prepared for take-off.

*****

Elijah Wood bustled around his mother’s grand, spacious dining room, pedantically laying out doilies and coasters on the buffet tables with were arranger around the edge of the room. The oak floorboards were brilliantly polished, and reflected the light from the overhanging chandeliers in obscure blurs. A hefty sound system in the corner was emitting the soothing, magical music of Tchaikovsky’s ‘The Nutcracker’, and balloons and streamers dangled from above.
“Anything else you need honey?” Elijah’s mum Debra inquired, popping her head round the kitchen door.
“No thanks mom,” he answered stroppily.
“You sure you don’t want me to go down to the store for you and fetch some more soda sweetie?” she suggested persistently. “You look as if you may run out. How many friends did you say you’d invited?”
“About eight,” he replied, looking deviously at the measly supply of coke set out on one of the tables.
“You may need some more popcorn too, would you like me to make some?” Elijah rolled his eyes sullenly.
“No mom, it’s OK mom,” he muttered.
“Alright honey,” she yielded. “Now don’t you kids stay up too late watching movies,” she warned in a matriarchal manner. “And no Wagner after nine o’clock, you’ll disturb the neighbours.”
“Got it.”
“Rascal and Levonne are in the dog house and Dan’ toys need picking up in the yard, no parking in the driveway ‘cause we don’t want any accidents with the mailbox or Mrs B’s fountain, and no water fights on the sidewalk.”
“Uh huh.”
“No shoes in the rest room, no stamping, no jumping on beds, and no playing with the garden gnomes. Or there’ll be trouble, you understand me young man?”
“Sure mum,” Elijah confirmed sulkily.
“Alright sweetie, I’m going now. I’ll be back around two.” Debra Wood strolled out the house and climbed into a black Mercedes, started the engine and zoomed down the street, then disappeared from sight.
“Time to partay!” he rejoiced, and removed the Tchaikovsky CD from the stereo, replacing it with System of a Down’s latest album. He turned up the volume to an amplitude that induced a regular thudding sensation through his whole body. Contentedly he entered the kitchen and hauled out two large crates from under the breakfast bar, concealed with a blanket. He recklessly discarded the blanket and revealed a satisfying supply of lager and Alco pops. He quickly replaced the bottles of coke with the substantial hoard, and subsequently extracted several chilled bottles of champagne from the fridge, disguised as tomato juice.
“This party’s gonna rock!” he proclaimed raucously, and dashed upstairs to change from the faded Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles tee shirt he was clothed in.
Ten minutes later he emerged, dressed as Cupid. A feathery white bath towel substituted a nappy, and his mother’s curling tongs had served the purpose of creating what Helen would describe as hobbit hair. Tucked under his arm as a large red bow, and a quiver was attached to the side of the towel, packed with arrows.
“Mwa ha haa,” he celebrated wickedly. “I hope tonight brings lots of immorality, promiscuity, perversion and debauchery!” He perched himself in the middle of the floor and waited for the arrival of his first guests.

