Friday, January 12, 2007
When A Rainy Day Comes
“It’s very windy!” exclaims just about everybody, except Mike, who communicates only via a series of monosyllabic grunts.
Which is fine, apart from that whenever I need to talk to him about something, I find myself grunting along in sympathy.
Me: Grunt grunt grunt. (Translation: Did you speak to Brian at Bolton Headcases about some license updates?)
Mike: Grunt. (No.)
Me: Grunt grunt. (He left a message. They’re not working properly. Can you get back to him before eleven, because he’s got a meeting then.)
Mike: Grunt grunt. (He’ll be lucky. I’m busy. I’ll call him if I get chance.)
Me: Grunt grunt grunt. (It sounded urgent. He said he was going to come round with a shotgun and blow my head off if you don’t speak to him before he goes into his meeting. Please try your best.)
Mike: Grunt grunt grunt! (I said I’d call him if I get a chance, didn’t I? What more do you fucking want?)
Me: Grunt. (That’s great. Thanks Mike.)
Outside my window, people trying to walk forwards find themselves helplessly going backwards, while others are going forward alright but WAY TOO FAST, sweeping along at fifty knots, only coming to rest when they smash into a wall or interface with oncoming traffic.
After work I join Bill Surname’s retired army chums for practise in the rifle range -
“When a rainy day comes, or a cloud of grey comes, and I’ve lost my sunny day, Mister Music Master, make my heart beat faster, you can chase my cares away…”
- and now it’s three o’clock and I can see faces in the plaster and there are ghosts behind the curtains, and the wind is howling like a wounded tenor and somewhere down the street a tin can rolls all night to its own Should I Stay Or Should I Go rhythms - clatter clatter clatter clatter, pause, clang clang clang clang, pause - and I should just bloody get up and put it in a bin, and I cannot sleep.
In the morning, we discover the wheelie bins have been playing houseswap sleepover. Ours has gone to number ninety five, and theirs has moved to twenty three, and sixty two’s, which was always restless at the best of times, isn’t to be found anywhere.
Which is fine, apart from that whenever I need to talk to him about something, I find myself grunting along in sympathy.
Me: Grunt grunt grunt. (Translation: Did you speak to Brian at Bolton Headcases about some license updates?)
Mike: Grunt. (No.)
Me: Grunt grunt. (He left a message. They’re not working properly. Can you get back to him before eleven, because he’s got a meeting then.)
Mike: Grunt grunt. (He’ll be lucky. I’m busy. I’ll call him if I get chance.)
Me: Grunt grunt grunt. (It sounded urgent. He said he was going to come round with a shotgun and blow my head off if you don’t speak to him before he goes into his meeting. Please try your best.)
Mike: Grunt grunt grunt! (I said I’d call him if I get a chance, didn’t I? What more do you fucking want?)
Me: Grunt. (That’s great. Thanks Mike.)
Outside my window, people trying to walk forwards find themselves helplessly going backwards, while others are going forward alright but WAY TOO FAST, sweeping along at fifty knots, only coming to rest when they smash into a wall or interface with oncoming traffic.
After work I join Bill Surname’s retired army chums for practise in the rifle range -
“When a rainy day comes, or a cloud of grey comes, and I’ve lost my sunny day, Mister Music Master, make my heart beat faster, you can chase my cares away…”
- and now it’s three o’clock and I can see faces in the plaster and there are ghosts behind the curtains, and the wind is howling like a wounded tenor and somewhere down the street a tin can rolls all night to its own Should I Stay Or Should I Go rhythms - clatter clatter clatter clatter, pause, clang clang clang clang, pause - and I should just bloody get up and put it in a bin, and I cannot sleep.
In the morning, we discover the wheelie bins have been playing houseswap sleepover. Ours has gone to number ninety five, and theirs has moved to twenty three, and sixty two’s, which was always restless at the best of times, isn’t to be found anywhere.

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