#42

9:44am: It has been a morning of folding and pressing, lists and bathroom bags, but I'm finally all packed. My three abercrombie luggage cases are sat neatly in the hall by the door. In just under 13 hours I'll be in Jamaica; England just a place on a map which may or may not exist.

I am sitting in the green chair in the lounge without shoes or socks. I'm wearing  beige cotton shorts, a garish yellow and pink Bermuda shirt and a pair of dark shades. My thoughts are on Jaws. He's about 4cm in length and should fit snugly into a sardine paste jar. In one hour the taxi will arrive and I'll lock this place up for a while.

10:43: Taxi arrives. The driver is a an old guy with a big child's 'W' shaped arse. His trousers are pulled right up to his tits. If anyone looks ridiculous it's him.

11:30: Gatwick. Not too busy. I pick Jaws out his jar, pop him in my mouth and check in. “Where's your shoes?” asks one of the airport security. “I'm going to Jamaica,” I reply, sounding like a queer with a gobful of goldfish, “do you suppose Jamaicans wear shoes?!”
“Yes sir, they do!” Was his pathetic response.

11:37: Jaws is alive and safely back in his little jar. I buy some Kingsize Rizlas and practice rolling 'zoots' while I wait. I place a 'fat one' behind each ear.

12:24: We are called to board. I elbow and bustle my way to the front and am first on the plane. 301 seats, the choice is all mine. I sit near the toilet.

12:36: We go through a flight check. I will not describe it, one too many people already have.

12.45: Right on cue we take off. Skies are bright blue and the pilot anticipates a very smooth flight. I close my laptop and forget the world exists.

12:46: Jaws is staring back at me. I think I am crying. The hallway is in shade and my three travel bags look tragically sad sitting there as they do. Outside I hear the large metal bins being pulled and dragged around. Wednesday is always dustman day.

It is 17 degrees. London is overcast and heavy rain is forecast. I suppose I may as well change from out these ridiculous garments, unpack the cases and put my clothes away. There is no holiday and there never was. People like me don't go on holiday and we certainly don't go to Jamaica. But a man can dream can't he? Even in England a man can dream...

7 comments:

  1. It reminds me of the time we went to Jamaica, d'you remember? How scared we was because we read the sentence for homosexual fucking was 10 years! :)

    Lucky. we. never. got. caught. we'd. both. be. doing. a. 300 year. long. stretch.

    I Loev yo

    Jhno

    ReplyDelete
  2. It reminds me of the time we went to Jamaica, d'you remember? How scared we was because we read the sentence for homosexual fucking was 10 years! :)

    Lucky. we. never. got. caught. we'd. both. be. doing. a. 300 year. long. stretch.

    I Loev yo

    Jhno

    ReplyDelete
  3. I've been following WFJ since the very start but this is my first comment.

    Absolutely brilliant, just that! For me this post really sums up who and what Tristram Spencer is. I very nearly cried reading the last paragraph. Something very special, unique is being created here. Its a priviledge to read it.

    ReplyDelete
  4. As Gordon Brown said to Tony Blair when he renaged on their leadership deal:

    I shall never believe another word you say!

    Chalk up another Mortal Sin for Tristram Spencer.

    ReplyDelete
  5. John, there's something relieving about your comments, that you are at least here. But something scares me in them... it's like you're trying to keep sane but are cracking at the edges. You must give me time. Remember "time is our friend"... "history is working for us." you said that and I got all excited. But John, this is 'time', this is 'history' and look at the mess it's in.

    ReplyDelete
  6. @ Marty: Thank you. That you suffer with me is at least small consolation. X

    @ Mind of Mine: XXX

    @ Abigail Winthrope: I think Gordon had a blog at the time called: Waiting for Tony. Actually, Gordon could have played mother... he kinda looks the part.

    Another Mortal Sin... they're like home runs for me. X

    ReplyDelete

 
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