Monday, 13 April 2009

Dime Novel : Yam Unlikely

I'm spinning this one out of alcohol, just for small change, it's been a tough week I need the money:

I was on the way to the Asian take-away next to the supermarket when the guy from the key-mint came running out shouting something in French so I went into the shop and ran out three seconds later shouting "there's a crazy dog loose in the shop!". This is what they call the Immersion Technique of language learning. Now I know "chien" means dog, and "putain" means fuck, fucker etc. As in "don't go in there you fucking idiot!"

I wouldn't normally use such a bland description as "Asian take-away" but this one really does have a mixture of national cuisines and it's called "Asiatique" something, that's French for Asian take-away. The thing that was bugging me was our cleaner had conveniently "lost" our key the day after we told her we were going on holiday. I needed space to think and Sezchaun Chicken with Diet Coke usually helps.

I was well into the Sezchuan Chicken when I got the text from the cleaner saying she'd found the key, my last thought was "damn she set me up..."

When I woke up I was in the man's upstairs flat again, his young son was there with is computer and wireless kit. "You fix, you fix now!", I replied "why are you wearing a balaclava Kevin?", "You make velly angly, I cut you!", "for fuck's sake Kevin I've already said I'll fix your computer whenever, I do it for all my mates. But if you do this to me again I'm going to call the police, I can't be on these dodgy mickies I might have a seizure you know that". We calmed down and I sorted out his connection, just switched channels it must have been interference from a neighbour. I was explaining seizures over a cuppa and wham! Bastard. The tea.

I woke up at home on the sofa, the cleaner was there "Hiya, late night again? I found the key so I let myself in, catch up for yesterday", "fuck off Eddie, I know you're in on this and when I clear my head I'm coming after the pair of you".

"I'm not Eddie, remember? Eddie did a runner with your dvd player, I'm Moira, you've been drinking again haven't you?", "No! No I haven't, Eddie and that fucking tit at the take-away slipped me a mickey-finn. You're all morons, I just told you I'm going on holiday, why the fuck are you doing this now?"

She carried on "Shall I make you a coffee? I'm Moira, I sent you a text message about the keys, remember?". I grabbed the phone thinking it would say "text message from Eddie" but obviously the fiends had changed the details when I was knocked out.

Coffee was a mistake. When I woke up I was tied to a chair in the kitchen, with my own bondage gear, there was note on the table reading "sorry JJ, you knew too much". There was a comic-book bomb timer next to the cooker so I shuffled the chair over to see what I could do. Moira had opened all the gas burners and made a make-shift timer out of my Deep Purple alarm clock.

What Moira didn't know was that the cooker had a leak, which the gas company couldn't find yet, so I was turning the gas off at the supply in between cooking meals. I would have starved to death before that "bomb" killed me. I escaped from the bondage gear easily because any serious practitioner knows these thing only look like you're trapped in them but you never really are.

Then I put on my CD of Bond Movie Themes as background to taking a shower and cooking breakfast. Nudity and cooking seems to be the way to show "sexy" and "in touch with feelings / feminine side" I do it most weekends but frankly I find it embarrassing. If I'm a 90's man it was probably the 1890's. I don't want a house plant or a cat, I don't cry but I can nail a fucking picture to the wall and change a burst tyre and the bottom line is I've never had a massage that made me more relaxed than I already am.

Yes breakfast, I eat breakfast in the evening, so what? It's not a crime. False imprisonment is a crime but I wasn't in the mood for justice, revenge was the dish I was cooking. Revenge and breakfast, a potent combination. The breakfast was particularly potent, curried goat leftover from yesterday's dinner.

A good friend of mine served curried goat at his wedding, his wife's choice. I couldn't express my gratitude because it wasn't his choice. I don't know if he even liked it, you don't ask the bride or groom if they liked the food do you? My problem is I always imagine if that's "their" favourite food then I know what they're going to do with the leftovers. I don't want to think that about my best friend and his wife, or anyone else either. I can't think of one couple I know who I would like to see eating dessert off each other's bodies, let alone main course and starters.

When I get married again I'm definately having champagne at the wedding; Belgian beer, kebabs (gyros), chips (fries) with salt and vinegar, crisps (chips), tandoori chicken, M&M's, cinnamon mentos, HP Sauce, Mayonnaise, Ketchup, onions, Olive Oil, more Mayonnaise, a hint of black pepper. Yum.

Anyhow, revenge. I suddenly realised it was the third day, I had risen and I had a job to do. First I set fire to my car, my beautiful Silver Machine, the moths came to the flame. While they watched bemused and argued with each other I put the mickies in the Sezchuan chicken and waited. Eventually Moira led me to Eddie and the dvd player, I called the Pizza man. That was the signal, they knew something was afoot so they ran out the back door, I picked up my dvd player including their bootleg copy of Alien Autopsy and my keys, and their car keys.

Eventually the insurance sent me a new Silver Machine, I parked their car in front of their Maison, with a free gallon of petrol, and a free alarm clock.

Cue: Eye of the Tiger, run end credits.


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