This Is The Goo I've Got

With ten minutes until 9am, I pulled up to the front of the supermarket looking for a quick operation. In, grab breakfast, out. No fuss. All four parent-and-child spaces were vacant – the whole car park, in fact, was reasonably quiet. So I flicked the steering wheel to the left, grabbed the handbrake, and executed a beautiful slide sideways into one of the four parent-and-child spacesyes, this is a lie. Well done for spotting that.

As the tyre smoke cleared, an old boy (60, perhaps?) walked past my front end, either admiring my beautiful custom front radiator grille, or noting down my registration.

Five minutes later, the old boy would have gone up to the customer service desk in the supermarket, and helpfully informed them that some young scallywag driving a Golf with the registration XXXX XXX was abusing their facilities.

The customer services desk, obviously, would be horrified. What if four single mothers turned up at once, and all insisted on a space by the front door? That would not suffice. Have they any clamps? No. Then they must phone the police, trace the car registered XXXX XXX and commence court proceedings.

What probably ACTUALLY happened was that this guy went up to the customer services desk and helpfully informed them of the atrocity taking place on their asphalt. To which a middle aged blonde woman who had been working since 7am and had already had to cope with two screaming babies and a smashed jar of beetroot would grab this old codger by the lapels, pull his face close to hers, and spit at him “I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.”

I think I’m just veiling my fear of prosecution with a sheen of humour. I’m quaking on the inside.

I was just a few metres from home, really. It was dark, as it is now. I was thinking about what needs doing this evening, as one does on the way home.

A strange creature was coming the other way, up the opposite pavement. Like a dog, but with a feline demeanour.

It paused outside a driveway, looked at me as if to say “I’m not a big cat, you chuffing idiot! I’m a fox!”

“Right,” I said “A fox. Well, I’ll see you around sometime then.”

The fox rolled its eyes and turned into the driveway.

Scene: INTThis means “interior”, for all you idiots out there silver Honda S2000 sports car. The roof is down. PETE is in the passenger seat and HIS BOSS is driving. The car is stationary at some traffic lights.

PETE sees some blue smoke coming from somewhere down by the side of the car.

HIS BOSS: “What’s that smell?”

PETE: “Smells like brakes burning.”

HIS BOSS: “I hope it’s not us.”

HIS BOSS looks at the handbrake.

HIS BOSS: “Shit. How long has that been on?”

PETE: “Since the traffic lights two miles back, I’d guess.”

HIS BOSS: “My wife will kill me.”

PETE: (thinks: That would be a shame. Then I’d have to get another job.)

HIS BOSS: “You’d best not tell anyone about this.”

PETE: “My lips are sealed.” (thinks: but my fingers aren’t! Haha!)

My bedroom.

Morning.

I awake. There is light creeping in around the edges of my black curtains.

I look at the clock. It flashes 1:26.

Power cut.

So what time is it really?

I roll across my bed and onto the floor. I slither up the dresser and claw my watch from the surface.

It’s about 7.30. I have woken up at pretty much the time that my alarm would have gone off.

I go back to bed. Now I’ve got the perfect excuse for a lie in.

In my boredom, I attempted to fold a CD in half. I think I was expecting it to bend and snap cleanly, like a credit card. Fortunately I turned my face away as a precaution, as it shattered into pieces, spreading shards of plastic and slivers of aluminium foil across my desk.

My boredom was not satiated though, so I decided now was the time to experience first hand the CD-in-microwave phenomenon.