Treadmill Trudge

TREADMILL TRUDGE.

Woke up from nightmare about giant woodpeckers taking over the world.
Blearily looked at clock - 8 a.m. the hammering of the woodpeckers
continued. Decide I'm still drunk and must remember to drink equal
amounts of water to pints of port. Read it somewhere. Decide stupid
idea - my bladder would burst or I would drown from inside out. Can you
do that?. Is that my head hammering - no it's bloody builder building
bloody extension next door. Leap up - bad idea - room swims - look out
window. Wow! 'white out' major frost, now know what it's like on slopes
of Verbier. Builder is busily chipping ice off builders mate who'd
obviously been left out all night.
Must be regulations against this kind of thing - no not hammering ice
off builders mate but bloody waking up bloody hungover neighbors at
dawn's crack with aforementioned activity. Think about opening window
to hurl imprecations at builder but decide against it as he might hurl
club hammer back. Climb back into bed and put three pillows over my
ears - this only provides me with the reminiscence of being hugged by
my eighteen stone granny, a long buried trauma from childhood. Begin to
sob , Erma kicks me in groin and hisses 'shaddup'. Erma's the wife. She
put the Erma in termagant. Bite pillow rather than make noise - Erma in
bad mood - she on gin last night with creme-de-menthe chasers no wonder
she looks a little green. suppress 'har har har' sound. Maybe I should
keep out of the way - Greenland springs immediately to mind - maybe I
could go and help builder next door or join Foreign Legion or
something.
Silently roll out of bed and on to floor and knee sends shock waves to
nerve centre of cerebellum comparable to that of the Richter scale
hitting high 'c' when the San Andreas fault decides to do the boogaloo.
Must have hurt knee last night - how do that?, ah yes - fell over Nigel
at foot of stairs. He in comatose state after challenging Erma to
drinking contest. Hope he's gone home, don't want his wife phoning,
blames me for everything, says I'm bad influence - just because I get
him drunk all the time. I can't help it if he can't hold his beer.
Couldn't even hold a glass last night - had to fix him up with crude
drip feed involving straws and a hose pipe from the washing machine. He
began to go green and bubbles emerged from his nose but I just put that
down to a residue of Daz in the hose.
Nige gone - well gone from foot of stairs anyway, probably in cupboard
under stairs - best leave him. Hope gas man doesn't come to read meter.
Don't want to be held culpable for gas man having seizure at the sight
of Nigel emerging from stygian gloom in the full glare of gas man's
torch looking for all the world like something out of Dante's inferno.
Those big staring bleery bloodshot eyes, that thatch of spikey hair,
those gangrenous teeth, whoops I'm looking in mirror!.
I hear Erma stir and snarl "get me four Paracetamol a bottle of
'Industrial grade Perrier' and a banana Daiquiri. Oh megawd not the
Macedonian hangover cure, she'll be up and haranguing me in fifteen
minutes flat I just wish she'd stay in bed, and she knows how I hate
handling bottles of Perrier. Saw a programme once - man lost a leg
through dropping a bottle of full strength Perrier on to the floor -
the explosion rent the place apart - the bomb squad came screeching
along and after almost choking him to death with C.S. gas - arrested
him for belonging to a proscribed organization. He's still doing 25
years in Gartree maximum security prison protesting his
innocence.
Opened fridge door and tentatively picked up bottle of sparkling
thunderflash between thumb and forefinger, when phone rang. The
resultant scream and bottle being thrown through closed window
galvanized Erma into action. I spluttered 'phone' as she stood there
ready to slice both legs off above the knee with her laser vision. The
phone continued it's shrill ring. She answered it - 'oh hello mummy' .
Saved. She'll be on the phone for the best part of two days - I'll get
Tom the glazier in. She surely won't kill me in front of workmen.
Washed - shaved teeth - and scarpered. V. cold - teeth chattering like
pneumatic drill on 'speed'.
Car not want to start. Kick car - hurt foot - car seems to chortle
into life. Drive into town to pick up tools from job at friends
cafeteria ¦oh¦ forgot to say, I beat up wood for a living - it's called
carpentry . Arrived at munching house and Alex his normal reptilian
self. Study the shelves I'd put up for him¦ I think they're crooked or
is it me that's askew. Take beer from fridge¦Alex hissed "that will be
two pounds". "Crikey they're only a pound next door" I exclaimed
somewhat egregiously. "Don't be flagrant with me" he sibilated.
I cast upon him a cold eye, and rode on.
Went home - she still on phone - I silently made her another hair of
the dog; managed to slip Temazepam in it. Hope it dissolves, she'll
probably think it's nice round ice cube. Keep her quiet though. Went
for walk in afternoon trudging through icy wastes of 'amstead 'eef'.
Snarling dogs everywhere, I think we should go one better than they've
done in Reykjavik - instead of simply banning them, we should be
allowed to shoot on sight. Can't wait for Chinese takeover of world¦..
'Fidoburger' takeaways on every street corner. Man playing soulful sax
on heath, Erma remarks that she'd give him the blues all right - shove
sax up arse and blow - HARD!. Ah she's feeling her self again, the
bromide's working. She doesn't hit me for rest of day.
Sun. Dec. 6th. '92.
Woke up to sound of screeching. Builder defrosting builder's mate with
small flame thrower. They'll have to get a dog to guard tools at night.
I could take pot shots at it at night with my air rifle. Make tea. We -
she - decides that we're going to go out for the day. She decides that
we need to go to some National Trust antediluvian archipelago - (God
start to feel ill at alliteration). Or maybe she said National Front,
that would figure. Bundle jackboots ¦.. whoops! wellies and picnic into
newish car ¦.. well I say newish it's more ummmm well o.k. it's old
alright!. Nothing wrong with a bit of rust my old dad used to say, mind
you he was talking about my mother at the time.
