Author Archives: K Morris Poet

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About K Morris Poet

The purpose of this website (kmorrispoet.com) is to showcase my writing. For details of my published works, please click on the 'About' page of my blog.

The Call Girl

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Suzie winced as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Was this the same Suzie Jeffries, the daughter of Mark Jeffries, the vicar of Little Compton in the Marshes? The same Suzie who had as a teenager delighted the congregation of All Saints church with her singing? Her father and the congregation would suffer a group seizure where Suzie to appear before them now dressed as a sixth form schoolgirl. But the client had been very specific,

“I want an 18-year-old girl to dress up like a naughty schoolgirl”.

In the world of escorting the client is always right so a sixth form schoolgirl is what would be delivered, by taxi to his hotel in 45 minutes or so.

Sitting in the back of the taxi Suzie wondered, as she so often did just how the daughter of an Anglican clergyman had become embroiled in the world of prostitution.

Charlie wasn’t anything like the privately educated men with whom Suzie normally associated. That was what had first attracted Suzie to Charlie.

“OK darling cars fine now. She’ll go like a dream”.

“Thank you. How much do I owe?”

“Well darling it should be £400 but if you go for a drink with me lets call it £250” he had said with a smile.

Suzie wasn’t used to being called darling but there was something slightly dashing and perhaps a little dangerous about Charlie which sent a tingle down her spine. What did her friend Amanda call men like Charlie? “a bit of rough”. Well if Mandy could have her “bit of rough” why shouldn’t she have her fun also. God those boys from the local congregation where wet behind the ears, she needed a real man.

“OK that would be lovely” she had replied.

That evening she had met Charlie in the Hare and Hounds. They had got very drunk and ended up having sex in the back of his car while parked up in a country lane.

“I wanna see you again babe, show you the bright lights of the smoke. You’re something special babe. Really straight up, no bull shit, you’re amazing”.

Suzie had lapped up the compliments as a thirsty man drinks water on reaching a well in the desert. None of the men she had met through the church made her feel that thrill of excitement. She was, Suzie thought in love with a real man.

Soon afterwards they had moved to London. Of course her parents had hit the roof. Not only was Suzie “living in sin” but she had chosen to do so with a man who, in the view of her parents was her social inferior.

“A mechanic, you are throwing yourself away. You could do so much better” her mother had said.

As is so often the case the objections of Suzie’s parents only served to drive their daughter further into the arms of her lover.

“Hypocrites, that is what you are. The church preaches equality but you tell me that Charlie isn’t good enough just because he grew up on a council estate and he doesn’t speak with a plumby accent. You make me sick” Suzie had said as she left the vicarage banging the door behind her.

In London things haden’t gone well. Charlie had found a job as a mechanic but soon lost it due to his heavy drinking. He found another but lost that also for the same reason. After having lost 4 jobs in quick succession word spread through the grapevine that anyone thinking of employing Charlie Johnston as a mechanic should think again. Offers of employment dried up leaving the couple dependent on the meagre income which Suzie’s work as a cleaner brought in.

“Do you love me Suz?”

“Of course I do Charlie” Suzie had said kissing her boyfriend on the lips.

“Suz where up shit creek without a paddle. I can’t see any way out of it unless …”

“Unless what darling?”

“Forget it”.

“Forget what Charlie?”

“Suz you know I love you” Charlie said putting his arms around Suzie.

“Yes sweetheart and I love you to, I’d do anything for you”.

“Suz there was this ad in the paper”, Charlie paused.

“Ad?”

“Forget it Suz, it isn’t a good idea”.

“Forget what?”

“Would you really do anything for me?”

“You know I would”.

“Suz a company’s looking for girls to keep men company”.

“No Charlie, you are having a laugh aren’t you? Please tell me that you are having a laugh. I’ll do anything but that!”

“Suz it’s just company, nothing dodgy I rang up and asked”.

“You did what?!” Suzie exclaimed.

