Sunday muddy sunday

Bang!....................Sunday morning arrived with a jolt as Baz
opened his bloodshot eyes, he looked over to his still sleeping wife,
snoring and twitching, his hand tenderly brushed her head pushing some
stray hair to one side, the quilt shot up around her as she retreated
deeper into the calico abyss."Christ, it was only my hand, not a bloody
cattle prod!!"......."mores the pity" he chuckled.
He mooched over to the window staring down at the wet Sunday pavement,"
Rain rain fucking rain, does it do anything else!"The next stage in
British Evolution will be the adaptation of webbed feet, with a
subdivision here in Wales of gills and fins he thought, oh yes I am the
water boy.
Thirty nine years old and going nowhere, wife of eight years the
delightful Anna, and the sex life of a stone, quite a cute analogy
thought Baz,
Stones get picked up and thrown just like us mortals, that `s it
that's what that Paul Weller song pebbles on the beach was about, the
bastard must have known.
All these bizarre images flashed through his head as he walked to the
shop, the rain had eased slightly and a watery sun was trying to peep
through the grey sky.
A car raced down Broad Street, the drivers hand shot up in recognition,
Baz smiled and threw his hand skyward as the car raced away." how the
fuck do they do it?" said Baz to himself" a top of the range B.M.W ",
he could hardly write his name in school!
Baz walked into the Caf?, ordered a black coffee and sat down, he lit a
Marlboro and drew heavily on it, the warm smoke and cheap coffee
working wonderfully together. He looked down at the coffee cup,
thinking coffee would be nothing without Nicotine or maybe Nicotine
would be nothing without coffee, hmm-strange paradox,
Strange bedfellows indeed, perhaps they could make coffee flavoured
cigarettes or God knows coffee that tasted of fags! Perhaps it could be
called Nescoughay!!
He chuckled to himself, images of TV commercials flashed through his
mind selling his new wonder product.
As he wandered back home the diuretic properties of the coffee were
starting to work
That coupled with the" lazy lob" he'd had all morning things were
starting to look a bit grim around the toilet area.
Finally the Public Toilets came into view, half walking half running he
burst into the building dashed over to the stalls and started pissing
like a racehorse!
His alto-ego reminded him afterwards that he must have looked like some
demented Homosexual dashing through the door with a manic look in his
eyes and a semi hard cock squirting everywhere!
That's the trouble with alto egos they might make you laugh, but
usually they scare the shit out of you.
As he approached his flat he could see Phil waiting for him.
"Baz!,`sup bro?"Phil was making L.A gang signs, which was a tad
incongruous in a small town in rural westWales. Still he couldn't help
smiling at his small fat fishing friend,"Allright, yeh fine!",
unconsciously squirming his fingers like little sausages into some sort
of Eminem sign language., What the fuck deaf people must think when
they watch rap videos ,they probably think they're taking the
piss!!Either that or the deaf ARE the target audience in which case
they're probably taking the piss out of us hearing types!
"Get your kit then" said phil cheerfully"o.k give us a minute" said Baz
as he crept back inside the flat.
Baz was under strict instructions not to wake his sleeping wife, Christ
she'd even left a note on the kitchen table, on one of her night time
raids to the fridge, WAKE ME AND YOU`RE DEAD it had said though the
word dead looked like dad where she'd run out of room on the
paper.
Alto-ego fancied waking her up and then pretending to be her dad but
that wouldn't be too funny as he only had one leg and was incontinent,
so coupled with the joy of being woken from slumber, then to find a
hopping urinating man falling around the bedroom Baz would surely be a
dead man.
He met Phil outside with his fishing gear, the Sunday morning ritual
never really losing it's appeal, they'd been going Pike fishing at the
weekend for years and Anna didn't seem to mind, hell she'd even been a
few times herself until her constant moaning about the cold had even
started to make Baz and Phil shiver, and the cold front in the van on
the way back from the lake ensured Anna never asked to go fishing
again
"Ready then dude, let`s catch some pikelets!!".
Alto -ego picked up on Phils, quirky fishy word, and was now waist deep
in the lake trying to catch pikelets and crumpets using thin slivers of
Lurpack butter!
."Hmm right let's go!" the fishing bread men slowly leaving his
mind.
And then they were on the road, the Lake was about twelve miles away,
they knew every inch of the shallow reed margins which in turn led to
the deeper channels below, as they neared the Lake the idle lad chat
stopped, no more who's shagging who, how bad the local team were
yesterday, and how Wales would fare against the English in a fortnights
time.
Now its Fishing one hundred percent Fishing.
There were many things Baz and Phil couldn't do, neither could cook,
neither were what you'd call` new men`, neither cool or sophisticated,
but fuck could they catch fish. . Big fish, little fish, wriggling
mutant fish! Any fish. But today it was favourite fish, fish called
pike, and them fuckers had better watch out!!!
Alto-ego was going too, thinking about Fly-fishing .how could you catch
flies? What bait would you use? Little bits of rancid meat? , Little
tiny hooks made by Nano-technology? And if you actually caught some
flies, what would you do with them? What would you take them home in?
Would the wife be pleased?
No more images of fly fishers they were lakeside, the transformation
was complete,
From idle couch spud to focused hunter-gatherer in two minutes.
"Let's fish".
To be continued..................................