Leggings - No New News!

No New News!

 

The band of street prostitutes, church goers, and Bishops carry on taking turns in either presenting me by acting out as me, as prostitutes, people of ill repute or reporting on my said goings on. I try to sleep. Amidst all this they carry on a Mcdonald/Kinnear half friendly, half terrifying banter.

“Tell me, come on, just how do you get to up there!”

I say I don't know now, “I'd have to go there!” Its been a long time.

“Tell us how!”, he says, softly, “We've always been great friends, our tribes had caves together.”

I wake up. Its the McDonald's. They ate half their tribe one winter and left the gnawed remains in their cave. Then they rationalized their actions by saying of course, that we'd done it to them!

 

Uncle said, “They always tell the tale. It's not true, they always eat half their tribe. It's why they breed so many extra ones, how else can they get through the winters?”

It was an awful tale. No matter who told it. Uncle then said, “The small ones are the worst, they do most of the eating!”

I didn't like them much, there was a certain look in their eyes. As if they were calculating how long you'd last them. Nor did Uncle, he often cut short exchanges, and left quickly. We'd go visit the Sinclairs near too, and they were okay – never ate anyone. As far as I know... Even they could never make it to up there. We tried to take one or two of them to visit us, yet when we reached the starting point, they'd disappear. Later we'd meet them again, at their places, to apologize. However they didn't mind much, they all knew that there were rules about going up there...

 

The Legends of up there in Scotland are varied and rich. They deal with people's imaginings, and hopes, and not with reality. Even if I never go back, I hope its whereabouts will stay secret...

 

“Its left to you,” says the McDonald thoughtfully, “Just tell me how to get there. Prince Charles and I can sell it. We'll make a fortune!”

 

I shake my head, “Haven't you stolen enough from me?” I ask him. “My whole life chances? My wages from my

early writings, my homes? The love of all those who left something to me behind them?”

 

He laughs, amused, “It's not really yours,” he says, Prince of thieves this one is, “Nothing is, its all theirs really! If not its mine... I could say you were one of us!”

I say no.... “Disgusting, people should be able to have wills and wages, basic human rights... “ and I could never be a McDonald for I try not to lie, or be horrible, or be anything like them.

“The Queen says you have to like us,” says another of them.

“I can't like you,” I said, “I've been forced to live among you, know you, and I know how horrible you are!”

 

They seem to be in the attic. Although I'm not certain. They could be anywhere really, this is old Scotts.

They laugh. “We'll tell on you, if you don't tell us where up there is!”

“Tell,” I said crossly, “Go on tell, let her reward you for what you are!”

I have hopes that the Queen will reward these dreadfuls properly.

 

….......................................................................

 

Today I head out after loading my largest shopping trolley with Christmas stuff, including a teddy chair for the baby... I can't shut it, so I look a veritable bag lady laden with extras on the street, chugging towards the bus station. It takes ages to get there with stops, and its slippy with frost. Where is Parker when I need the Pink Roller or the Bentley?

 

After having a lovely day with the family, I slip into Iceland to have a look at their Troll Cracker – holds enough toys for four – apparently! Not sure whether to buy it really....

 

However as I go in, a largish man in an army uniform starts hitting on me. McDonald I think! Quick aren't I? Perhaps wrongly.

He says to the girl at the till, “Rosalind Lee is a bitch!”

She says I'm not. He looks puzzled. He doesn't know who I am. Obviously!

She points me out! I'm now facing him, in a slightly dropped position. I'm wondering how hard I'm going to have to hit him... if this carries on. I'm not keen on army/navy games, they killed my guardian Harry Lyle in front of me and his wife too... in the army camp before they moved me on again.

 

I know if this gets out of hand there is going to be only one blow. I'm not strong, nor was I back then.

I couldn't stop it then either.

He lumbers out of the shop quickly... away from the glare in my eyes. I've had enough of such. If he's the army then what were the recruitment officers thinking of?

Later I wonder if he's the one that keeps shouting my name outside the flats at night or early morning when he goes visiting his friends, or Irene.... is this her type?

 

I could go on for ever discussing all this, yet I'm so sick of it all.

 

Like the original Bonnie Prince Charlie one day I'll have to get out of here, and go somewhere, where the water is clean and the whole world is quiet...

 

Difficult for a woman with family with no chances in life. Except the one she'd be offered if she'd lie about the McDonalds, and accept their friendship and put up with them having everything....

 

No world should have to put up with such an infection... and this is not new news.