Nineteen, Twenty, My Plates Empty

Eddie has been driving a truck all his life. Ed's mother thinks her
boy's been 'moving on' ever since he clambered out of his cot. For
Eddie, the road has been long. Yet recently, he's been haunted by
infancy: "One two, buckle my shoe". When not behind the wheel he eats,
reads, and talks to his
imaginary friend. That's me.

Battles were fought, with his A, B, C, over his mother's knee.
Nowadays, Ed's appetite for books is as ravenous as his hunger for
nourishment via the road side caf?. Devouring the Bible, Dickens.
Become quite the dilettante with Dante, has Eddie.

Ed whispered to me that, as a child, his dad had caught him reading
poetry when his designated task for the day was to look for his first
ever job. A dismissive 'What are you wasting your time doing that for?'
still reverberates in Ed's mind. "Three, four, knock at the door". Ah
yes, that's his mother's voice,
she's been pressing to be heard a lot lately. It's getting mighty
crowded inside Ed's head. I'd better explain why we are in
Wonderland.

Trouble first brewed when Eddie's road haulage employers decided to
bring in a nutritional advisor. The Human Resources Department had
discovered Truck Drivers at risk of early heart attacks. The 'Tighten
Yer Belt' campaign was aimed at encouraging healthier eating habits -
within officially sanctioned canteens. Eddie had a right old scoff.
'Any takers for a fresh green salad, without Mayo, at 5am?' I agreed:
'They're parking up the wrong side of the street with that one'.

Rebels, we took to eating in greasy spoons. After we'd done this twice,
or so, we started to egg each on with our observations. We thought we
we had found Everyman's deliverance. Sausage, Bacon and Beans arrive
like a miracle, in the sure and certain hope of their consumption.
Meals devised by
nutritional experts announce themselves with a flourish of trumpets,
yet somehow contrive to remain the property of the management. Eateries
should be Pleasure Palaces not places of learning. A beacon whatever
the weather; in winter an oasis of swirling steam, in summer a cavern
of narrow, thin ices and chilled drinks. Beckoning and maternal, an
hour-long hug. A "Walls Ice-cream" sign, swinging in the wind, pointed
towards Paradise Road. Upon entering the door a change of gears, a
quickening of pulse.

By our sixth visit we were tucking it away like nobody's business.
'Blooming life saver this is', chuckled Ed, delving into his ketchup
splattered fare. 'Who needs the Casino lifestyle when there's Fries
like this.' I shouldn't have encouraged him, but I did 'Your chips are
like Bond Girls, well stacked, plenty of sauce'. "Five, six, pick up
sticks, seven, eight, lay them straight".

Such enjoyment though, was tinged with guilt. As if we had runaway from
proper adulthood, running backwards, regressing. "Fifteen, sixteen,
maids in the Kitchen". Gentlemen of leisure entertain Ladies in
restaurants, but here, all were merely men in dirty clothes. Caf? time
'must' be Trucker Time, surely. We grasped our vision ever tighter, as
those all at sea cling to drift wood.

To walk through the door of a place serving posh nosh is to burden
oneself with fantasy, the fancy of another's mind: a cafe is an enclave
of real life, a chance to reinstate oneself after the encroachments of
the street. Never a home, nor quite a harbour, here was a magnet for
the weary, offering temporary anchorage. The mood forever itinerant,
transitory, of time taken out of life: souls held in abeyance between
knife and fork.

On our twentieth visit it happened. 'The Lord', proclaimed Eddie in
Preacher voice, as he placed his newspaper out in front of him like a
hymn sheet, 'gives us each day our daily planet, and a table on which
to spread it'. Consuming more 'hard news' than is usually digestible
can heighten the anticipation between ordering and service.
Unfortunately, the Lord also leads us into temptation with his twin
towers of gratification: before getting stuck into the food there's
reading all about it. About MP's, and about Babes, and about stunners
who just wanna have fun and boys who just wanna be girls, and working
time directives. If torrid tales dazzle the imagination, they weigh
heavy on the spirit. Eddie's driving could halt for a while, but the
world, as he saw it, remained a sordid 'Carry On'.

Ed' glanced through the cafe window to the outside world - and became
a
witness to the short, swift, parade of life. Inside, he felt like the
newspaper
had opened up an even more terrible vista: a freak show, and one in
which he was the star attraction. Suddenly his journeying, his reading,
all had a gauge that pointed only to zero. Time spun towards in the
motion of a 'Catherine Wheel',and headlines screamed - Expose! Tighten
yer Belt! Heart Attacks! - like newspaper front pages in black and
white movies. Then we fell through a small glass aperture and tumbled
helplessly. In sulphurous darkness I tried to hold on to Eddie, but his
mind slipped through my fingers, down into the pit.

One bite, sanity restored All we need is grub. Eddie learn't his
lesson.A good fry-up whizzes up more wonders than Moses. Caf? folk are
not fat boy sinners, merely lovers of lassitude: no man can reasonably
be expected to drive anywhere, or do anything, if not partaken of the
sacred grub. Find yourself on the famished road and you should beware
of cul-de-sacs, of false prophets: in my book the humble Bacon Butty
sure beats Eden's Apple for correcting one's perspective.

Ed said: 'Let's look to the cafe management for salvation. A sign
should be placed above every entrance that reads: "A customer is always
to be regarded as having somewhere of the first importance to get to".
I replied: 'Then will the blessings conferred on a poor soul quitting a
cafe, be greater than those achieved by a restaurant patron entering
the kingdom of heaven'.

Since then the inside of Ed's head - that Mad Hatter's Tea Party - has
had more room. But I'll not be around much longer. My work's done.
"Nineteen, twenty, my plates empty". Ah, she's still here. Now her
wisdom should be clear: she was trying to tell Eddie that if he can
remember to always count himself in, he'll never be down and out. As
that boy Oliver knew, and as we all should prey, it's never wrong to
ask for "more" from life's menu.