“OK forget it. I thought you loved me but obviously you don’t give a shit. Just fuck off back to mummy and daddy” Charlie had stormed.

Suzie began to cry,

“I love you Charlie. I’ll do anything but don’t ask me to do that”.

“Stuck up little miss proper won’t do it” Charlie had sneered.

“I can’t. I just can’t”.

“You don’t love me Suz I may as well bugger off” Charlie had said throwing his clothes into a suitcase.

“No my love, please don’t leave me” Suzie had said tears running down her face.

“You don’t love me Suz.

“I do, I’ll do it just please, please stay”.

“Oh babe I love you. Come here” he had said taking Suzie into his arms.

The next evening Suzie had been sent by the agency to see her first punter. The man had, quite naturally expected sex.

“No I’m sorry I can’t do that” Suzie had said.

“Look sweetheart all the girls do it, you are in the wrong fucking job!”

“Can you give me a moment please?”

The man had shrugged. Suzie had walked out into the hallway and called Charlie,

“The man wants sex” she said in a voice shaking with emotion.

“I love you Suz, you know that. I wouldn’t ask you to do this unless things where desperate but please do it for me. I mean do it for us Suz. You know we need the money”.

Suzie had gone back into the bedroom and feeling like a robot had allowed the client to perform on her. Following her first encounter with a client she had, over time  become used to prostituting herself. Suzie clung to the belief that Charlie loved her and that prostitution was merely a temporary interlude before he obtained a job as a mechanic and she could give up escorting. However she was finding it increasingly difficult to believe that Charlie regarded her as anything other than a meal ticket. There relationship was dying. In fact it had died long ago Suzie thought as the taxi moved through the London traffic.

“What would daddy think of me now?” Suzie thought as she pulled her long coat close attempting to hide the school uniform. Prostitution was a sin and her father frequently preached against sexual immorality. She would, according to him be consigned to the flames of hell fire. Such a moral and upstanding member of the community he would die of shame where he to see his little girl now.

The taxi pulled up outside the hotel. Suzie stepped out of the cab, paid the driver and headed for the hotel’s foya. She took the lift to the second floor and as instructed by the agency knocked on room number 22. The door was opened by an elderly gentleman wearing only a bath towel.

“Oh suffering Christ!” he said staggering back into the room. Suzie stood frozen to the spot,

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” she exclaimed.

 

Update to Authors Facebook page

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I have updated my Authors Facebook page to include links to my most recent collections of short stories, An act of mercy and other stories, and Sting in the tail and other short stories.

Here is the link to my page:

https://www.facebook.com/newauthoronline?ref=hl

The Silly Things I Do

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Do you ever do silly things? I certainly do particularly when I’m thinking about my writing. A few days ago, having finished with a piece of kitchen roll I threw the remains of the paper towel into the bin. Well that is what I meant to do. In fact the kitchen roll had a ducking as it ended up in the washing up bowl, not the waste paper basket! On another occasion I went to put the dog’s bowl away in the fridge. A highly logical place for storing a dog bowl! Well I’ll need to concentrate on matters other than writing this morning as the Guide Dogs for the Blind Association are visiting to check on how my guide dog, Trigger and I are working together. This is a routine visit which all guide dog owners have but I will still be on my best behaviour as will Trigger!

The Observer

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Not a flicker of emotion showed in the green eyes as the sceene unfolded below.

“If I can’t have you then no one is going to have you” the man screamed at the girl as she locked the leather suitcase.

“Its over Michael. Can’t you get it through your thick skull that I don’t love you any more”.

“How can you say that? I’d do anything for you. I moved from Glasgow to London to be with you. I gave up my job and you tell me (he paused fighting back tears), and you walk in here, having been with another man and calmly tell me that its all over! Like hell its all over. You selfish little whore. All those times when you told me that you where doing the night shift in the hospital you where with him, don’t you dare deny it, I fucking know you where”.

“You’re a loser Michael. You always where and you will always be a waste of space. I must have been blind not to spot the word loser branded on your forhead when we first met”.

