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The Psychology of Uranus... 7.
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May 10, 2012 10:18 pm
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I do neither. I ask a question.
“How do we make a start Alexo, when we have no-one to psycho-analyse?”
“Have you ever read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?”
Do you see how Alexo answers a question with a question? That is called ‘Tact’ by politicians and an escape-mechanism by the layman.
“Is he anything to do with ‘Winnie the Poo’?” I asked.
Do you see how it works? A question with a question? Here is Alexo again, to prove that speech can be a conversational questionnaire.
“Why do you say stupid things like that?”
“Why is it a stupid question, Alexo?”
Now the ball is rolling and I could go on forever with this rubbish. But to cut the rolling ball of questions dead, I add.
“I must admit I have never read the man. You have to enlighten me, Alexo.”
“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a famous author, who wrote a series of detective books.”
I sat back, aware that I was about to be enlightened, to be apprised of how we, Alexo and I would meet our first client, the one who would need our services as professional psychologists.
“The writer is allowed, what is termed as ‘Poetic Licence.’ This means that the writer can invent ideal situations whereby things work out exactly as planned and without the nuisance of unexpected happenings.”
“So, what you are saying Alexo, is that the writer lives in a world without Uranus influence.”
“Huh?”
I received a look of blankness, then of complete annoyance.
“I forgot your sense of flippancy.” he said, before settling down to continue the theme.
“When Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wanted to introduce a ‘Ginger-Headed’ man into a book, he had a man advertise in the newspapers for a man with ginger hair.”
“Which means?” I asked.
“Which means I have advertised in the local newspaper for anyone who would like an astrological reading given free of charge. You will find, as did the reader of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s story, that the next day there grew a long queue of ginger-headed men seeking employment.”
“Does that mean Alexo, this morning our doorbell will ring and I answer it to find a line of people all queuing up for a free reading?”
“Oh ye of little faith!” exclaimed Alexo.
“Listen.” he continued, holding a hand to his ear in theatrical gesture.
I listened.
The doorbell rang and going to the front door I saw a long line of people, the queue going round the block and still growing. It’s bloody marvellous, this ‘Poetic Licence’!
The day was taken up with Alexo giving brief readings from the Birth-Charts I had set up for him, having taken the ‘Birth-Data’ and addresses from those who entered the room.
Alexo moved through the line with quick endeavour, promising a future of extreme bliss, from a beginning of ‘Silver spoons in mouth’ to an ending of life, with words like Valhalla and the Elysian Fields, Paradise and Heaven, all coming with easy grace.
At last the line dwindled, to come to a finality and we sat dining on kippers and jam sandwiches as Alexo wrote out a list of those he had chosen.
“There you see.” he said, removing a kipper bone from between his teeth. “I have chosen twelve people, each of whom has the planet Uranus in the following houses. The first address I have is of a man who has Uranus in his first house. The next person has Uranus in the second house while the next has Uranus in the third house and so on.”
Ah, sweet ‘Poetic Licence’!
“We have here one Aloysius Parsnip, at the moment a resident at the Psychiatric Home for Adult Pyromaniacs.”
If all the world’s a stage. I really did not want to be on this one! Here we sat, Alexo and I, dressed in white doctor’s coats, with blue badges on the front proclaiming each of us to be Doctor Screwballs and Doctor Dimballs. Seated opposite us was a man who seemed more a weasel than a human-being. He had, (And here, I am not being unkind!) A head just like a parsnip, bulbous at the top and wearing down to a straggly root-like beard at the bottom.
Alexo tapped my knee with his, feeling my silent shaking as I tried not to laugh.
“I am Doctor Screwballs and this is Doctor Dimballs.” Alexo said, holding out a hand.
“Got any matches?” asked Aloysius Parsnip in a thin reedy voice.
“I have some.” I said, holding out a box and seeing the man’s eyes light up as, no doubt, our office would have been lit up had ‘Parsnip-Head’ had the matches.
“Stop!” shouted Alexo, smacking my wrist.
I put the matches away and Aloysius began to cry.
“What is the point of crying?” said Alexo. “You know that tears are water and water puts out fire, don’t you?”
Aloysius stopped crying immediately.
“There you see, Doctor Dimballs. That’s using psychology.” said Alexo, pointing.
“Amazing, Doctor Screwballs.” I agreed.
“Now.” began Alexo. “What we have here is a typical example of Uranus in the first house, akin to Uranus in Aries.”
I stared at Aloysius, trying to see some spark of individuality, some spark of life even. He sat, his little beady eyes trying to see the top of the match-box I kept peeping over the top of the table, then jerking it back down out of sight.
“I’ve peed myself.” said Aloysius suddenly.
“More water, Doctor Screwballs.” I muttered. “It seems to come out at both ends!”
“Shut up and listen, both of you!” shouted Alexo.
We sat. We listened.
The aroma coming from Aloysius’ trousers was not the best of scent, confined as we were to this small office but then our time in the prison kitchen had seared away our taste buds and sense of smell. Thus we sat and endured, as Alex continued his tirade.
"Aloysius, here, has a problem. He has this obsession with fire and we are here to help contain this passion. I might safely say that when one has Uranus in Aries or within the first house, one has this urge, this irrational need to set the world alight in some way. In a positive ‘Light’, one with this combination can set about lighting up the future with flashes of brilliance, by inventing and leading the way!"
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The Psychology of Uranus... 6.
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May 9, 2012 10:34 pm
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“As I was saying.” continued Alexo. “The three outer planets, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto symbolise the unconscious modes which give changes to our nature, without reason. They are changes we have no control over. In many respects these planets are more aligned to mass consciousness. I mean, if you stop to consider how scientists in different parts of the world can be inventing the same thing at the same time, as if the idea enters the minds of different men living a world apart, it proves that thought is a sudden idea which lies buried till a time when the idea explodes to many minds at the same instant. However I won’t go into full details.”
Can you imagine how pleased I was to hear that?
“But.” the Master went on, dashing my hopes with this one word. “But” he reiterated. “It is necessary for me to give you a complete insight into exactly what Uranus signifies.”
I silently lapsed into a semi-conscious state.
“Will you be surprised to know that the planet Uranus is known as the ‘Maverick’ planet?”
Surprised? I was ecstatic with a wild joy! To know that some distant world, a giant gas-ball, was termed as being a ‘Maverick’ by a bunch of loonies!
“The planet Uranus.” carried on Alexo, unaware of my thoughts. “Is called ‘The Maverick’ because of its wild and unpredictable orbit which is unlike the orbit of any other planet within our solar system.”