*****

Half an hour later, Elvis arrived. He rang the doorbell eagerly and was greeted by Cupid, the innocent cherub with expressive baby blue eyes.
“Glad you could make it,” Cupid greeted him.
“Let me in quick, vese blue suede shoes are killing me,” Elvis replied. Cupid stepped aside and Elvis stumbled into the hallway.
“Fank you very much,” he gratified slickly.
“Have we met before?” Cupid asked vaguely.
“Not exactly,” Elvis explained. “I was invited by Roz.”
“Oh yeah, the traffic warden,” Cupid recalled.
“Ex traffic warden,” Elvis corrected him. “She’s in a band now.” He commenced removing his shoes, and stooped to rub his sore feet with his palms, grimacing with dissatisfaction.
“Oh really?” Cupid implored with interest. “So how does she know about my party, and who invited her?”
“Orlando Bloom’s bird apparently,” Elvis remarked.
Gwyneth Paltrow and Sarah Michelle Gellar walked up the drive to the heavy front door. “Hey girls, glad you could make it,” Cupid expressed to his friends.
“Nice costumes,” Elvis complimented the blonde duo. They stared blankly at him. “I fink Sarah Michelle Gellar’s ver-ry sexy,” he continued, digging himself into an even deeper rut. “Shame about ve fiancé vough. Vat bastard, I’ll outsmart him wiv my extensive knowledge of chemistry when I can get my hands on him…” He was silenced by a slap from Buffy.
“I think you’ll find these aren’t costumes,” Gwyneth conceded regretfully.
“Oh magnesium,” Elvis cursed in humiliation. “You really are Sarah and Gwynef aren’t you?” They nodded gravely.
“Oh look, Orli’s here!” Cupid commented as Orlando Bloom paraded up the drive dressed as Legolas, linking arms with Claire, an elf maiden.
“You heartless bitch,” Elvis greeted Claire with wrath. “Jonafan’s tearing himself apart back in England and you’re here swanning around wiv vat poncy elf man. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“The only reason he’s tearing himself apart is because I locked him in a cage with no one to bite,” argued Claire. “And he refused to take his potion, the foolish sod. I’ll have nothing more to do with him.”
“Elwood my man!” Legolas saluted his ex colleague.
“Come in everyone!” urged Cupid, and beckoned to his guests. They followed him into the hall where hard rock music was blasting out of the speakers. “The drinks are on the house!” he announced, gesturing at the table filled with alcoholic beverages. The guests began to diffuse over to the buffet and serve themselves.
Over the next hour, Debra Wood’s dining room began to amass with the rich and famous, who were glad of the indoor solace as they could escape the manipulative clutches of the paparazzi. The guest list was now rich in big names, including the entire Lord of the Rings and Buffy casts. Amongst the stars, however, were ordinary people like Elvis, who, despite his lack of fame and fortune, wasn’t experiencing any difficulties mingling with the well-known actors.
“I must’ve seen you in about a fousand hats,” he mentioned flirtatiously to Gwyneth. “Lets see, vere’s Polo, vere’s wannabe Rastafarian, vere’s big green blob…” he frowned thoughtfully whilst counting on his fingers. Gwyneth laughed with captivated amusement.
“So what films are you in?” she conversed politely. Elvis cocked his head to one side and made his eyes bulge.
“I starred in A Day in ve Life of Andy Molloy,” he said. Gwyneth smiled blankly.
“I’ve never heard of it,” she admitted. “Whom is it directed by?”
“Err, Peter Jackson,” he lied. “It was filmed in Cannes during ve film festival.”
“What’s it about?” Gwyneth pressed.
“Err,” Elvis faltered. “It’s about Elijah Wood singing, and attempts to resolve ve timeless question posed by feologians froughout ve last two millennia.”
“Yes?” Gwyneth prompted. “What was the question?”
“Ve issue is, did Jesus have a beard?” Elvis concluded rhetorically. “And my film, I mean…Peter Jackson’s film,” he hastily corrected, “Deals wiv vis deep philosophical issue, ve centre of controversy, in a mefod which involves ve viewer and ve hero equally. It provides scope for viewers to contemplate various depictions of Christ, and allows vem to draw veir own conclusions in ve closing scene. Also, ve final concept vat ‘Christ will return’ leaves ve plotline open for a sequel.”
“That’s fascinating,” Gwyneth whispered, utterly mesmerised by Elvis’ apparent charm and intellect. “So what character do you play?”
“I play, erm, Jesus,” Elvis informed her abruptly.
“Then why is it called A Day in the Life of Andy Molloy?”
“Andy Molloy is one of Jesus’ disciples.”
“I see.” Gwyneth sporadically snapped out of the trance in which she had been bewitched into believing that the man before her was a sensitive, innovative actor, and sought company elsewhere, excusing herself inadvertently.
Cupid, meanwhile, was beginning to become involved in his role of matchmaker. He grabbed James Marsters by the arm and pulled him into the kitchen. “Have you noticed what Imogen Stubbs is wearing tonight?” he addressed the appealingly wiry blonde, attempting to convey an image of nonchalance on his behalf.
“Yeah, she looks minging,” was James’ unenthusiastic response.
“So you’d never regard her as a potential partner?” Cupid persisted.
“Nope,” James admitted bluntly.
“Ahh well, can’t say I didn’t try,” Cupid yielded.
More guests were arriving in drones, and Cupid began to contemplate how he’d either clean up the mess, or conceive a plausible explanation for the presence of the latter to his mother on her return. He decided to barricade such terrorizing thoughts from his consciousness for the present, and sought to welcome the new arrivals. An obscure man vaguely resembling what could only be construed as a Pink Floyd guitarist, was positioned on the doorstep, accompanied by an unmaterialistic-looking woman with a pencil tucked behind her ear and a notebook in her hand. She was wearing a badge that said ‘a rose is a rose is a rose’; her acquaintance manifested a sticker, which read ‘support your local poet’.
“Hi!” Cupid articulated climatically after surveying them briefly, and was unable to veil his distaste for their abstract costumes. “Were you guys invited by Elvis’s friend too?”
“Elvis?” the woman frowned in perplexity.