The girl picked up her suitcase and headed for the door. Unobserved the onlooker shifted his position. With mild curiosity he continued to watch  the unfolding drama.

“You’ll leave here over my dead body. Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re going nowhere” Michael shouted as he moved to block the girl’s exit.

“Let me past Michael” the girl said attempting to push him away from the bedroom door.

“Don’t touch me you fucking bitch” Michael said his fist crashing into her nose. Feeling sick and dazed the girl  staggered backwards collapsing on the bed, blood flowing from her broken nose.

Michael approached the cowering girl.

“You are going nowhere Lucy”.

Lucy’s terrified eyes met his.

“Please Michael don’t”.

“Don’t what? You dirty little whore”.

“Don’t” she said tears flowing down her face.

He stood looking down at the girl for a long time. Her pleading eyes sought for a flicker of humanity in his Gaze. There was none. Slowly Michael’s hands moved downwards. An inkling of her fate came to Lucy a millisecond prior to Michael’s fingers closing around her neck. She attempted to scream but the sound was choked off by his merciless grasp. The girl struggled for a minute then her body went limp. Michael continued to apply pressure long after the life had gone out of the girl. Eventually he came to himself and let go. Standing back from the bed he gazed at Lucy. She looked so beautiful her long black hair spread out over the pillows.

“Christ what have I done? What have I done?”

All the hate had gone out of Michael. He felt dead inside. The girl he had loved with such distructive passion was dead at his hands. Life was bleak and empty. Michael wandered into the kitchen. Opening the cutlery drawer he removed the knife. It had come with the wok which Lucy and he had purchased together in happier times. The knife was designed for chopping up meat and was ideally suited for what he had in mind.

From his vantage point the watcher saw Michael return. He saw him lie down next to Lucy. He observed the flash of the blade as it sliced into Michael’s throat. He heard Michael’s death rattle followed by the drip, drip of something unspeakable onto the bedroom carpet. He had seen enough. With a graceful movement the cat jumped from Lucy and Michael’s balcony to that of the neighbouring flat. A cat after all requires to be fed and is not overly concerned with who provides his meals.

A Forsaken Garden By A C Swinburne

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I first came across Swinburne’s “A Forsaken Garden” while listening to BBC Radio 4’s Poetry Please! It is one of those poems to which I return frequently and lines from which pop unbidden into my head

 

—

 

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,

At the sea-down’s edge between windward and lee,

Walled round with rocks as an inland island,

The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.

A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses

The steep square slope of the blossomless bed

Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses

Now lie dead.

 

The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken,

To the low last edge of the long lone land.

If a step should sound or a word be spoken,

Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest’s hand ?

So long have the grey bare walks lain guestless,

Through branches and briars if a man make way,

He shall find no life but the sea-wind’s restless

Night and day.

 

The dense hard passage is blind and stifled

That crawls by a track none turn to climb

To the strait waste place that the years have rifled

Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time.

The thorns he spares when the rose is taken ;

The rocks are left when he wastes the plain.

The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken,

These remain.

 

Not a flower to be pressed of the foot that falls not ;

As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry ;

From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not,

Could she call, there were never a rose to reply.

Over the meadows that blossom and wither

Rings but the note of a sea-bird’s song ;

Only the sun and the rain come hither

All year long.

 

The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels

One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath.

Only the wind here hovers and revels

In a round where life seems barren as death.

Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping,

Haply, of lovers none ever will know,

Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping

Years ago.

 

Heart handfast in heart as they stood, ‘Look thither,’

Did he whisper ? ‘look forth from the flowers to the sea ;

For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither,

And men that love lightly may die―but we ?’

And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened,

And or ever the garden’s last petals were shed,

In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had lightened,

Love was dead.

 

Or they loved their life through, and then went whither ?

And were one to the end―but what end who knows ?

Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither,

As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose.

Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them ?

What love was ever as deep as a grave ?

They are loveless now as the grass above them

Or the wave.