Now, I didn’t know that! Did you, dear reader? And did that knowledge impress you, as it did me? My eyes began to close, unconsciousness is a dear friend.
With his eyes skywards and palms pressed as if in prayer Alexo continued with his sermon.
“Now it does not need a brain to understand that, symbolically, the unpredictable nature of Uranus corresponds with the unpredictable nature one would have should Uranus be prominent within a Birth-Chart.”
I smiled in my sleep. Because what Alexo said sounded all symbolics to me!
“Please continue, Alexo.” I heard my voice say.
Alexo continued.
“Uranus indicates action without thought, instinctive, impulsive, unreasonable and illogical. That is the nature of Uranus. It implies the actions of a maniac or an inventor or an eccentric. It is unconformity. It is the artist who gains inspiration. One who creates from nowhere, a new style of artwork. It is the man who cuts a cow in half and puts the butchered cow into a tank of formaldehyde. The work is seen as sensational and admired for its originality. This is the sudden idea, the creative genius of Uranus at work.”
Yep... I got all that, did you?
"If you go back to the years between 1927 and 1934, you will see that Uranus entered Aries and during that time, electronics exploded onto the scene, things like television and electronic telescopes came into being. You would see the corresponding forces of Uranus at work, the planet which signifies electronic ideas, inventive forces. And in Aries, which indicates quick sight, foresight, together these components fuse, to create electronic sight and the radio is now updated to television, that unseen things are seen through radar and so on.”
“How marvellous.” I admired.
“Now.” Alexo carried on, too far into his conversation to hear my sarcasm. “The interesting part in all this is that, understanding the effect of Uranus within a Birth-Chart, one can understand the nature of one’s psychology as far as how one might arrive at creative ideas.”
There are times, delicious moments, when I swim in the juices of ignorance. And here is such a time. It is a time when the mind fuses, all things tend to slow down and though the eyes appear sharp, the lights are certainly not on!
“I understood every word Alexo.” I said
Oh the beauty of a lie. I am sure some people are psychological liars, or is it pathological? Anyway when it comes to Alexo, I can lie with the pleasure of knowing there is no guilt, no unhappy feeling of displeasure, calling the falsehood a ‘Little White Lie’. The truth is that this slippery man, he of the watery blue eyes and straggly wispy grey hair has not one iota of instruction as far as psychology goes. He simply makes it up as he goes along!
“So Master, we can expect those with the planet Uranus, to act in a shocking way?”
“Exactly! Hitler had Uranus in Libra in his first house. He was mad, perhaps a genius. Who knowsd! Richard, all you have to do is broaden your thinking and you will be on your way to being clever.”
I beg you all, dear readers to think on this. Here I sit, at an old table, opposite a schemer who simply goes from one madcap plan to another. One who insists in sharing my life, engineering ways in which I might suffer. Here is a man who tells me to broaden my thinking.
“I am trying.” I said. “But your ideas are so complex, so hard to pinpoint. I do understand that the mind is somewhat in a state of shock, unless given time to be grounded?”
“Yes, Richard. See? Now you are getting there."
“Then Alexo, the mind is driven by certain electronic impulses?”
“Indeed, Richard.”
“And further Alexo, the human has a ‘Current’ for a brain!”
Oh how I love the frustration and apoplexy which spreads a sickly hue over his face, how the look of pleasure seems to freeze, then by degrees change to disbelief, then to anger and finally a glaze of sickness.
“I should know by now Richard, that one should not engage your brain in conversation. I shall speak no further on the subject but simply hope that practical experience gives more joy than theory.”
I slept that night in surprising comfort. I do believe the idea of bunk-beds gives a sense of closeness and comfort, especially for the one who sleeps on the bottom bed. I found that it was rather like sleeping in a four-poster, with curtains drawn round, so it shuts out the surrounding world. Again, it might just be that I had the comfort-feeling, which prisoners sleep under and knowing that on wakening the breakfast of lumpy porridge would be arriving. Though in my case, I woke to the sight of Alexo’s legs, dangling over the edge of the bed above.
“Are you making tea, Richard?”
And so the idea of comfort evaporated as we sat, sipping tea, each to our own thoughts.
“What do we do today, Alexo?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Today, my dear friend, we make a start on our new careers, on the step-ladder to fame and fortune.”
Do you feel my eyes dear reader, turning to look at you with a slight shake of my head? Do I laugh at the insanity which hovers around me or do I cry? Are there tears at the ridiculous statements the maniac opposite continues to make?
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The Psychology of Uranus... 5.
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May 8, 2012 10:26 pm
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“Have you ever, Richard, had the height of expectancy? A time when you expect things to work out then been let down in such an unexpected way that your breath is taken away from you and your world crumbles?”
Do you wonder why I cannot answer that question? Why I needed to find a dark corner, so I could cry?
“Well that is what the planet Uranus symbolises.” Alexo continued. “The ‘Unexpected!”
So Alexo talked as we walked, acquainting me with the fact that ‘Stoicism’ was the philosophic outlook of the poor man, to expect nothing and so, getting nothing, simply accepted whatever rotten fruit is thrown at you by a critical omnipotence, a higher God!
“Now the psychology of Uranus is to expect the unexpected and utilise it so it works for you. You take, for instance, this building we stand in front of. Do you recognise it?”
“Yes Alexo. This is that dodgy office building you used to rent, when you ran that astrology dating agency, ‘The Astromates’.”
“Spot on! Now Richard, if I lift that old flower-pot, would you expect me to find the key to the door of my old office?”
“Of course not. It’s been over a year since you were here last!” I exclaimed.
Alexo lifted the old flower-pot and rose, the key aloft in his hand.
“There Richard!” he shouted in triumph. “This is what you least expected to find, while I fully expected the key to be here!”
It’s amazing really. Either Alexo was the luckiest sod alive or, considering the state of the building, no-one had any intention of going inside.
“We have work to do Richard.” said Alexo, pushing the door open and waiting as the dust settled.
The ‘Work’ we had to do consisted of me going to the shops and buying the materials needed to clean the mess up, using them for that very purpose while Alexo vanished on a mission of ‘Uranus Unexpectancy’!
When you think about it there was some truth to the words, in that I was expected to do the donkey work, while Alexo was suddenly and unexpectedly detained elsewhere.
It was some hours later when a lorry pulled up outside the building and from it came two men carrying a pair of bunk-beds. It was ‘Déjà vu! Had I not been in this situation before, where bunk-beds played an interfering part in my life?