“I’m Syd Barrett and this is Gertrude Stein,” a tender male Scottish voice elucidated beneath a mask. “We were invited by Marilyn Monroe.”
“I wasn’t aware of Marilyn’s presence,” Cupid retorted rather uncouthly, unenlightened of his buried prejudice towards these people, who appeared to lack the necessary quality of being in the mainstream American film industry.
“That’d be solely because she hasn’t arrived yet,” Gertrude, Roz’s exterior, articulated. “She asked me to deliver the message that she’s gone to look up some old contacts and will be arriving at the party in due course.”
“In that case, do come in,” Cupid directed the pair of oddballs, maintaining his subtle tone of enmity as they crossed the threshold that was his front door. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He was now bordering on the offensive.
“I brought some friends,” Gertrude ventured uneasily, her sensitive nature detecting Cupid’s frost of contempt. Despite the significant gain in confidence and self-esteem she had achieved since leaving school, the consequences of gene shuffling in meiosis were still occurring in the form of occasional whims of social apprehension.
Cupid observed that at the rear of the couple, a group of common people camouflaged as deceased celebrities and fictional characters were congregated expectantly, awaiting an invitation to enter.
“Let us in, it’s freezing out here!” Exclaimed Elaine, depicting The Little Mermaid.
“I HAVE MAJOR MUNCHIES!” Phill declared, in the form of Mick Jagger.
“The name’sh B, Ben B,” Scientist Ben stated, absorbed in his Sean Connery disguise. “Mish Moneypenny and I are rather cold out here shir, sho if you’d be sho kind ash to let ush in, we’d be grateful.” Doctoress Deborah applauded the Scientist on his impersonation of the ageing Bond actor. Cupid was reduced to allowing the procession to join the party.
“Do you think he’d warm to us if I revealed my true identity?” Roddy mumbled conscientiously in Roz’s ear, as they followed Cupid into the main site of social interaction which was Debra Wood’s dining room.
“Don’t give in to temptation,” she advised wisely, placing a hand softly on his arm. “Wait until Rosamunda arrives, then all will be revealed.”
A dainty pair of green shoes with bells attached materialized circumspectly in the fireplace. “I am a message,” Niall announced, coming into view. The aloof celebrities ignored him. He resolved to tapping on a champagne glass with a spoon. “Attention elders,” he addressed the gathering. “I am Lord Nialllo, and it is my pleasure to introduce my sidekick, Mr Sock!” He brandished his right hand, which was covered with an ancient, grey, darned woollen sock.
“What’s he doing?” muttered Roddy with is face close to Roz’s, tickling her ear with his warm, sweet breath.
“I think he’s the warm up act for something or other,” Roz guessed. “Although who, I don’t know. Oh, I hope Rosamunda manages to get here before everyone leaves, otherwise the plan will be pointless. I don’t suppose Elijah’ll want to splash out on cars and legal fees if there are no guests left for Idlewild to entertain. What’s keeping her so long anyway?”
“Och, I cannae guess,” said Roddy.
Behind them, a petite woman resembling Shirley Bassey was murmuring into a mobile phone. After hanging up she accosted them presently with a dismayed look on her face. “That was Helen,” she informed disconsolately. “She’s been arrested.”
“WHAT?” Roz and Roddy expressed with dismay.
“What happened?” Roz asked sounding perturbed.
“What do you think,” Shirley replied reproachfully. “She stole a bloody car.”
“What’s all this about car thieves?” enquired Cupid, turning around and suddenly taking an interest in the conversation. “My dog chauffeur was a car thief you know.” The incoherence of his speech implied he was on the brink of intoxication. “Ah yes, my dearest dog chauffeur Helen. Where is she now, I ask myself, for my dogs and I haven’t been the same since she left!” Roz and Roddy exchanged a sorrowful glance.
“Should one of us go and bail her out?” suggested Roz quietly to Roddy.
“It’s hopeless now,” Roddy deduced pessimistically. “It was a rubbish plan anyway, it’d never have worked.”
“And that is why socks can’t be chartered accountants,” Niall concluded by the fireplace, polishing off an anecdote. John Cleese roared with laughter, clutching his sides desperately. Other actors regarded him askance, untouched by mirth at Niall’s punch line. “And now ladies and gents, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, it’s…Marilyn Monroe!” The cluster of bemused, but nevertheless curious actors continued to pay attention to Niall; consequently he managed to attract more interest than bargained for.
A stilettoed foot descended into the hearth followed by another, and Marilyn Monroe emerged from the fireplace dressed in a glamorous pink frock with slits down both sides. Her light blonde hair was set immaculately into a classic 1950’s style, and she was fanning herself voluptuously. Without speaking, she sidled expressively over to a microphone stand Niall had hastily set up for her at one end of the room, to the left of the table holding an abundance of beverages. She glanced sideways at a whisky bottle with what appeared to be more than mild curiosity, then rapidly turned away, subsequently launching into Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend, accompanied by a karaoke machine.
Roz glanced up from her glass of wine and gasped. “She made it!” she enthused to Roddy with intense relief.
“How the magnesium did she manage to get out of police custody in such a small amount of time?” speculated Shirley’s ulterior, Rukaya, feeling flummoxed.
“The police station’s across the road,” revealed Roddy. “I noticed it on the way here. Roz and I heard police dogs barking insanely so we crossed over to the other side of the road.”
When Marilyn had finished singing, there was a majestic wave of applause throughout the room. “Thank you darlings, thank you!” she gestured tearfully, and waved to Roz and Roddy who were vaguely conspicuous from where they were standing.
“Who is this masked wonder?” stuttered Cupid enthralled by Marilyn’s charisma.