 

All are at one now, roses and lovers.

Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea.

Not a breath of the time that has been hovers

In the air now soft with a summer to be.

Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter

Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep,

When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter

We shall sleep.

 

Here death may deal not again for ever ;

Here change may come not till all change end.

From the graves they have made they shall rise up never,

Who have left nought living to ravage and rend.

Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing,

While the sun and the rain live, these shall be ;

Till a last wind’s breath upon all these blowing

Roll the sea.

 

Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,

Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink,

Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble

The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,

Here now in his triumph where all things falter,

Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,

As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,

Death lies dead.

What If?

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The scents of a summer garden carried on a gentle breeze. I stand at the open window intoxicated desiring life and you.

You the unattainable, reclining carelessly, your soft brown skin an instrument of torture. To look but not to touch, perpetually suspended in the state of friendship. What if I should express what lies within? What then?The death of friendship, the crushing of my dreams or, just possibly something else. Perhaps it is Better to live in suspended animation the words forever just on the tip of my tongue. Where I to speak my words like bombs would explode shattering forever this world of dreams.

Sweeping Up

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“another bloody pervert” Sergeant Ben Marshal said as he looked down contemptuously at the man lying on the living room floor.

“How can you be so callous?” constable Haley Dixon asked.

“Look Haley when you have seen so many weirdos as I have kill themselves while getting their kinks you will feel just as pissed off as I do. We should be out there catching criminals not investigating the deaths of pervs who get their kicks out of tying vacuum cleaner chords around their necks to obtain sexual gratification. Its an obvious case of accidental death while he (pointing to the corpse) was getting his jollies.  I bet you £20 that the coroner finds that this is accidental death”.

“I don’t gamble”.

“Pitty as it’s a dead cert that £20 would be coming my way if you did”.

 

—

 

The elderly man leaned heavily on his walking stick as he approached the front door. These days it took him several minutes to get from the arm chair to the door by which time many callers had given up waiting and left leaving only an empty space when he finally opened the door.

“I’m coming” he called in a quavering voice.

Finally he reached the front door. He fumbled with the latch. His arthritic fingers could barely manage to cope with the simple mechanism. Eventually the latch clicked and he opened the door.

A gloved handwas pressed over his mouth.

“Get inside. If you make a sound I’ll use this” the caller said the flick knife glinting in his gloved left hand.

The man shrank back into the hallway.

“I’m going to remove my hand but if you try to summon help I’ll use this” the visitor said holding the knife so that it’s blade was a mere millimetre away from the elderly man’s neck.

“The money is in my bedroom under the matress. Just take it and go” the old man pleaded.

“Oh Bert don’t you remember your own step son? I’m truly hurt. Don’t you recall the times we spent alone in this very house?”

The elderly man squinted short sightedly at his unwelcome guest. Slowly recognition dawned.

“You always liked a joke didn’t you Johny. Always larking around you where but the jokes over now. Put that away (pointing to the knife) and lets have a cup of tea”.

“No lets play a game. You always liked to play games when I was a child”.

“I’m to old for games Johny. My old body is falling to bits”.

“Oh you are never to old for games. Do you remember the hoover game?”

“The what?”

“The hoover game” Johny said patiently as though he was addressing a particularly stupid child.

“No I don’t remember that son”.

“Really you do surprise me. If you can’t remember then I certainly can. Where do you keep the vacuum cleaner?”

“The vacuum cleaner?”

“Oh dear I can’t be making myself clear today. Yes where do you keep the vacuum cleaner, the hoover, the thing which is designed for removing dirt like you”.

“What do you want the vacuum cleaner for” the elderly man asked in a quavering voice.

“Don’t you like surprises? I do. If I tell you then it won’t be a surprise will it and that will take all the fun out of the game” Johny said with a smile.

“I can’t remember”.