“Do you see what I have got?” asked Alexo, also alighting from the back of the truck. “I have got us beds to sleep on, tables and chairs to seat ourselves and a microwave to make meals with.”
The fact there was hardly enough room in the office to swing a cat made little difference to Alexo.
“We will be a snug as bugs in a rug.” he said, then produced a large brass plague.
“This is the beginning of success.” he said as he handed me the plaque, so that I might fix it to the office door.
The plaque read... ‘Screwballs and Dimballs. Psychologists to Royalty.’
“Psychologists to royalty?” I queried.
I mean, I could understand Alexo classifying himself as a ‘Poor-Man’s Psychologist’ simply because should any man seek psychological help from Alexo he would end up being very poor indeed, both in mind and pocket!
“But royalty? When have you ever given psychological help to royalty, Alexo?”
“Do you remember Horatio M’boko?”
“Of course I do.” I replied.
“Well he told me he was the son of an African Chief, which made him a Prince, a man of royal blood. I treated him for an ear-ache.”
“An ear-ache?”
“Indeed.” said Alexo. “I informed him that the ache was psychological, that it was simply a deeper, emotive, problem and that he could not die of it. I treated him through a series of self-help programmes.”
“But he jumped off the prison roof, Alexo!"
“Exactly my point. I had said he would not die from an ear-ache.”
In a way I should have given up questioning Alexo’s sense of what was right and wrong. I suppose psychology has an answer for everything, as long as the one needing the treatment helped themselves.
And so with freedom came a new beginning. We were partners in the business of being psychologists to royalty!
URANUS IN ARIES
“Before I start.” said Alexo. “I have to remind you that, with astrology, it is not planets up in the sky which control us or make us do mad things. We have control over our own actions.” We were seated across from each other at the table, master and pupil, the caring and the uncaring, the conscious and the unconscious, the aware and the unaware.
Guess which one I was?
Alexo could talk on with his lecture whilst I, my eyes as wide as saucers saw naked ladies in my mind’s eye, nubile, sensuous and voluptuous beautiful women.
“Are you listening?” Alexo asked.
I nodded, attentive, my mind clouding over again.
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The Psychology of Uranus... 4.
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May 7, 2012 10:26 pm
228 Views
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“Get the Governor out!” shouted Alexo and rushing to the fallen body, Alexo and I dragged the Governor out of the office, laying him flat on the floor outside.
“What about the prison officer, still in the Governor’s office?” I cried.
“Leave him there Richard. Wait till all the gas has evaporated.” replied Alex, kneeling beside the Governor and starting to give resuscitation.
“Breathe into his mouth while I knead his chest!” demanded Alex.
Was he mad? The last thing I was going to do was breathe into anyone’s mouth, least of all the Governor of a prison.
“What’s going on?” shouted Mousey Smith, running to the scene.
“Someone has tried to blow the Governor up, Mousey!” Alexo said between presses.
“Breathe into the Governor’s mouth, Mousey, as I press his chest.”
Mousey knelt down and taking the Governor’s head in one hand and forcing the mouth open with his fingers Mousey began to blow huge life-giving breathes into the Governor’s mouth.
I shudder to think exactly what Mousey was breathing into the Governor’s mouth because we all knew that Mousey Smith suffered from extreme halitosis and could kill a man with his breath from five paces. I watched as the Governor’s feet did a funny little dance, then lie still. By now, a small crowd had gathered around us, all asking questions. Again the news that someone had tried to blow the Governor up with a bomb quickly circulated, gathering industrious speed.
“What’s going on here?” demanded the voice of officialdom, the loud voice of the Assistant Governor.
“It’s the Governor, Sir!” exclaimed Mousey Smith. “He is dying and we’re giving him artificial insemination!”
“Get out of the way, man!” shouted the Assistant Governor, pushing Mousey out of the way and taking his place.
“Governor! Are you alright?” he shouted, leaning over and patting the Governor’s face.
The Governor’s eyes flickered, opening slightly as he let out a small moan.
“Slap him harder, Sir!” screamed Mousey and, leaning over the Assistant Governor’s shoulder and slapped the Governor’s face so hard that the head rocked back, hitting the concrete floor.
The Governor’s eyes opened wide in shock then rolled up into his head, white balls as the Governor blacked out!
I stood alongside Alexo, watching as the paramedics had arrived, to stretcher the Governor off to the ambulance then listening to the shrill scream of the siren as it raced out through the prison gates towards the hospital.
I am not exactly sure of the report which later made its way down the line. It would seem the prison officer whom had been left in the Governor’s office was scraped up and put in a bin-liner, to be laid to rest beneath the apple tree in the prison garden.
I take this to be the honest truth simply because it was said that the tree died two weeks later and the grass around the decayed stump had turned black!
Alex and I had been led back to our cell and given time off from our duties in the kitchen to recover from the shock. Alexo was smiling while I, truly in a state of shock demanded he tell me what had happened.
“While you, Richard, lumbered around in a state of mundane reasoning I set up a plan which had worked brilliantly.”
“Huh?”
“Before Ginja Ninja made his escape he helped make up a cocktail of plutonic juice.”
“Plutonic... What?” I asked, befuddled.
“Plutonic juice Richard. Ginja Ninja instructed me to get some methane, direct from a gastric source, the font of a volcano. Taking a rubber tube and small bottle, I paid Hulk to perform the task of directing a powerful methane feed, from his inner rear-end via the tube into a bottle. Having secured the gas, Ginja Ninja had crushed up some match-heads to obtain sulphur and phosphorus then mixed the powder with some fluid of ammonia. The gas from this concoction was then also put into the bottle to make an extremely volatile explosive, the smell alone being deadly.”
I must say I was intrigued by this telling, laying on my bunk as Alexo extolled his cleverness from the upper bed.
“So what did you do with this explosive ‘Stink-Bomb, Alexo?”
“Now, here’s the clever bit, Richard. I took two eggs and by making a small hole in either end I could blow the guts out. Egg collectors do this to keep the shells. Well next I sealed one hole up with white mastic then injected the eggs, using a syringe, with the explosive gas and then sealed the other end up. Now you understand why I had to scent the eggs because they really stunk!”
“And they are the eggs which you took this morning?”
“Indeed.” said Alexo. “And now we wait.”
“Wait for what Alexo?”
“To be paroled, for saving the Governor’s life!"]
With that Alexo lay his head down, eyes closed and waited.