“I’d just like to thank my friend Roz,” Marilyn continued, holding her head high with poise. “For without her perpetual faith in my ideas and her open willingness to allow me to reside temporarily at her cottage in the Scottish highlands, I fear, dear friends, that you would not be graced with my radiant presence tonight.” There was a murmur of dissent at her rash, egotistical commentary, so she hastily added some hollow words of flattery to the audience to counteract her thoughtless utterings of self-obsession.
“I’d also care to express my gratitude towards Niall,” she continued, a notch less flamboyantly. “For without his talents in the field of modifying passports…” Niall waved frantically, shaking his head violently as if to indicate he’d rather not have disclosed information about his immoral career broadcast to an entire hall full of world-famous individuals. “I mean, without his skills in the department of legitimate passport creating,” corrected Marilyn, smoothing over her error with a broad smile, “It would never have been possible for me to return to California today.”
“Oh my God, it’s my dog chauffeur,” Cupid stated, monotonous with shock. “Helen, is that you? Have you come back to us?” He staggered over to Marilyn in a drunken stupor, and peered at her intently.
“It is I, dear Elijah!” the disillusioned dog chauffeur masquerading as the glamorous actress publicized fervently, and whipped off her Marilyn Monroe facemask. Secondly she discarded what now appeared to have been a blonde wig, and embraced Elijah devotedly, sobbing onto his shoulder.
He returned the display of emotion by repetitively wailing, “We missed you so much! Where were you? We were so worried!”
Conclusively, the weeping desisted and Helen continued to speak to the mob, who were by now uptight with suspense. “Yes, that’s right people, as you may by now have gathered, my role in life is to serve Elijah and his dogs by driving them to their weekly piano lessons. I was unfortunate enough to be faced with a difficult situation three months ago, which prevented me from returning to California after I had attended a film premiere in London. Due to the circumstances of the situation which I would prefer not to elaborate on, I was faced with no alternative but to hide out in an isolated cottage in the highlands of Scotland, a dismal place I must concede, no offence Roz.” Roz pursed her lips awkwardly, and Roddy slipped a skinny arm inside hers.
“Anyway darlings, I was eventually fortunate enough to return to this fine state, a state in which I am always welcome,” Helen educated the crowd.
“Welcome by the law,” murmured Roddy to Roz, and she chuckled inaudibly.
“But although it may appear so far that I arrived independently, I can assure you darlings, that I didn’t make my journey alone.” The audience, interpreting the latter statement as a spiritual reference, applauded appreciatively. “And by that, my dear Elijah, and my fellow human beings, I mean that I was accompanied by several exceedingly talented musicians.”
“That’s your cue,” Roddy prompted Roz. “The support band goes first remember.”
“Magnesium, yeah,” she agreed edgily. “I should go and round up the band.” She discreetly slid over to the punchbowl where her fellow band members were participating in drinking races. “Come on people, we’re on!” she directed stealthily. “Grab your instruments!” Roz’s band, consisting of three others, picked up an electric guitar and tin whistle respectively, and marched into the cleared area, which represented a stage. Roz followed with her flute shortly, and the drummer sat himself at a drum kit, which had also been hastily set up by Niall in the background.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Suck the Cans!” Helen announced supportively. They launched into some innovative Celtic rock music. Helen trudged off, feeling suddenly vexed that she was no longer the centre of attention.
“I have a surprise for you Lijie!” she tantalised the stupefied actor who was by now drunk on Becks.
“Another?” he ejaculated wondrously. His wide eyes penetrated her in expressive astonishment. “But you’ve already rewarded me with so many lovely surprises this evening, I can’t imagine what could come next. I’m already ecstatic that you came back, which was a prospect I only dreamed of. Helen, you have made me the happiest hobbit in the Shire!”
“I love you Frodo!” she choked.
Presently, Suck the Cans finished their last song, and Helen returned to her position on the stage. “And now, the penultimate act!” she bellowed.
“The penultimate act?” queried Roz as she walked out of the spotlight. “What else does this insane woman have planned?” Instruments were being hastily set up at the other side of the room where there was more floor space, and some men appeared to be selotaping carpets to the floor. Roddy was cowering in the shadows at the side of the room, waiting to be announced on stage. “Was I OK?” Roz asked him nervously as she slipped past him.
“Aye, you’re improving all the time,” he expressed sincerely. “It was beautiful.” She stared into the vacuum of his eyes, wished him luck and dispersed through a crowd of rowdy actors.
“Elijah,” began Helen, “I credit you with the superb Scottish quartet, the pioneering punk rockers who care not for the material pleasures of this world but have dedicated their careers towards providing tasteful music for all who want it. I present you Scotland’s first rebellion against spandex and wallet chains – ladies and gentlemen, it’s IDLEWILD!”
For a brief moment, Elijah looked as if he were about to faint. “Igotta gopish,” he garbled drunkenly, and stumbled outside. Meanwhile, Idlewild leapt on stage pumping their fists. Colin was drunk as usual, and Bob was living up to his nickname ‘Mad Dog’ by moshing violently, even before they had started playing.
“Hi,” Roddy greeted the audience apprehensively. He never knew what to say in between songs. “I hope you’re all good.” Promptly they launched into I Don’t Have The Map, and there was a great deal of fervent headbanging amongst the front row, who were previously the back row and welcomed the opportunity to celebrate Helen’s bombshell to the full extent.
In the meantime Elijah was standing in front of the neighbour’s fountain, undoing his fly. His next-door neighbour Mrs B didn’t realise what he was doing until it was too late. She came waddling out of her house in a fury, blind drunk on ethanol.