“That’s OK. I’ll help you. I remember that it used to be kept in the cupboard under the stairs. Is it still there I wonder? Well there is only one way to find out Johny, to go and look. Walk in front of me so that I can keep an eye on you. That’s right, stay to the left of the cupboard where I can keep an eye on you. Ah it’s the same vacuum cleaner. Who would have believed that it’s the self same hoover after all these years. Take it out and we can play a game”.

“I can’t manage it Johny. The lady from social services vacuums when she comes round on a Thursday afternoon”.

“Really! As a child of 10 I could barely manage to hold that machine above my head but I had to play the game. Do you remember making me hold the hoover above my head? God my shoulders ached but I knew that if I dropped it then I’d suffer even more. Christ holding that thing at the top of the stairs was scary. I felt as though I was going to topple down and be crushed by it”.

“I don’t know what you are talking about Johny” whimpered the old man.

“Yes you fucking do now get that out of the cupboard or I’ll cut you” Johny said advancing on the shaking man with the knife.

Slowly Bert reached into the cupboard and with great effort pulled out the vacuum cleaner.

“There now I told you that you could do it didn’t I? You aren’t quite so weak and feeble as you like to pretend are you?”

“You where always a naughty boy Johny. You deserved to be punished. It was for your own good”.

Johny rraised his right arm as though to stab Bert with the knife full in the neck. With an effort he contained himself.

“A little boy that is what I was. A terrified little child holding a fucking vacuum cleaner above his head. Do you remember the cushion game? Perhaps we can play that after we’ve finished with the hoover. Would you like that?”

“No please”.

“Why not cushions are nice and comfortable. Don’t you like a nice soft cushion? I remember the feeling of the fabric as you pressed it down on my little face. Why didn’t you kill me? I’ve often asked myself that. Perhaps you gained more satisfaction out of having me alive and watching me suffer than you gained from the prospect of killing me. Anyway lovely as it is to chat with my step dad I don’t have all day. Unwind that cable”.

 

The end

The Date

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Laura slipped on her favourite blue dress, the one with primroses embroidered on it. The dress showed a small amount of cleavage but not an excessive quantity for a first date Laura thought as she slipped on her black leather shoes.

God she hoped that this guy was better than the man she’d met last Saturday. John had spent the entire evening talking about his prowess in the world of gaming.

“You know I often get home from work at 6 and the first thing I do is turn on my Windows 8 PC. It is top of the range much more powerful than the computers which sent the first men into space. Anyway as I was saying I turn on the computer and start gaming straight away. I lose track of time. When I start its 6 but when I look at the computer screen often its after midnight.”

“So what else do you do?” Laura had asked.

John had turned to her a look of genuine puzzlement on his face

“What do you mean?”

“What about your friends, you must go for a beer on a Friday evening sometimes?”

“My world is gaming. I know lots of people through gaming. We have never met but that doesn’t matter, we play online, it’s cool!”

Laura had manfully persisted

“But surely you have the odd social event with colleagues?”

“Oh at Christmas everyone goes to the work’s do. I hate these things but I go to keep my boss happy but as soon as the meals over I make my excuses and leave. Anyway as I was saying gaming is absolutely fantastic, there are so many different games that its impossible to get bored”.

John broke off suddenly remembering something

“What do you do Laura?”

“I’m a secretary in a solicitors office but in the evening I like to go to the cinema, read or”,

“There is this really cool game” John had continued cutting Laura off mid sentence.

Please not another gamer Laura preyed as she exited the taxi and walked the short distance to the restaurant.

—

Laura recognised Tom immediately. At well over six feet in height and with his cropped blonde hair and pearcing blue eyes he was unmistakable. At least he looks like the man I’ve been chatting to online Laura thought. That was surely a good omen.

Tom stood up and pulled out a chair for Laura. The gesture touched her. Tom was a perfect gentleman. The evening was going to go well Laura thought as she sank down into the cushioned seat.

“Its lovely to meet you Laura although we have been chatting for so long online that I feel we are old friends already”.