Freedom has a strange awakening for the prisoner. One minute there is routine and the safety of knowing a meal would be waiting at a set time and there is a bedtime and a morning’s call. The next minute one is sat in a reality, whereby one has to make decisions, to seek out one’s own meal with no soft pillows and orderly comforts of life. Again, the prisoner is used to the dim glow of half-light and the yellow grimness of prison halls and wintry days, the dimness of a futureless existence.
Then suddenly, one is cast out and sits in a fierce light of day, like the rabbit caught in the headlights of responsibility!
Well that was the irrational sense I felt when Alexo and I were cast out to a cheerless freedom. The prison gates had disgorged us out into a world of harsh reality.
Alexo, on the other hand had this blind sense of enthusiasm, that here was another chance to have a go at life and to cheat the system, to defraud anyone and anything which did not have the pockets of honesty sewn up!
“Well, my loyal companion.” he breezed, arms wide as he embraced the brightness of freedom. “We have to look on the bright side of life!”
Now where had I heard that before?
“We are free, according to the rules of parole which means we have to find meaningful work and report to a parole officer each week. Apart from that we are as free as the birds which fly high in our heavens.”
Where could I go? Where could I run to, away from this madman who had me close like Peter Pan’s shadow?
I felt myself stiffen, my resolve harden as I decided to fight for my rights and to live as I wanted to, a free man!
“Of course.” continued Alexo. “I could not allow you, my faithful colleague to remain inside the prison, which is why I had agreed to take you under my wing. Otherwise my dear friend, you would have been in that dreadful place for the next nine years.”
It was true. The fact was the prison authorities had only seen fit to award Alex a medal for bravery for saving the Governor’s life by giving him parole for the same brave action. It was Alex who had begged for my freedom and stating that I also played a part in saving the Governor by helping to get the stricken man out of the hell-hole!
Thus it was I was allowed my freedom as long as I remained under the tutelage, the guidance of one of the biggest and misguided madmen ever to be let loose on this earth!
As long as I remained with Alexo for the duration of the parole.
“So?” I queried. “What do we do?”
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The Psychology of Uranus... 3.
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May 6, 2012 10:15 pm
272 Views
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Mention Jack and Jill, a prison husband and wife team now ensconced in an open prison, a sort of farm which produces piglets and one can pinpoint a time in life when this couple, threatened with separation climbed over the guard rail of the top floor and holding hands threatened to jump. The fact that there was a wire netting, stretched across the first floor and thus disallowing the continued fall to a concrete floor made no difference. In recognition of the fact that this pair would sooner die than be parted saved them from separation.
Again one will remember a time when, in the Reception Hall one night, the prison population witnessed the escape of one Ginja Ninja. This man, as thin as a stick and wearing only a loincloth had climbed up a rope as the old fakirs used to in India. Then, reaching the top, he vanished, gone with a ‘Poof’!’ to disappear in front of the very eyes of the prison population. It is still reported that he is on the ‘Ten Most Wanted’ list in this country, just beneath Cedric, the ‘Maladjusted Misfit’ and Angelina, the ‘Cess-Pit Mauler’.
And, so it was, with Alexo and I.
Many inmates will recollect the time when we left the prison, paroled through an act of bravery which was inscribed on the medals we were both presented with.
When Alexo had talked of a time when we might simply ‘Walk’ out of prison, I dismissed this speech as pure vocal drivel, the ‘Fantastic Dream’.
Though I will tell you, up till the time when the actuality of the event happened I had noticed Alexo seemed to be acting in a strange and rather secretive way. For instance Alexo had taken over the task of making the Governor’s breakfast, each morning, refusing help in the kitchen and preparing a meal which consisted of two boiled eggs, some buttered bread and a pot of tea.
I noticed too, there seemed to be some sort of deal going on, between Alexo and Hulk whereby I actually saw Alexo creeping into Hulk’s cell with a piece of thin rubber piping and a small bottle. When I confronted Alexo he simply tapped the side of his nose and stated that what he did was for our benefit. I also noticed he had begun to smell rather odd of late, a smell of burning matches and bad eggs.
“Richard? I wonder if you might help me this morning?”
Alexo stood in the kitchen, holding the tray which contained the Governor’s breakfast.
“Me? Help you? What do you want me to do?”
“I need you to come up to the Governor’s office with me. Keep your clothes-peg and swim-goggles handy.”
Now when any man, (It needn’t be Alexo.), asks you to follow him, in blind faith, keeping your clothes-peg and goggles at the ready you should immediately run away. It has to be understood that clothes-pegs and goggles are only worn in the kitchen as protection against the odours and splashes which are emitted when the bucket of greens, Hulk’s favourite food, is put on to boil.
And when that man is Alexo, who asks that you follow him in this way, only a fool would follow!
“Lead on!” I said, not only in blind faith but in blind deafness to my screaming instincts!
And so it was a marching pair. I tramped after Alexo as he, tray in hand and with an air of importance, knocked on the Governor’s office door.
“Good Morning, Sir” said Alexo breezily, offloading the tray onto the desk with eggs upright in their little cups and the buttered bread cut into soldiers, the tea poured into a plastic cup.
The prison guard, his peaked cap low over his eyes, stared suspiciously at the breakfast and bent over to sniff at the eggs.
“Are they scented?” he asked.
“They are indeed.” said Alexo. “I scented them myself with a special energy of ‘Lavender De Toilet’!”
Why have you drawn little faces on the eggs?”
“So that the Governor will know which end up the ‘eggies’ will sit.” explained Alexo.
“A bit odd to me.” muttered the guard, looking up from his sniffing, his eyes hidden by the peak of his hat.
Standing behind Alexo, I also thought it highly suspicious that anyone should scent boiled eggs. But then this is Alexo I am writing about!
The Governor lifted the knife from the plate. I realised that, though the Governor did not really like boiled eggs, he got immense satisfaction from decapitating the thin end of the egg, watching the yellow blood ooze out.
“Psychology you see.” Alexo had explained to me later. “I had purloined a photo of the Governor’s wife from his desk, when I first started making his breakfast. I guessed from the way he had splattered the photo with ink that he had a certain hatred of his partner. Therefore I began to copy the face, drawing a likeness onto the eggs and seeing his delight as he either bashed the egg-heads in with the spoon or swiftly sliced through the craniums with a sharp knife!”
"Oh, I see." I said, though I didn't.
“Get ready to put your peg on your nose and goggles over your eyes.” hissed Alexo.