“Oh shit, you fucking cunt, you pissed in my fountain and fucked my clown. I am going to make you rot in hell for all eternity, you tit licking cock sucking motherfucking man whore!”
“What’s going on out there?” her husband inquired through the window.
“Go piss up a rope penguin,” was her reply.
“I’m sorry for piss…Hic!...Pissing in your fountain ma’am,” Elijah apologised unsteadily. “But no matter what you say, I never fucked your clown!”
“I’ll never believe you, you naughty boy! We have a name for people like you where I come from.”
“Where do you come from Mrs B?” he asked her, changing the subject from promiscuous clowns.
“Anta…Liverpool,” she responded uncomfortably. Now it was her turn to change the subject. “What is that cool music coming from your house my dear?” she questioned him.
“Gah, I’m missing Idlewild!” he realised, and dashed back inside. Mrs B started moshing stiffly in her garden.
On his return he was smothered with a flying tee shirt, which appeared to have ‘69’ written across the front. It evidently belonged to Bob, as he was the only topless member of the band so far. “Are you having fun Lije?” Helen inquired, dancing energetically. “Oh my God, is that Mad Dog’s tee shirt? Why did he give it to you?”
“I don’t know!” said Elijah worriedly. “You don’t think he has a thing for me do you?” Little did Elijah know that Mad Dog was already spoken for.
“I hope not!” Helen snarled defiantly. “If he does though, we might just have to show him you’re not interested.” She grasped Elijah’s hips and began to dance with him in time to the heavy beat. He reciprocated willingly and began to flush with the intense heat of close human contact.
Roz swayed back and forth from the sidelines, appearing elated at the wonder of live music. Elvis approached her.
“I never fought I’d get to see Oidwewoiwd live!” he rejoiced excitedly. “Vis is brilliant young Roz, was it your idea?”
“Nope, it was all Helen’s,” she admitted loyally. “She’d do anything to please her Lijie.”
“Awww!” Elvis cooed, touched by humanity.
An hour later, Idlewild finished playing and Roz fetched them some bottles of Evian. “Aye, thanks, that’s grand,” Roddy gratified, swigging ravenously from the bottle and wiping his damp brow with the back of his hand. “Do you have any idea who the final act are by the way?”
“I’m flummoxed,” conceded Roz. “I’m amazed Idlewild weren’t considered the climax of entertainment.”
“And finally, boys and girls,” spoke Helen, “The act you have all been waiting for! These two marvels are about to take part in their debut performance after three years of dedicated practice. Please give a warm welcome to…Rascal and Levonne Wood!”
Roz, Roddy and Elvis stared at each other in bewilderment as Elijah led two cocker spaniels towards the stately grand piano in the corner of the room. “Thank you people, thank you!” Elijah expressed. “This is Rascal, and this is Levvie, and they are going to play Fur Elise!” He lifted the dogs onto the piano stool. They immediately embarked on playing the classic Beethoven piece with their paws. Unshed tears gleamed in Helen’s eyes as her beloved clients pervaded the depths of her soul with their harrowing music. Elijah placed a stable hand on her shoulder, and was equally unable to restrain his emotions. They rocked backwards and forwards hypnotically as the talented dogs co-operated harmoniously in their sweet duet.
“It’s so beautiful!” Helen whined. “The very notion that all my years of chauffeuring paid off, it simply pierces my very heart with the arrow of compassion! Oh Lijie, I’m so sorry I didn’t come back to you! I’m suffering from remorse beyond human comprehension! Everything I put your dogs through, it was so terrible! I love them dearly, with all my heart!”
“I know honey, I know,” Elijah empathised, drawing her close. “It’s all over now, I forgive you. And I was never mad in the first place, I could never be mad at you!” There was more hysteria on Helen’s part. “Let’s just put the whole thing behind us, including the matter of the paper aeroplane. I know you didn’t intend to knock me out. And your gifts to my guests tonight will remain with me always in the heart of my spirit, dearest Helen. Is there anything further I can do for you tonight?” Helen suddenly ceased to cry.
“Well, you see my friend Roddy recently had his car stolen…” began Helen, leading Elijah out into the garden.
“I hope she manages to convince him,” Roddy prayed, crossing his fingers. Roz smiled reassuringly at him.
“It’ll be fine,” she affirmed.
Meanwhile, stoner Phill, who was surprisingly not stoned, was beginning to view the world through a partial eye. “Oh my God, I have a beautiful girlfriend and child!” he exclaimed unexpectedly. Elaine smiled as if her heart’s desire had been fulfilled.
“How does it feel to be Phill again?” she asked him lovingly.
“I feel ten times the size of Stoner Phill,” he proclaimed majestically, and kissed her. “Marry me Elaine,” he urged, sounding heartfelt and besotted.
“I’d be honoured,” she resolved, inwardly ecstatic.
Doctoress Deborah and Scientist Ben were dancing slowly to a song Elvis was singing, whilst Roz and Roddy were discussing gay rights. Rukaya was sitting on the floor drawing, and Orlando was pouring Claire a drink. Outside on the lawn, Elijah and Helen, reunited after three months, were discussing Rascal and Levonne’s future.
“I think they should learn the guitar next,” suggested Helen.
“Impossible,” dismissed Elijah.
“No, I really think it’d be good for them,” Helen determined. “They need to broaden their musical horizons. I do hope you play them a lot of David Bowie, Lije.” She dipped her hand in the fountain.
“Actually no, but I think you’re right,” he agreed. “They should be listening to good, proper…oh my God Helen, don’t touch the water!” He lifted her up by the waist and hoisted her away from the fountain.
“What’s wrong with it?” she said, startled.
“He pissed in it, the gang-banging man slag,” a penguin retorted, emerging from behind a bush. Helen wiped her hand disgustedly on the grass, and then let out a mollified smirk. She kissed Elijah on the cheek.
Far away into the night, an owl hooted and a dog barked. Helen was going to be alright.

