My Sainsbury’s online order was delivered this afternoon. Due to me not checking my current stock levels, I now have 47 x 1 litre cartons of milk. If anyone would like to help relieve me of milk, please meet me at The Red Lion pub in Avebury this evening at 8pm. I’ll be wearing a raincoat, fedora and sunglasses. Under my right arm will be a newspaper. We can make the swap in the pub car park and after that, I never want to see you again.
Anyway, sorry for that digression. Here, now, is part two of the account of Marcus’s 21st birthday celebrations.
He began, of course, with a riddle.
“My first is in Weather but never in bed
My second’s not blue but always in red.
My third is in tea, but never in coffee.
My fourth is dessert – tart or banoffee.
My fifth is a dialetical analysis of a priori conjecturing, that postulates a transgression.
My sixth is a blancmange…”
“I need to rethink this,” he said.
It was The Riddler. And yet…I knew it wasn’t. I knew that lurking beneath that plush green suit with the strange hierogrlyphics was a certain Theo Wethered.
I am sure that name conjures just as many images and scintillating tales of wonder and delight as it does with me. Many a time I have regaled an interested thong with stories of Theo’s derring-do. Tonight was no exception as –
Hang on a minute.
Yes, yes, I see that.
That should read ‘throng’.
Anyway, as I was saying. Theo has inspired many people throughout is brief time on Earth and so, in homage, I have put together a video in which I feel perfectly reflects this.
I circled around some more, raising my glass occasionally and smiling. Alcohol is a funny thing. You can go for minutes without taking a sip and then, the next time you do, it feels like the first sip all over again. I gazed at the milling people, just…milling. In my alcohol-fuelled detached state of reality, I wondered if any of them were actually millers. I wondered if millers would mill together, at a party, or just huddle together swapping stories of wheat.
And then –
“Ahoy there!” came a voice I recognised.
It was Orlando, dressed as a miller.
This was my stock greeting for people I liked. People I didn’t like were subjected to “Sorry but I’m closed today.”
“Are you enjoying yourself Riaz?”
I found this question a bit personal. In fact, it was downright audacious. We had only met a handful of times previously and yet, here he was attempting to understand my psyche, to probe my ego, to reveal the tempestuous fires that burned within my heart.
“Yes,” I said, playing it safe.
“Ahoy! Jim lad!” he said playfully.
My name wasn’t Jim, I wasn’t a lad and I had never been to Hanoi. Apart from that he had everything else right.
We talked for a while. Outside, flashes of light intermittently lit up the dark study. The wind howled against the window, and the sound of gunfire could be heard in the distance. Tomorrow I would visit Horsell common once more to try and discover more about the Martians, but for now most of London was asleep, and the real terror was yet to begin.
The night wore on. My ageing decrepit body constantly argued with my young fertile mind, pleading with it to be taken to a place of safety, such as a bed. At the completely unsociable hour of 11pm I stepped out of the tent and slowly walked back to my flat.
Very slowly, as it happened, as there was nothing to light my way, save for a glimmering beacon of hope.
But I found my flat, kissed Joni goodnight, and fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning I was advised to meet everyone back at the tent for breakfast, so at 10am I moseyed on down to the bottom of the field again. I had drunk a fair bit the night before and had trouble coordinating my many complex and trustworthy simian appendages. I reached the tent and an orderly queue had formed in front of an orderly table that had a selection of breakfast goodies on it, arranged in order. I chose scrambled eggs in a bun, with some bacon and a large paper cup filled with hot steaming coffee.
I sat there, contemplating my existence as I chewed slowly on strips of crispy bacon. The party had been a success, I felt. Marcus’s father, Adam, had given a rousing and very witty speech at the close of the night. There was much dancing, fun and laughter. All in all a fantastic night and I’d like to thank everyone who made it possible.
Okay, I have a bit of space left now, so here’s some classified ads.
LOST & FOUND
Found – one needle. It was in a field near my home, right in the middle of a haystack.
To claim, ring 01633-999888111.
LIBRARY CARD – Only done two hundred books. This year’s registration. One previous owner. Will be accepted at most Libraries in Wiltshire. £30 o.n.o. Contact Mr R. Ealie-Phunee on 01799-977611
Cladistic taxidermist wanted to accompany time-travelling proletarian salesman.