The Governor sat with knife raised, his eyes widening in savagery as he eyed both eggs. Looking up at the suspicious guard, he said. “Which shall I murder first? The one who looks like Sandra or the other egg which also looks like Sandra?”
“Close your eyes Sir. And see which one your knife chooses.” said the guard.
“Now!” screamed Alexo, just as the Governor began to chop downwards with his knife.
I managed to jam the clothes-peg over my nose, ramming the goggles over my eyes when an almighty explosion rocked the cell.
Bits of yellow and green egg went flying, like shrapnel biting into the walls and ceiling followed by a stench which pole-axed both the Governor and the prison guard.
The office light flickered then went out losing itself as a misty green haze polluted the air.
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The Psychology of Uranus... 2.
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May 5, 2012 9:46 pm
298 Views
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Wiping my eyes, I realised the water was from silent tears, an effort of frustration.
“Richard?”
Alexo’s insistence provoked an answer from me.
“Well Alexo.” I replied tiredly. “I have never thought about Uranus although I have to admit I am drawn to the psychological aspects of many a maiden.”
I love the ‘Tut’ of exasperation I get from Alexo when he is annoyed by my flippancy and seeing as he has invaded my privacy I expected to gain many ‘Tuts’ from this nemesis who lay on the bunk above me.
“You know what I mean, Richard!”
“Alexo I have no idea what you are talking about.”
The creaking of the bed above me let me know Alexo was gearing himself up for a long spiel. I closed my eyes, prepared to sleep through it.
“Uranus is a planet in our solar system. Because some people in their ignorance, people such as yourself Richard tend to ridicule the name, passing Uranus as ‘Your Anus’, those of us who study the science of Astrology have given this planet the name ‘Heranus’, with a silent ‘H’.”
Alexo, when in teaching mode has one of those insistent voices which reminds one of a persistent fly which, while harmless in itself, becomes a gigantic ‘Buzz-Bomb’ when one tries to sleep as it flies round the head. Thus whilst I tried hard to drown out the sound, Alexo’s voice became a vocal ‘Buzz-Bomb’, a drone of insistence.
“So.” I replied, unable to help myself. “Ur-anus becomes Her-anus.”
“I see it is useless trying to discuss things of importance with you Richard.”
“Correct, Alexo.” I broke in.
“Then.” said the voice of insistence. “You will not be interested in my escape plan and what we shall be doing once we have vacated these halls of displeasure.”
It is not often that my eyes blink open with a sudden sharpness. Generally my eyes waken in a slow haze of awareness, part in the sense of filtering the daylight and part because I was born with a ‘Lazy Eye’. So you will understand that the shock of sudden understanding opened both eyes wide.
“Escape?”
“Indeed, Richard. Escape!”
“Please enlighten me Alexo. Apart from the fifteen foot high walls which surround this prison and the strong iron bars which help protect the innocents who live beyond these walls from our unlawful ways, you have an escape plan?”
“I have no intention of sawing through bars and scaling high walls, I intend that we walk out.”
“Perhaps.” I mused. “We can find a way of disguising ourselves so that none of the guards recognise us, that we can simply walk out through the gates.”
I might tell you and I write this in a happy frame of mind, silence followed my inspired reasoning, except for a stuttering of ‘Tuts’ coming from the bunk above me, which reminded me of a motor-boat taking off. I could then, with a smile on my face, drift into sleep. I can tell you if I smiled into sleep with the good intentions of dreaming sweet dreams then I was very much mistaken. My dark state was a night of horrific scenes, of nightmarish swirling streams of misty confusions. One minute I lay in the arms of a beautiful woman and the next, as I turned to kiss this luscious maiden, she had turned into Coddy.
Screaming in torment, I turned away to be met by the awful image of Mummy-Ape, who closed in on me from the other side, trapping me and holding me down. Again I screamed for help as their limbs began to entwine me, my screams having no sound.
Looking up into the mists I saw the forms of Hulk, holding hands with Alexo, both passing down the green-tinged streams of methane energy which darkened the colour of my skin to olive. In a burst of frantic fear I surged upwards, in a spiral of panic.
“Are you alright, Richard?”
I lay mummified in my blankets on the cold floor, having fallen from my bed.
“No, I am not alright Alexo. I am living in a world of nightmares, whether I’m asleep or awake.” I said.
“Perhaps I can help you, Richard. As you know, I have been studying psychology for a while and might be able to help you understand what causes these bad dreams. Much is within the subconscious, derived from childhood memories which arrive as phobias and complexes later in the life.”
“Indeed.” I said as I sorted the blankets out and climbed back into bed.
“It’s possible you may be right.”
You will all understand that, having had such a bad dream, I was not quite willing to close my eyes in case the dream re-emerged, so I was happy to listen to the twaddle the idiot above me was spouting.
“Tell me of your earliest memory, Richard.”
I could imagine Alexo above, eyes peering up to the ceiling above, fingers pressed into a temple as he lay, ready to interpret my mental and emotional state.
“My earliest memory, Alexo.” I recalled, “Is when I first met you!”
The silence from above was as loud as a thunderstorm, Alex trying to make sense of my statement. Then...
“And after that, Richard?”
“After that Alexo, I started having the bad dreams!”
Have you ever hard a steam train puffing up a hill? Well if you have then you will recognise the sounds made as Alexo huffed and puffed, on hearing my answer.
“It would seem Richard, there are times when you are most unkind, inconsiderate and unhelpful.” he said at last.
“Ah yes! You are so right Alexo.” I replied. “And that unseemly attitude only revealed itself after my earliest memory of meeting you!”
Saying that I pulled the blankets back over my head, deciding I would rather lapse into my nightmare world of dreams than listen to Alexo!
Prison life is a routine of displeasure, days merging into each other. When old inmates meet up the speech is of memories, often of people who had entered their lives during certain times of incarceration. It is strange how time in prison is measured, not by seasons but rather by those one had served time with.
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The Psychology of Uranus... 1.
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May 4, 2012 10:04 pm
347 Views
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THE PSYCHOLOGY OF URANUS.
“Money is the bleeding root of all evil!”
Now I have said it before and will repeat it here and now, that prison is for dreamers. There is no time spent on planning a future or rising to the challenges of the day, everything is set out for the prisoner. He knows exactly what will happen to him, what his day will consist of in a year from now.
And so it is with this in mind that I can definitely state that the prisoner has little more to do than lay on his bunk and dream of what was, what will be and, within these dreams, he plays the main character, an illusion of heroic deeds and impressions of
excesses.