Stories Concerning Tisch

The Chemistry Lesson

The train smoothly halted at Crossflatts station, and Mr M stepped out onto the platform, clothed in a slick black suit underneath a long grey coat. He expertly lit a king-size Silk Cut cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke as he made the journey along the main road towards Bingley Grammar School.
As he arrived at the bus turnaround, the B46 drew up and a stream of uniformed students stepped out. Amongst this crowd was a girl called Lucy who consistently ignored the school dress code. Her hair was fluorescent pink, a large number of obscene badges were attached to her fraying black hoodie, and on her wrists were two enormous clusters of bright coloured bracelets, which appeared to accumulate daily.
“Mwa ha ha,” marvelled Mr M inwardly. “An unsuspecting student violating the school rules!” He took great pleasure in scolding pupils, especially when they least expected it.
“Oi Lucy, get ‘ere now!” he roared as loud as his vocal cords would permit. Lucy gave a high-pitched shriek and jumped forcefully, knocking a small year seven boy off his feet in the process.
“Why is your hair purple?” Mr M demanded.
“It’s not purple, it’s pink,” she retaliated bluntly.
“You know the rules Lucy,” he replied sternly. “I suggest you get rid of it by tomorrow.”
“But it’s permanent.”
“Then do what Mr M did when Mr M dyed his hair pink. DYE IT BLACK!”
“OK,” she agreed reluctantly.
“And I’ll have those bracelets too.” He raised an eyebrow and held out his hand expectantly. She dismally placed them in his palm. “Including the ones you’ve just pushed up your sleeve.”
When all the bracelets had been transferred from boisterous pupil to brutal teacher, Lucy dashed off the meet her friends, who had appeared round the corner, her arms outstretched. Mr M selected several bracelets from the collection and inconspicuously slid them onto his left wrist, alongside 3 green sparkly rubber ones.

***
The bell rang. Mr M groaned grudgingly, his mug sandwiched between his palms. He was reading book nine of the Wheel of Time, which had kindly been leant to him by Rukaya that morning. Promptly he remembered he was supposed to be teaching 11TA, and hurried off to L7.
When he arrived, the entire group were clustered outside the lab door, waiting for permission to enter, as this was one of the science department rules.
“What did you learn in your first science lesson in year nine?” the Oxford graduate had retorted patronisingly to the group when they had once accidentally disobeyed this rule. “Think back to the LAB SAFETY RULES!” he bellowed. Roz and Helen jumped a mile. “You know, the science department CODE OF CONDUCT? Ten ways to prevent getting your HEAD BLOWN OFF?” Thirty faces looked startled. “Is English your fourth, or maybe your fifth language?” He had forced the class to chant ‘I will wait outside the lab until Mr M gets here’ ten times (the number of school years that they’ve completed). “Chanting helps us learn, boys and girls,” he had added.
“It’s superb to see you’ve all decided to make my job easier by obeying my, I mean Mr Patterson’s rules,” he greeted 11TA that morning, as he held the door open for them. “Come along now children, spit spot,” he continued, adopting a Mary Poppins-style tone, suggesting it was the students who were late and it was their responsibility to compensate for lost time.
“A’ight,” he began, when all the students’ coats were hung precariously on the hooks by the door, and the class automatically fell silent. “On Monday – err, thank you Ben – on Monday we’re gonna be doing a ver-ry hands-on experiment…”
“Sir, when are we gonna be doin’ that experiment on the field?” a boy called Sam interrupted. Mr M stuck out his lower lip into a sulky pout.
“Not ‘llowed,” he responded with mock immaturity. “Anyway, if you’d let me continue, to carry on with the work we’ve been doing on electrolysis, we’re gonna doing some electrolysis ourselves. But today you’re gonna be doing some revision, because I marked your tests at the weekend and most of you did appallingly.” Creases appeared at the side of his eyes as he said this, and his usually boisterous expression turned deadly serious. “You’re all gonna have to start doing a…a magnesium of a lot better than this if you want to pass.”
Suddenly a text message alert tone sounded, which was quite obviously coming from Mr M’s trouser pocket. He gave an abrupt cough and revealed his silver Nokia 5110.
“My mother is ver-ry ill,” he explained jokingly, baring his teeth. “Nope, I’m not gonna read it,” he stated decisively, after checking who the message was from.
“Now, moving on to the reactivity series,” he preached. “Metal plus acid. Roz.”
“Salt and hydrogen,” Roz replied timidly, trying to mask the fact that she had remembered Mr M’s acronym MASH.
“Marvellous. And for those of you who forget stuff, remember potatoes.”