Not too cold. Halfway to National Trust frontier post and car begins
to make noise like boiled sweets being rattled in tin. Stop and peer
under bonnet. Hope Erma doesn't slam bonnet on neck¦..again. She did
actually say sorry¦.I treasure the moment to this day. Can't see
anything that's obvious, hear Erma's door open - step back from bonnet
instinctively - she elbows me into the oncoming traffic and tells me
I'm useless, the car's useless, the person you bought it from is
useless, and if you weren't so bloody anonymous he'd have seen you
coming from miles off.
Tells me to start motor and rev. it up so she can ascertain source of
noise. I do as I'm ordered and seriously think of mistakenly putting
into gear - the only fear being that I don't kill her outright. She'd
wreak a terrible vengeance. She plunges hand into engine and rips off
fan belt flinging it at the windscreen. I then switch off engine.
"Bloody useless!". She hitches up skirt removes tights in full view of
motorists causing several accidents. Deftly ties tights with granny
hitch knot. (Does uncannily remind me of me old Gran, bless her goitred
old neck)
Car now silent as death¦..whoops not switched on!. Switch on and car
roars into life. Arrive at destination with car and teeth chattering.
Heater given up as well¦..need builder's flame thrower or maybe Erma
could breathe in my general direction. Hades doesn't know what he's in
for, poor devil. Had a memorable day walking around The National Trust
property, or rather the members of staff did. Place called Winsome
House I think. Well ya win some and ya lose some. Well - member of
staff nearly lost some, as in his gnashers when Erma nutted him because
he didn't answer question quickly enough.
Arrived back home and switch on tele and some female group called
Rananabarmy or some such, are threatening us with a nation wide
come-back tour. The shrill wining sound they make upsets Erma and she
puts foot through tele. "Couldn't agree more" I trill. "Shaddup" came
the response. 'Ah sweet' I think. Must re-new household goods insurance
and maybe personal insurance at the same time. "Would you like a drink
dear? Calm the nerves and all that" She fixes me with cobra stare "You
implying I'm edgy?" "Nnnnnnnno" I burble in my best burbling voice
"Jjjjjjjjust, it's been a stressful day" I witter. "For whom? And stop
wittering" "OK" Move to drinks cabinet and shakily pick up bottle of
whiskey and pour large glass. That should sort it. Down it in one. "Oy!
What about me-you lazy good for nothing toe rag?" Is she talking to me
I wonder? Assume so and quickly pour another one and hand over. "Not in
your glass you dirty swine, I don't know where you've been" bellows
Erma.
Pick up pint glass and pour in a lot. Hand over. "You being funny?" At
this point humour last thing from mind. A quick death at the hands of a
school of piranha seems preferable. Daft idea. Piranha not have hands.
Go to exchange glass for smaller one. Erma snatches pint glass from
trembling hands and takes big slug of whiskey. It dribbles down side of
mouth. She seems strangely sexy at that moment. She comes up for air
and shudders. Fixes me with mongoose stare. Try not to make any
reptilian move. Fear sex is imminent.
"Has anyone ever told you you're very sexy when you're terrified?" she
intones. And if you've ever been intoned at by Erma ¦... well you catch
my drift. Whatever that means. "Yes dear. By you. Last month" I
tremulously respond. "Stop quivering your lip" she snaps, "I'm getting
moist" Resist urge to vomit. Pick up bottle of whiskey and gulp down
most of contents. Should make the impending 'beast with two backs'
sweat-fest, easier to cope with. She strides over and grabs crotch.
Mine not hers. Plants big slobbery kiss on mouth. There follows a blur
of activity not unlike that of a cock fight. Which it is I suppose.
Lots of sweating, blood drawn, eye rolling and then it's all
over.
We both lie panting. Wished I'd taken up smoking so I could light up
post coital fag. No need to speak then. "Gedoffme!" Erma shoves me off"
"Get me drink" Stumble over to drinks cabinet. Pour whiskey into her
glass. Take slug from bottle while she's not looking. "Don't do that!"
she yells. Forgot. X-ray vision. Eyes in back of head and all that. She
downs a quart pint of whiskey in one. Not quite one second, but close.
She should be amenable soon. To what I don't know, but amenable all the
same. Decide to open box of wine. Mistake. Not drunk enough to reduce
trembling and make hash of it. Can't locate plastic tap that seems to
be hidden. Pick up nearest object to hand. Sharp knife. Big mistake.
Start to poke. A veritable tsunami of Muscadet De Sevre Et Maine gushes
forth over face, over clothes, over floor.
"You stupid fucking idiot" shouts Erma. I sink to knees sobbing while
at the same time try to stop the eruption of wine with gob. Manage to
pinch shut the hole. "Get help" I whimper. Know she won't kick me. Risk
losing more wine that way. "Call paramedics" I cry. "Don't be stupid"
yells Erma. I know they can't help with the immediate problem, it's
when I've had a good kicking from Erma that they'll earn their money
and my undying, or dying gratitude. She runs to kitchen to grab several
clothes pegs and sharp knife. Clothes pegs to pinch shut hole in life
giving elixir, sharp knife to cut off manhood. Manages to pinch hole
shut and then expertly cuts open box to reveal wine sac.
"Get decanter" she barks. I fumble in kitchen and return with
decanter. She holds wine sac over decanter and slits it open and
empties wine into it. "Get funnel" she shouts. Get funnel which she
puts in gob, upends decanter and gulps. And gulps. And gulps. Until it's all
gone.