Thus, I am a hero within my own imaginary explorations as I lie on my bed, a contented soul, whose life is contained within the white-walled shell, the security of my prison cell. In effect, I am safely cocooned within my egg.
In prison, it is reasonable to assume that all men are equal, each responsible to time and the demands of prison rules, which guide the prisoner through the day. While it is right to acknowledge there are circumstances, which gives rise to a prison hierarchy, the power of brute force which is natural to all animals who are herded together. (Here, I allude to animals like Hulk, the beast who resides in the cell further along the landing, a very large and imposing ape-like figure who insists in putting the fear of God into we lesser and more puny individuals.
Once ensconced, away from the interference of prison rules and the demands of Hulk, one can dream to a heart’s pleasure. And this was my pleasure as I lay, my eyes closed to gain more sensitive impressions of the dream.
In my dream, I am dressed in shining silver armour, slaying a dragon of fierce proportions, thus saving a buxom wench, with whom I will quench my thirst, as gratitude and this dream demand.
And it was as I was about to gain my just deserts that Money put an end to my dream, causing me to scream out the sentence seen at the beginning of this chapter, a chapter in my life which changed my idyllic lifestyle, my life of dreams, into a world of nightmares!
The clanging of keys, along with the opening of my cell door, caused the dream to evaporate as my eyes clicked open, switching on the light of a new awareness.
“Get off the bed.” said Moriaty, the prison officer.
I rose to see two prison inmates carrying a bed, which when placed into the top casings of my bed, became one unit, a bunk-bed.
“You have a new room-mate.” instructed the officer, standing aside and allowing the creepy figure of Alex, a pile of blankets clasped to his chest, while held between clenched teeth was a pillow-case of personal belongings.
“Hallo Richard.” he said, beginning to lay out his kit on the top bunk. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“How did you get away from Hulk’s cell? I mean, you were supposed to be there till your release and the marriage between you and Coddy.”
The cell door closed with a deafening clang as Alex, tapping his nose, reported the fact that he had bought his way out. Not only had he bought his way into my cell but he also advised me that Hulk had arranged for a further fee Alex would be working in the prison kitchen alongside me.
Now you can understand why I screamed out, at the beginning of this chapter that Money is the root of all evil! While its worth of greed can manufacture dreams, the ‘Holy Grail’ of all thieves, it is also the property which destroys the happiness and dreams of others!
“This is much better, Richard.” said Alex, climbing to new heights and stretching out in the bunk above me. “No more farts or snoring. No more making me go down to the kitchens, to get him buckets of boiled cabbage. No more being called ‘Screwballs’, or carrying and fetching. This is so good.”
It might be so good for Alex, the bane of my life but for me it was the end of my dreams, my idyllic lifestyle whereby I might escape from the prison for a while and soap myself in a lather of heroic fantasies.
Had Alex been poor and not so miserly in his earlier life that he could not afford to buy his way out of the hell he so deserved, I would have been able to live out my sentence with a smile.
Again, had I been laden with financial benefits I would have been able to outbid Alex’s offer to Hulk thereby attaining the status quo.
Money, what an evil influence in this world!
“Have you ever considered the psychology of Uranus?”
The voice floated down to me, not unpleasant but a disruption of my attempt to bring impressions of glorious gratification of love, so the dream ‘Popped’ like a soap-bubble, which bursts in front of one’s face and leaves the eyes watering.
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SATURN INMATES...55.
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May 3, 2012 10:10 pm
334 Views
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“Judy had written... I would have been your life-partner and been true to you. But you were not as you seemed. You were just an illusion, a promised dream. You made me believe in you as a ‘Soul-Mate’.
But the dream you gave me was brought down to earth with a bang when you started talking in your sleep. I lay in bed, listening to you talk about your plans.
So now, you will know I have taken the money from the desk. I can now afford to travel and find a partner.
And before I left, I have e-mailed all the women on our books and explained what you were up to and how you were going to run away with their money. I also gave them this address and told them to be here early this morning, to catch you before you ran away.”
The classroom was quiet, digesting the information then erupted into a loud noise of cheers, catcalls and stamping of feet.
“Quiet!” roared Hulk, coming to stand beside Slippery Eel’, his eyes menacing as he stared round the room. The room became quiet.
“What happened?” asked Hulk.
“I ran upstairs to get dressed and take whatever I could get hold off. All the money had been stolen, even my jewellery, my watch and gold chain. It was as I was getting dressed, I heard this noise outside, growing louder like a swarm of angry wasps and when I looked out of the window... There were hundreds of these women surrounding the house, all shouting my name and waving umbrellas and sword-sticks. I was terrified. They would lynch me if they got in so I had to phone the police to come and rescue me.
I would rather be here in prison than face that baying mob!”
It was the next day that I sat on a chair in the ‘Pink’ cell. Jack was tidying and fussing around while Jill was still giggling over the story ‘Slippery Eel’ had told.
“Mind you Chuckles.” Jill said, becoming serious.
“You know what this means? ‘Slippery Eel’ was the last of the Saturn signs and we have gone from Saturn in Aries, through all the Saturn sign till we reached and finished Saturn in Pisces. So there will be no more stories or fun times.
“But we will always have our ‘Fun-Times’, you and I sweetheart.” said Jack, leaving his dusting to put his arm round Jill’s shoulders.
“Oh, Jack darling.” said Jill and began to cry.
Jack ‘Shushed’ the sobbing Jill while I always got embarrassed when others openly shed tears. It sort of always left me helpless and not knowing what to do as far as offering comfort goes.
And it was while I was sitting with this uncomfortable feeling, that I heard the loud voice of Hulk shouting from the hall below.
“Dimballs! Dimballs! Get your head down here right away!”
“What took you so long?”
Hulk stood at the botton of the stairs, tapping his foot impatiently as he watched me clamber down the iron stairway, taking two at a time. I was puffing like a carthorse at a racing-track and totally knackered.
“Sorry Hulk.” I wheezed. “What is it?”
“What I want you to do is to go down to the reception area, where you will find that idiot twerp of a fool who will soon be my ‘Son-In-Law’. Take him up to my cell and show him his bunk. Then I want you, personally to go to the kitchen and make me the biggest bucket of cabbage you can. Add some brussel-sprouts and beans, with a good dose of garlic, red chilli peppers and ginger.
Bring it up to my cell when it’s ready, you got that?”
“Yes, Hulk.”