***

Mr M scanned page after page of unkempt exercise books, randomly inscribing hurried crosses, and occasional ticks, onto the paper. His intention was to finish the marking, which was his duty to accomplish in his spare time, so he could accompany several of his colleagues to a nightclub that evening. (“Don’t get too drunk sir,” Ben had warned him earlier). There was only one flaw to this scheme – his concentration was being affected. 11TA just wouldn’t shut up.
“Hush now children,” the emotionally deficient man cooed to the group of exceptionally intelligent 16 year olds, his lips protruding in the process. He wandered of over to a boy called Chris whom he disliked intensely for some reason unbeknown to the rest of the group. He began to peer unnervingly over Chris’s shoulder at the work he was doing.
“Where the sod did you get your gold from, young Chris? I believe…that that’s supposed to be aluminium. We’re doing chemistry here, not alchemy. Ahhhhhh!”
Several minutes later the bell rang, indicating the closure of the lesson of chemistry. “BYE!” he yelled bluntly, and disappeared into the prep room. Several seconds later he emerged with a copy of American Psycho. “I do reading too,” he said to Roz who was peering at a classic novel. Mr M cocked his head to one side and frowned, then stuck fingers up to either side of his head and made his eyes bulge. “How many hats have you got young Roz?” he inquired. “There’s cricket, wannabe tree hugger and big purple blob.” Roz smiled nervously and fled, feeling very intimidated. Presently, Mr M wandered off back to the physics prep room to finish his marking.



Roddy’s Date

Trafalgar Square was packed with tourists. The ground was scorching hot and the air was close and dusty. Cameras flashed and car headlights gleamed, reflecting the blinding afternoon sunlight.
Orlando was perched on the edge of a fountain, his hands partially immersed. He was entertaining himself by making ripples with his fingers. He was fascinated by the sparkles of sunlight on the surface of the water.
Roddy was sitting on the other side of the fountain waiting for his blind date. A Kerrang! journalist had taken the liberty the previous week of fixing the twenty six year old Scotsman up with her daughter, judging by first impression that Roddy was a highly respectable, loveable young gentleman.
He was scanning the crowds for a girl in a purple hat and a carnation in her buttonhole, as this was the description he had been given. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Allan!” he exclaimed as he turned to face a pale-looking man with curly brown hair, who happened to be his soon-to-be-ex housemate.
“Roddy, I’d like you to meet someone,” he announced, gesturing towards a smooth-looking man with dark brown hair and sideburns. “This is Andy, my replacement.”
“Ver-ry pleased to meet you,” Mr Andy M greeted Roddy. He was Roddy’s new housemate, as Allan would soon be moving to Dundee to train as a dance teacher.
“Oh, erm, hi!” Roddy replied, somewhat bemused. “It’s good to meet you too, but actually you’ve come at a rather bad time, sorry. I’m sort of waiting for a date.”
Before Mr Andy M could reply, Elijahwoodominicmonaghan appeared on the scene. Andy frowned pensively, as if trying to place Dom’s face. Suddenly he leapt up and ran towards him. “Dom!” he expressed excitedly, “It’s me, Andy!”
Dom frowned for a second, then replied, “Andy! Andy M! My old friend!” They embraced fraternally. Dom and Andy had studied together at Manchester Grammar School. Andy had taken care of Dom on his first day, as he had just moved over from Berlin and didn’t know anyone. Awww! They had spent many happy days together skiving off PE and smoking behind the bike sheds. They had even been on a double date to the cinema to see My Girl when they were sixteen.
But alas, they had eventually drifted their separate ways. Dom left Manchester Grammar after his GCSEs and enrolled at drama school, while Andy stayed on to take chemistry and physics (he hated biology and nicknamed it ‘colouring in’), then was accepted at Oxford two years later.
“I saw you in Ve Lord of ve Rings,” commented Andy. “You were ver-ry good.”
“Thank you!” expressed Dom dramatically. “This is Lije, by the way.”
“Howdy,” saluted Elijah Wood as he lit an herbal cigarette. He offered the packet round and Andy took one gratefully.
“And vis is my new housemate Roddy,” Andy announced importantly. He’s in Oidwewoiwd.”
“We’ve met,” responded Roddy and Elijah simultaneously. Elijah winked at Roddy.
“Oh, and vat’s Allan. Allan plays guitar,” he added.
“Really?” replied Dom incredulously. “Billy plays guitar too!”
Suddenly, Roddy’s date appeared. She was complete with hat and carnation, and was also holding a purple rat balloon. At least, Roddy presumed she was his date. Little did he realise the girl, whose name was Roz, was not his belle, but coincidentally happened to fit the description of her.
Roz was looking for Nelson’s Column so she could photograph it in the hazy summer afternoon sunlight.
“Excuse me,” she began, approaching a man named Billy who happened to be there independently. “Do you know a Nelson?”
“Nelson? Sure I know a Nelson! He’s over there! He’s my second cousin once removed on his mother’s side,” Billy replied, pointing to the tall statue. Roz thanked him nervously and edged away feeling bewildered.
She approached the statue. Roddy sprang to his feet and smoothed his hair with his hand. He walked over to her. “Are you…” he began shyly. He hardly ever went on dates due to a bad sexual experience in 1994 which had been ‘quite unexpected’. Therefore he was a little out of practice in the field of flirting.
“Roddy?” Roz blurted in a daze, immediately recognising the face of her favourite rock personality.
“Aye. You must be my date,” he replied.
“Yes,” affirmed Roz in a trance, unable to protest.
“Would you like to go for, erm, a curry or something?” he suggested.
“Yes, oh yes!” Roz responded in utter amazement. Curry was her favourite food. It was her dream come true.
“Great. My wee Purple Nissan Micra’s just over there,” he informed her, pointing at a car which was being issued with a parking ticket. Roddy promptly realised this a excused himself.
Meanwhile, Andy recognised Roz. He used to teach her chemistry at Bingley Grammar School. “Roz! Roz Leman!” he yelled, waving his arms. She approached him, still in a state of shock.
“Mr M?” she whispered.
“Ahhh, young Roz!” he greeted her smoothly. “It’s good to see you again. Congratulations on you’re A by ve way. I’m sure vat wivout all vat hard work in lessons and at home, and ve hours and hours of dedication…vat I put into teaching you, you’d never have got such a superb grade. Awww!”
“You never apologised for humiliating me publicly for not knowing the formula for water,” Roz replied sullenly, as she recalled with a grimace that fateful lesson which had left so many mental scars.
“Sor-ry young Roz,” Andy apologised impassively. “But you have to accept cat I wasn’t getting laid at vat time, and I owed Garef fifty quid for vat old eisel I accidentally frew out, and payday wasn’t for anover free weeks.”
“Awww, nice one, ve twenty sixf: payday and one monf after my birfday,” Roz quoted under her breath.
“Sor-ry?” Andy queried, raising his right eyebrow.
Suddenly, Roz noticed Roddy returning from his vehicle, which now appeared to be clamped. She handed Andy the purple rat balloon and strode off to greet him.
“But Roz, your balloon!” Andy objected.
“Keep it!” she insisted. “And I hope it lasts longer than the mug!”
“My poor wee car!” Roddy lamented. “They clamped my wee car!”
“There there,” Roz soothed. “As Maude says, everything is impermanence.” A new light appeared in Roddy’s eyes.
“You’ve seen Harold and Maude?” he inquired animatedly.
“Yes, it’s my favourite film!” exclaimed Roz.
“Mine too!” Roddy expressed. “Let’s go to my basement bedroom and watch it. We can crack open a bottle of wine as well.” They departed in elation.
Meanwhile, Andy, Dom, Lije and Allan heard a tremendous splash. They turned round to find that a stoned Orlando had fallen in the fountain.