“Its good to meet you too Tom” Laura said taking Tom’s strong hand. Laura flinched involuntarily under Tom’s strong grip. Her poor fingers felt like dainty wild flowers which have been crushed under the hob nailed boots of a farm labourer. “You are hurting me”.

“Sorry I don’t know my own strength sometimes” Tom said releasing Laura’s hand.

Laura rubbed her fingers trying to massage some life back into them.

“What would you like to eat? I can recommend the rump steak with fresh vegetables. It really is delicious” Tom said handing Laura a menu.

“OK I’ll join you in the steak”.

“Great. What would you like to drink? The house white is excellent”.

“I’ll just have an orange juice thanks”.

“OK” Tom said beckoning to the waitress, “two steaks please. An orange juice and a bottle of the house white”.

Laura raised her eyebrows. Surely Tom wasn’t going to drink an entire bottle of wine. Evidently he was and perhaps she shouldn’t judge him to harshly as Laura and her best friend Amanda had on occasions polished off a couple of bottles of wine on a Friday evening between the two of them.

“You are much prettier in person than on the website”.

Laura blushed

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment”.

“You look very English with that lovely blonde hair and your corn flower blue eyes. Are your parents English?”

“Yes why do you ask?”

“It is important to me that the English way of life is preserved”.

Laura looked confused.

“England used to be a great nation. Half the world showed red on the map. Who built up Africa and India? Who constructed the railways and stopped the natives from tearing one another apart? I’ll tell you who did all that. It was us, the English we bestrode the globe like a great colossus. We where the workshop of the world. Birmingham, Liverpool and Manchester produced cotton and other manufactured goods which where sent all over the globe. Do you know how we managed all this? Because we the English race have the blood of warriors running through our veins. Saxons, Vikings and Romans mingle in this great nation to make us what we are, a people who’s destiny is to rule the world”. Tom stopped a far away look in his eyes.

“Are you a conservative?” Laura asked. Tom’s views where well to the right of anything which her Daily Telegraph reading father had ever voiced but perhaps Tom was on the right of the party.

“Conservatism and Socialism its all part of the same old corrupt social order. Socialism and Capitalism are both responsible for bringing this once great land to it’s knees. There is a conspiracy to destroy us the white race to make Britain a racial hell hole in which through race mixing an inferior breed of muddy brown people emerges who the emerging world government can control”.

Tom broke off as the waitress brought over the wine and orange juice.

“Just look at her” Tom said once the waitress had moved out of earshot. Obviously mixed race. Some people have no pride. I mean how can a patriotic English man or woman sleep with a black? They are betraying the race and diluting the blood of our country. Can’t you see that Laura soon it will be to late if we don’t act now. We need a government which will put a stop to the rot. Kick out the immigrants and institute a programme of national regeneration”.

Laura didn’t know much about politics but she was feeling increasingly uneasy.

“But Tom that girl was almost certainly born here. She speaks with a south London accent like mine. Where should she go back to? Her home is here”.

“If a pig lives among swans it remains a pig. No amount of dressing it up to look like a swan will make it a swan. That girl can never be British (Tom said refilling his glass), she is a half breed who will be rejected by her own community and those English men and women who haven’t been juped by the jew infested cesspit which some call the media”.

“Tom you are frightening me. Those are the kind of views which lead to the concentration camps” Laura said her face turning deathly pale.

“Laura you have swallowed the same lies as most of the population. The so-called Final Solution is a fiction cooked up by international jewry to gain support for the state of Israel. The next time we meet I’ll let you have a copy of a little pamphlet I have called “Did Six Million Really die?” It comprehensively debunks the myth of the holocaust”.