I walked away with my mind was racing. The only person it could be was Alexo, hulk’s future ‘Son-In-Law’. My feet moved faster as my happiness wound me up.
“Hallo Alexo.” I said.
Alexo sat on a chair with the small bundle of his belongings on his lap, looking small and frail in the grey of prison uniform.
“Richard!” he exclaimed, jumping up. “Am I glad to see you!”
He began to tell me of his plight, how he had been arrested at the airport and buying a ticket with the forged money.
“I was accused of being a master forger, Richard! I was charged with...”
“Yes Alexo.” I broke in. “I do know what it’s like to be charged with things which had nothing to do with me! You would remember my case, wouldn’t you?”
Alexo fell silent, hugging his bundle.
“Don’t worry, Alexo. You will soon grow used to the feeling of being unfairly treated, you have plenty of time.”
It was not that I felt sorry for this reprobate, the slow tears which trickled down his face and the look of fear caused me to feel pity for him, but never sympathy.
“Come with me, Alexo. Let me show you where you will sleep.”
I led Alexo through the hall and up the iron staircase, then along the landing till we reached an open cell door.
“My God Richard! What is that smell?”
Alexo was peering into the cell, his nose shrinking back from the violence of the cabbage smell, his eyes taking in the green tinge of the walls and the bunk-bed sited against the far wall.
“That is your bunk, the lower one Alexo. If I were you I would make yourself comfortable before your cell-mate arrives, ready to eat his tea.”
Alexo stood inside the doorway, seeming lost and alone. He clutched at my arm.
“Where are you going, Richard?”
“I have to go down to the kitchen and make Hulk a large bucket of cabbage for his tea.”
I left Alexo standing there, listening to my laughter as it floated back at him.
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SATURN INMATES...54.
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May 2, 2012 7:01 pm
368 Views
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“So, as I said, I was not really happy simply being a photographer, a ‘Snap-Happy-Chappie’ as we are called in the tourist trade. There was little money in the game and what with trying to get couples to stand while I took their photos then getting them to pay me on the pretext I would be sending the snap to their address. Then dodging the police and the tax-man, there was the weather to contend with... And those bleeding little ‘Throw-Away’ cameras which people carried.”
“Ah, Shame!” cajoled Terry-No-Teeth so that others copied him, that cries of ‘Shame!’ carried round the room.
Slippery Eel’s eyes became limpid pools of luminous emotion as he looked around the room. Waiting till the noise died down.
“Thank you.” he said, then continued.
“Anyone with an eye for the main chance will eventually find a way to combine business with pleasure. Well not exactly pleasure but with business in a happy way. The thing I had to do was find a niche in the market and what I noticed in the photo-game was that the older ladies, those in their fifties and upwards were the easiest to flatter. It was the words one used like explaining ‘Wrinkles’ as ‘Laughter-Lines’ and ‘Crows Feet’ round the eyes as ‘Trails of Experience.’. Then there were the bags under the eyes which I call them ‘Vanity Cases'.
So it was obvious, I decided to play upon the vanity of the elder female.
The chance came when queuing up to purchase a few items in a grocery store a lady behind me began to chat.
"You know." I said to her after some opening lines and a few jokes. "You are quite an attractive lady."
She had laughed and nodded.
"Don’t you know, I used to be a model in my younger days." she replied and then told me her name was Judy.
"Younger days." I remarked. "Anyone would believe you are ninety, the way you talk. And you could still be a model with your looks."
"Go on, you flatterer. No-one wants us old girls. I’m fifty-five, so who wants women like me?"
When you think of it it’s a game, fishing for compliments. But the idea struck me that the older a woman got the more assurance a woman wanted, that someone found a need in her and that she was still found attractive that a man would want her.
"Do you know what I think?" I asked her, collecting my groceries and about to leave.
"Tell me?" she said, her eyes alight.
"I think I will start of a modelling agency for women over fifty."
Judy had laughed and called out...
"You will have hundreds of bored ‘Grannies’ joining up, a new lease of life!"
"I’m sure I would." I floated my words back as I left the store.
My mind was working on a plan of sorts, when the sharp ‘Beep’ of a motor-horn made me jump.
"Want a lift?"
It was Judy, her face smiling up at me.
It was as she drove me to my home that the plan was hatched. Judy seemed to have a good knowledge of setting up a business scheme, using the internet and with advertising. So it was not long before we were more than just business partners. We were lovers and pooled our knowledge and finances.”
“So what happened, Slippery? Did you slip her one?” shouted Shorty.
“That’s my secret!” exclaimed Slippery, before continuing his story. “My love-life has nothing to do with you!”
The room agreed, stamping and cheering its approval.
“Anyway, Judy set the plan into action and, to be honest, I could not believe how many women came to be signed up. Judy did the office work with making notes and filing, while I worked as the photographer, taking pictures for the port-folio. If it was possible, we demanded cash and putting it away in safe-keeping. The plan was to take the ladies on a glorious ‘Photo-Shoot’ in Hawaii. It got so much that we had three hundred women on our books and still more coming, all waiting for the time when Judy and I announced the day when we would be off, on the fabulous ‘Photo-Shoot’.”
“Ciggy-Break!” shouted Hulk now bored with the story and demanding a mug of tea from Nobby Cracker.
Shorty was deposed from the height of the tea-trolley, while Nobby Cracker poured out a mug of the stewed tea. Clouds of smoke rose ceiling-wards as those who smoked, lit up cigarettes and relaxed.
”Ciggy-Break over!” shouted Hulk, having finished his tea and satisfied that his orders controlled the inhabitants of the classroom.
‘Slippery sat at the desk, his eyes sad as he waited.
“Have you finished your story, Slippery?” shouted Terry-No-Teeth.
“Well, I was waiting for everyone to settle down and be quiet.” he answered.
“Well, we are all settled down so get on with it!” demanded Hulk.
Slippery Eel rose and got on with the story.
“As I was saying... I was expected to give a date for the ‘Photo-Shoot in Hawaii plus give all the women their respective photo-albums, the port-folios.
Well, As you all can guess, all those camera-shots I took of the women were useless simply because I had no film in the camera. My idea was to wait till Judy was asleep then creep downstairs and take all the money we had taken from the women, a nice few grand… Then off I would go, down the road with my loot!”
“Very slippery, Slippery!” exclaimed Shorty.
“We all have to make a living.” explained Slippery, his eyes seeking sympathy from the room.
“Anyway.” He collected composure. “The night of my plan, I took Judy out for a meal and let the wine flow. When we got home, I plied her with more drink and then took her to bed, to complete a very tiring evening for her.”