The Atrocious Apartment of Andy and Roddy

The front door opened noisily, and a handsome man with sideburns and a quiff strolled confidently in.
“A’ight Roddy,” he greeted Roddy.
“Hi,” Roddy greeted him absently. He was thinking about his next song, ‘What’s in a Suppose’. “I’ll have what I’ve never had when I find there’s nothing to have…” he muttered. “Andy, how does this sound?” He repeated the obscure line.
“Hmmm,” Andy pondered, furrowing his brow and placing a finger on his lower lip. “It doesn’t seem to make any sense.” Andy wasn’t exactly skilled in the field of dispensing positive or sensitive advice.
“Och, I guess you’re right,” the Scotsman admitted, screwing up a piece of paper which contained the lyrics he’d spent three hours working on. “I’ll wait till Colin comes back from Thailand, he’ll have some ideas.”
“I fink you should write a song about me,” Andy suggested egotistically. “You should call it…” he paused for effect, making his eyes bulge and cocking his head to one side. “Andy M-----. Awwww!”
Roddy gave a quiet, lilting laugh that sounded like soft, babbling brooks and sweet nightingales. “Idlewild never write about people,” he explained tactfully. “We tend to focus on sort of abstract ideas that can be interpreted on many different levels.”
“You wrote about Gertrude Stein,” Andy pouted.
Suddenly, Rod the skinny Indie rocker from Leeds appeared at the window. He was brandishing a copy of Harold and Maude. Roddy strode towards the door to let him in.
“I brought your video back,” Rod explained hurriedly. He appeared to be out of breath.
“Cool, thanks,” replied Roddy. He took the video and glanced animatedly at the box, pleased his favourite film had been returned. Rod excused himself, dashed off in a frenzy and disappeared round a the corner. Andy peered at the video box.
“Hmmm, Harold and Maude…” he began. “I saw vat wiv a female friend once, and I fought it was a load of magnesium. I found it ridiculous vat Harold, a young smoov man like myself could consider sleeping wiv an old lady like Maude.”

Learn more about Roddy here: