Archive for October, 2006

The Best Unlaid Plans…

The Floating Face October 21st, 2006

17.40 - “Hey Fyse. Just to say I’m meeting people for a drink after work if you fancied coming along. Not sure where but give me a ring when you’re done. Hope you had a good day!”

18.30 - “Well, we’re wandering round The Eagle but can’t find anywhere to sit down. Thinking perhaps The Maypole instead. Meet us there?”

19.45 - “No, no. Really musn’t. Definitely need food before more drink. Actually, do any of you fancy going via Sainsbury’s to buy supper? Curry back at mine? With a bottle of wine?”

20.00 - “Yeah, true, but is it really worth the risk? Look, you guys go to the checkout, I’m grabbing another bottle of red.”

21.10 - “Another ten mins, I’d say. Christ, I’m bloody starving. Where’s that second bottle?”

22.35 - “Oooooook! Lahoma, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain. And the wavin’ wheat, can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right…” Thwack. “Fyse. Shut. Up.”

23.10 - “No, there’s no question. For the perfect woman you don’t look further than Belle. Intelligent, feisty, amazing eyes. Keen interest in English literature. What’s more, she’s sees through the monstrous exterior to the good heart within. That’s right, I’ve thought this thing through.”

23.40 - “I’m not gonna wheel it, it’s bloody miles. I’ll be fine. You remember that party in spring of second year when I got slightly tipsy and climbed straight onto my bike? Then rode directly into that parked van? And do you remember me walking away without a scratch? I think I’ve made my point.”

23.41 - Thump.

An Overdue Post, Vol. I…

The Floating Face October 13th, 2006

It was a beautiful wedding. The groom beamed, the bride radiated and motherly eyes dampened. Relations almost forgotten were rediscovered and the joyous union of two families gave great cause for celebration. It is now one o’clock in the morning and Fyse is strutting his funky stuff on the dance floor. He is also singing in a desperately raucous manner.

“Two hundred degrees, that’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit. Travelling at the speed of liiiiight. Wanna make a supersonic woman of you.”

Emphasising this last sentence, he points his finger at a young lady dancing nearby, who promptly leaves the floor.

“If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call.”

The young lady now leaves the room entirely, and bystanders carefully move their drinks from the edge of the table as Fyse whirls toward them. Executing what he believes to be a balletic spin, he strikes a dramatic pose as the song mercifully concludes.

The anticipated applause does not materialise, so Fyse galumphs away to sit with The Cousins in the corner. Taking another draught of entirely superfluous alcohol he casts his gaze into the gloaming room. Not many remain, and of those still standing his own family predominate. While pleasant enough, the brides relatives have been drifting toward bed for some time and the remaining huddles look somewhat perturbed by the magnificent and increasingly voluble expletives emanating from one table in particular. The Cousins are putting the world to rights in a loud and overly-opinionated manner.

The dancefloor is deserted, and at the edges of the room rubbish and empty glasses are being collected. The doors to the rest of the hotel stand open and in the light of the hallway people bid one another good night. It seems the revelry is coming to a close, but ere the end is one final track from the DJ. With whoop and cheer The Cousins charge the dancefloor.

“We are family. Get up ev’rybody, SING!”