“Tell us about it!” demanded Mousey, half-drunk and sniffing at the air as if smelling cheese.
Slippery ignored him. With eyes raised, first to heaven and then back to the room.
“Of course.” he said. “I had drunk quite a bit and Judy is somewhat insatiable for a woman of her age. So as you can imagine, I soon fell asleep.
The next morning I woke quite late and with a really big headache. I rolled over to make sure that Judy was asleep and found she was not in bed. I lay there for a while thinking about this change to my plans and decided to get Judy to go for an errand, which would allow me time to get the money and run.
Going downstairs, I shouted for Judy but there was no answer. When I got to the kitchen there was a letter left on the middle of the table and I opened it.”
The class leaned forward in anticipation knowing that the end of the story was to come.
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SATURN INMATES...53.
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May 1, 2012 10:37 pm
374 Views
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While I still had no idea what Jill was on about it was decided that Slippery Eel was the ‘Chosen One’ for the last story.
‘Slippery Eel’ was a tall, slim-built man with small ears and large luminous pale blue eyes. While his demeanour seemed calm I always got the sense that there was an electric energy running the engine beneath. He was also a consummate actor and able to make you laugh with just a look, or sad as his eyes dripped tears. Slippery Eel was indeed a slippery fish!
And so he waited for his turn to tell his story in front of the crowded classroom.
First came the ‘Bingo’, a firm favourite which always ended with an argument. Then came the ‘Bazaar’, the art classroom quickly turned into a small and busy market and what Nobby Cracker called the ‘Fiddler’s Den’.
“Now, before we start our story told in his own words by our very own Slippery Eel we have an auction, run by our very own... Hawksey Bluebottle!”
These words were shouted out by Tony Testeronie, a man who once worked as a warm-up man for comedians in a community centre. He threw out his arms as he shouted, dramatic in interpretation.
“And here he is! Hawksey Bluebottle!” he concluded, pointing towards the man and motioned Hawksey to take his place on centre-stage.
Hawksey opened the bag he carried and from it drew out some carrots which he placed on the desk in front of him.
The class was silent, gauging the carrots then eyes back to Hawksey’s face as he then drew out a handkerchief and began to unwrap the set of false teeth which he had prised from the mouth of Slop-Bucket Wilson on his demise.
“Here!” he shouted, holding the teeth high in the air. “Is one set of teeth which are worth their weight in gold. They do not fit me and so I am willing to sell them to the highest bidder. Here on the table are some ‘Testing Carrots’. If you are interested in buying the teeth and wish to test them, please step forward.”
Four men stepped forward, each removing their own teeth and taking it in turns as they tried the false teeth, inserting them and then biting on a carrot, testing the bite. Two of the men rejected the teeth stating they did not fit, quickly replacing their own dentures. But two men decided they would bid on the teeth. The bidding war opened, starting off with an offer of two bars of chocolate, five cigarettes and a small silver thimble. The bidding rose and the air grew tense with excitement. At last, the winner, one Nosey Drippings bid three bars of chocolate, ten cigarettes and some valuable yeast.
“Sold!” shouted Hawksey Bluebottle.
“Wait!”
The loud voice of Shorty rang out. He was balanced on top of the tea-trolley with Nobby Cracker holding onto his legs to stop his toppling from his perch.
“I will offer twenty cigarettes, two boxes of matches, five bars of fruit and nut chocolate and an old Bible and some rosary beads which have been blessed especially by Ginja Ninja!”
Nosey Drippings sat down in his seat, deflated. Nobby Cracker helped Shorty down from the trolley and the men watched him walk to the front of the class and claim the set of false teeth, wrapping them carefully in the handkerchief.
Nosey Drippings still rankled shouted out. “Why do you want the teeth, Shorty? You have a perfectly good set of teeth in your mouth!”
“See these teeth?” said Shorty, unwrapping again and holding the teeth up.
“Before my old Mum passed away, she had teeth like these and every night she used to put them in a glass of water, on the bedside cabinet by her bed. So I will have these teeth in a glass of water by my bed every night to remind me of my old Mum.”
It’s a strange thing about these old villains, the mention of words like, ‘My old Mum’ would quickly produce tears, so that soon the sound of tears and sobs echoed round the room, along with the clapping of appreciation for Shorty’s emotive effort.
The noise in the room died quickly as the large figure of Hulk moved to the front of the class and I felt my heart lurch as he stood and fixed me with a glare.
“Dimballs!” he roared.
I could feel my heart racing and my knees knocking in fear. What on earth had I done? I had this sense of those around me seeming to fade away, leaving me alone and defenceless.
“Yes, Hulk.”
I heard my voice, quacking and high-risen, like a schoolboy in distress.
“Did you know about that shite-house twerp my Cordelia was going to marry?”
“Alexo, Hulk? Did I know about what?”
“Did you know he tricked my dear Cordelia to help him escape from the ‘Safe-House’, to steal all my money and do a runner leaving my daughter alone miles out in the countryside?”
“I didn’t know that, Hulk. I had no idea!” I exclaimed, putting as much surprise as I could into my voice.
“Well then, let me introduce you to Hand’s On Phil.” said Hulk, motioning with a hand.
Hand’s On Phil, alias Handy, alias the forger from Saturn in Virgo walked up and stood beside Hulk.
“Now.” said Hulk, pointing at Handy. “My friend Handy here, has been helping me make a few notes, forged banknotes. It was only after I had them sent out that my friend, Handy, tells me he forgot to put the numbers on them. Which means these notes will be spotted a mile away, if anyone cares to spend them.”
Hulk looked round the room, then back at me.
“And guess what notes that idiot stole? He stole all the dodgy banknotes. So it is not going to be long before he’s caught out. And I would like to hear him explain to the law exactly how he came to be in possession of a load of forged banknotes!”
A roar of approval went round the room as Hulk belched out loud laughter, removing himself from the stage with Handy following him.
Seated himself next to Jimmy The Pin, Hulk shouted for Slippery Eel to start telling his story.
My mind was not on Slippery Eel as he made his way to the front, my thoughts on Alexo and how he would be getting on, where he was now and if he was okay. I knew I would not care to be in his shoes if Hulk’s friends caught him. In a way, he would be better off in a prison, miles away, where no-one could find him.
Strange business. why I should worry about a man who had caused me so much misery in my life.
My thoughts evaporated as Slippery Eel raised his voice and I set myself to listen.
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