| Dirk Gently
Join Date: Mar 2003 Location: Upon the shore
Posts: 8,280
| Fiction: New Kettle
Still deliberating the look of my new, silver kettle against the darker backdrop of oak in which the kitchen was decked, I wondered if buying the extended three-year warranty was such a good idea. I mean, kettles are designed to get pretty fucking hot and surely the wires were fine with that … but then again you can never trust any large company to sell you something that will work for more than a month before it needs looked at. I was still wondering if things really were built better in my father’s time as I leaned over to plug the television in. “I mean, retro stuff holds up better than new stuff, I suppose.” I murmured to myself, and, as the black screen gave off that subtle whine and took to revealing the irritating blue-yonder ponce, went over how to work my remote. Still half-thinking about the sturdiness of old technology versus the flimsiness of the iPod, I shifted over through music channels, but ended up watching Blue’s Clues on Nick-Toons. Kids get all the best TV these days.
Between two adverts for car insurance, which only served to stir up a recurring thought in my mind—the three for Jamster ringtones not helping—one came on about the movie release of the cult thriller The Da Vinci Code that threaded it all together. Largely it was to do with society melting down into reality TV slaves texting their worthless opinions, people who actually called the car insurance companies from the ads. And what happened to the very belief in faith if we must draw up a ‘reality’ show about how Our Man was involved in some big cover up that was unearthed by the great minds of our time? A picture of Derek Acorah flapped about pretending to be possessed in my mind and refused to go away. I shuddered.
Any ponderous intent I had soon grew faint compared to the much larger issue at hand, namely what Blue the dog wanted to do today, and I sipped some Coke having decided I needed a modestly larger occasion to break out the new kettle on. I wish I had an intelligent blue dog. If I did, I’d probably walk it and get my fitness up a little … I might even start going to the gym again.
Having unconsciously decided to buy a blue talking dog, my pondering was soon pushed under the bed—waiting for the right moment to collapse into view at the most undeserving time, when I had people over—as the doorbell had just went. I strolled with uncomfortable hints of urgency and pushed the handle down to make that hard click, to show the door was still locked from last night—as I well knew—buying me the time to fish the keys out from the bottom of the curtains. My back protested violently, with signs, a megaphone and an array of unwashed youths, as I bent over; suddenly remembering that feisty blonde from last night was still in my bed.
I pulled the door open and was not faced with a neddy milkman, stifling me for a moment. It was Jesus. His hair was matted due to the rain and his robes were looking a little worse for the wear. I knew he’d had a tough few days, but he hadn’t been returning my texts lately. “You had better come in.” I slid my arm around his shoulders and led him to the kitchen to dry off with a clean towel I don’t seem to use anymore. He was rather quiet through the whole ordeal, sniffing at times, but I think that was just due to the coldness of the early evening. He took the towel and paced into the other room. I heard him settle down gracefully into the couch and blow his nose on some tissue from under the coffee table.
“Want some tea or coffee?” I enquired with a certain sense of anticipation. This was an occasion well worthy of firing up the new appliance.
“Get us a coffee will you … I feel kinda tired and drab today.” came the dreary reply.
The silence that followed still managed to be so loud amongst the kettle raving about how warm the water was getting and the television nattering on about something it thinks I should buy for half price. Our Man was sitting with perfect posture on the edge of the seat, natural to him from his strict upbringing, making me feel rather uneasy. Also, he’d taken my seat … if he wasn’t the Messiah I’d probably say something. For about half an hour or so he picked up my acoustic and sadly strummed some Nirvana tunes, whimpering the lyrics of ‘Dumb’ to himself from time to time—this is the only point in my life I paid attention to an advert…but I did notice Lombard Direct had changed their number, leading me to wonder just how I knew it in the first place. We just sat for the rest of the evening in virtual silence—except the short debate we had at the adverts about The Da Vinci Code—but he eventually brought up what was bothering him just as he was crossing the doorway. I’ve asked him to stop crossing things as I am a strict atheist. Essentially it was his dad forcing the family business path in his way again, but he really just wanted to go to college for a few years and get an apprenticeship to be a joiner. He was a little rusty after a few years and he’d only recently gotten over his fear of wood. I suggested he just go ahead with what he wants to do … I mean his dad’s not the boss of him. It’s not really fair on Jesus, in the long run.
“Remember you can always move in with me if you ever feel like you need the space, y’know?” I’ve always been there for him … I know he’s had a hard time in life.
“Thanks man … I just wish mum were still around, she’d help me figure out what to do.”
We both sighed consciously and studied the sky rather absently as though a plane just crossing the sky at that moment demanded specific attention. He just rambled a few things and said his goodbyes, turning round throughout and viewing the street—men can never say goodbye to each others eyes, it’s the only situation in life, bar having just stolen something large, where we act like 11-year-olds-shyly talking about girls, trying to dig with our feet and hands in pockets.
Ach, poor kid. Could probably do with a decent coffee. I wandered back sheepishly and started breaking in the kettle. I was so jacked on caffeine I started singing the Lombard Direct song whilst playing football in my back garden. St.Gabriel was in goals because he tore ligaments in his ankle last time—his fault for sliding in like that, asking for it.
“God’s pretty pissed at you by the way, for telling Jesus to go his own way.” He remarked, putting me off as I lodged the ball in a tree overhead.
“Well, it would explain the frogs…” we both turned to my house, which seemed like had grown a green skin and was slithering.
“I thought the lightning striking your cat would’ve been a bit more obvious.” He wrinkled his brow as he pondered.
“Nah, he’s still not managed to hit my cat yet … besides, he’s being a bit wide about the whole thing.”
“If I were you,” he dusted off his robes and grabbed the goalpost, a harp, and started ascending, “I’d just tone down the advice to Jizzy.” I just bit my bottom lip and waved as he went home for dinner. I saw a sharp flash as fluffy disappeared into inexistence … I felt really bad for the neighbours and wondered if big G yet realised that I had a dog.
__________________ the drugs were found at a rest stop, and that the rifle was for shooting kangaroos as I drove.
Last edited by Woolies; 31st May 2006 at 3:01pm.
Reason: featuring for June
|