“So my great grandfather thought against the Nazis for nothing, is that what you are saying” Laura said. She could feel her hands shaking in her lap and tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

“The war should never have happened. Hitler wasn’t interested in conquering Britain. We could have allied with Germany and ruled the world together. India and large parts of Africa not to mention Sri Lanka would still be ours. Imagine Laura a proud nation striding ever onwards into the sunlit uplands of prosperity. A strong, healthy white race untainted by foreign blood dominating the world. The wrong people where tried and executed at Nuremberg. Churchill should have swung from the end of a rope along with the other conservative, labour and liberal politicians who led this once proud people into a war against our European brothers. Look at young people today. They have no sense of belonging. The race soul is dying. The world is turning into one great Disney playground in which people move aimlessly from one thing to another without ever truly believing in anything. We need, desperately to reconnect with our great past, to become great again and dispel the sense of hopelessness which is destroying our people. Nationalism, sod it I’ll call it what it is as I’m not ashamed of what I am, National Socialism is the only solution to the insanity of race mixing. We need a new order in which the white people of the world join together retaining their national identities but federated in a commonwealth or union, all working together to preserve western civilisation. Have you ever read Mein Kampf, it’s a truly awe inspiring book. Hitler was a genious who’s feet Churchill wasn’t fit to wash. I’ll lend it to you when we next meet”.

The steaks arrived. Tom picked up his  cutlery and began to attack the steak with relish.

“Aren’t you hungry Laura?”

“No. Tom I’m not interested in politics but one thing I do know. I’m proud to be British but that pride has nothing to do with race. We are for all our faults a tolerant country. In the 1930s the UK took in a lot of refugees from Nazi Germany many of whom would have undoubtedly died had we not done so. David Erving and others who either downplay Nazi atrocities or deny that they happened are either stupid or they are deliberately trying to whitewash the past so that foolish people will embrace, oh what’s the word (Laura screwed up her pretty face in concentration), neo-nazi ideas. Quite frankly you make me want to throw up. You want to turn Britain into a nation of unthinking swastika waving robots all singing the same songs and marching to the same tunes. That isn’t what makes the country which I love great. It is the values of tolerance and the liberal democracy which you so detest which makes this land one I’m proud to call home. My dad often says that the English just want to be left alone to cultivate their gardens. Funny I used to think that dad was an old reactionary but, having met you I can see the inate decency in him and the other small l liberals who just want to be left alone to live their lives as they see fit”.

“Are you Jewish Laura? You spout the kind of poisonous rubbish pumped out by the Jewish controlled media”.

“I feel sorry for you Tom. You are so full of hate” Laura said standing up and reaching for her coat. Don’t contact me again”. Laura headed for the door and without looking back stepped out into the evening gloom.

The end

No Problem

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I am, as those of you who follow this blog will know registered blind. As a consequence of my blindness I require sighted assistance to locate products while shopping.

Erlier this evening I popped into a supermarket and soon obtained help, however the assistance offered was so bizarre that I feel compelled to put fingers to keyboard and write about it. My conversation with the young lady went something like this

Me “Can I have a litre of fresh milk please, the one with the blue top?”

My assistant, “Absolutely, no problem”.

Me, “Can I have Tropicana orange juice please?”

My assistant, “Absolutely, no problem”.

My shopping “experience” (see I have all the right buzz words) continued in precisely the same manner until I, in a fit of merriment felt compelled to ask

“Do you say anything other than “absolutely, no problem?””

My companion responded with

“Sometimes I say cool” (I am not making this up I promise you)!

I asked if my companion spoke in the same manner when conversing with her friends, to which she replied that she was “a gamer” and this is how gamers interact with one another.

At the end of my “customer experience” I couldn’t resist saying with a smile that when I next encountered my companion I would call her “absolutely, no problem” to which she responded without a hint of irony that this was fine.

I feel that I’ve gone down the rabbit hole to join Alice in Wonderland and to be frank I don’t know whether it is me or my companion of earlier this evening who is the mad hatter!

I must confess to knowing virtually nothing about gaming, however if the pastime produces people who are unable to communicate other than by churning out meaningless phrases then we are, as one of the leading personalities in Dad’s Army says “all doomed”!

On a serious point excessive exposure to gaming or any other similar activity can not be conducive to the development of fully rounded persons. All things in moderation say I.

 

Kevin