Telly Addict

Telly Addict.

My husband Bert is dead. I mean really dead. I was there at the
funeral, although I don't remember a lot about it being a bit dazed at
the time.
The vicar had one of them droning voices. Well I suppose they have to
try to sound sad don't they? It was when he got to the bit about being'
full of misery' that I knew for sure that he was talking about Bert. Oh
yes, he was dead all right.
That's why I was so taken aback when a week later he turned up in the
Queen Vic in Tuesday night's episode of''EastEnders'. At first I
thought it might be one of them doddleclangers you hear of; but there
was something about the way he was holding his pint, tightly, with both
hands as if he was afraid someone might pinch it off him. Bert always
did that.
I switched off the telly and listened to the wireless for the rest of
the evening.
So you can imagine how put out I was when I settled down to watch
Coronation Street only to see Bert standing behind that Steve- him with
the eyebrows that keep moving about-, and he even had the nerve to
raise his glass to me. Now I enjoy Coronation Street, but it was quite
spoiled for me because I wasn't able to follow what was happening at
all. Just kept watching out for Bert.
I don't think it's nice to have dead people popping in and out of
programmes just as they please, I made up my mind that if it happened
again I would write to the television people to complain.
It did happen again, on Friday, he was at the 'Rovers', looking sort
of 'hollow. He pushed his face forward so that it filled the screen.
Then he spoke.' I'm gonna get you' he said. Then he was back against
the bar. Didn't seem as if anyone had heard him. whoever it was behind
the bar just carried on serving I don't think they even saw Bert.
Things were getting out of hand. Something had to be done.
I started by taking his photograph off the top of the television
set.
Bert didn't show up Saturday night. Well of course he knew he'd never
stand a chance on' Blind Date'. When he didn't come on Sunday I thought
by moving the photo I'd cracked it, and then on Monday night I'd just
filled my hot water bottle and had got to the bottom of the stairs when
I looked up. There he was. On the landing, one hand gripping his
chamber pot which he always used because he was too idle to go along to
the bathroom, the other pointing down at me. His face was all black and
burnt. He looked like a shrivelled walnut.
'I'm gonna get you' he gurgled. It gave me a fair old turn I can tell
you, but I just tucked the bottle under my arm and walked up the stairs
and straight through him.
Then I saw it; our old electric fire, right in the middle of the
bedroom. Draped across it was a towel, one of a pair of His and Hers'
my niece had given us one Christmas. The towel was the pink one with'
Hers' embroidered in the corner.
For the life of me I couldn't make out where that fire had come from.
The last time I saw it the police were taking it away in a plastic bag.
Don't know what they wanted it for, they wouldn't have found
anything.
I was wearing rubber gloves when I threw it in the bath. Right on top
of him.
Mind you I didn't think it would work. I got the idea out of a book.
Wicked! I call it printing things like that for decent people to
read.
Anyway I just caught the surprised look on Bert's face when he saw me;
well it turned out to be a double surprise for him really, as it was
the first bath he'd taken in three months, and he'd forgotten how hot
the water could be.
It was a lot hotter by the time I'd finished.

Of course the police came round asking all sorts of funny questions,
and I told them as how Bert felt the cold something chronic, and often
liked to take the fire into the bathroom with him.
They grumbled about 'carelessness and danger', but I started to pipe my
eye, and before you could say Dot Cotton, they were all over me,
offering to make tea and telling me to be brave; while all the time
they were thinking. 'Just a couple of silly old fools who shouldn't be
allowed anywhere near electricity'. They made me promise never to do
such a dangerous thing myself. Of course I said I never would, not
after what happened to my poor dear husband, I started snivelling
again.
They soon left.

The fire was gone when I got up this morning; there was just the towel
lying on the floor. I wondered if perhaps I'd imagined it.
You see I thought once I'd got him safely in the ground that would be
that
All this coming back whenever he feels like it. It's not proper.
Perhaps I should have had him cremated, I'd thought about it, but
after the way he died? well it didn't seem right somehow.

I had a bit a clear up, and started to prepare dinner, I was just
doing a few potatoes when the bell rang. I answered the door still with
peeler in my hand.
Bert was standing there. So I stabbed him.

Sitting in this cell, I've had time to think. If Bert had only stayed
where he was everything would have been all right, but he would keep
coming back
He's here now, in the corner laughing. That's all he does, just keeps
on laughing.

They said something about me stabbing the meter man with my potato
peeler.
I've tried to tell them Bert didn't know how to read meters, he only
knew how to break into them. No one will listen to me, they keep going
on and on about 'intent to wound'. I didn't intend to wound. I intended
to kill him. Again.

I'm not happy. I've got Bert sitting in one corner laughing at me, and
a bobby laid out cold in front of me. He came in with a cup of tea,
took one look at Bert, said 'Oh my Gawd', and passed clean out,
spilling my tea all over the floor.
I could kill for a cuppa right now.