The Information Junkie by Roderick Leyland Page B

deposit in return for the bike. While I was there I walked along the beach before catching the bus into Rye which felt very much like reality and where I bought my ticket to London. As I sat on the railway platform the early afternoon sun shed peacefulness. I thought about my meeting with Ffion, wondered what I was going to say to Belinda, felt I really should go to see the doc because I wasn't feeling well. But what could I say to him...? Hey, I went looking for somebody who... But somebody who what ?
    I swapped trains at Ashford and was whisked to London. Okay, babes, you know about my meeting with the doc, but I haven't told you yet about my reunion with Belinda.
    But, of course buddies, Belinda's on the back burner, isn't she? So, I've got Belinda on the back burner, the doc on the distant gas, Martin on the rear ring. I mean, how many positions does this hob have??? There's barely any room left to cook, is there?
    Hang on a minute, chaps and chapesses. Hold it one mo, buddies. We must get this right: Bel, the doc and Mart are all on the back of the stove; Ffion's in Romney Marsh, Cybernurse doesn't exist. That leaves me, and I'm telling the story. But it got a bit sombre again, didn't it? All to do with wretched Romney Marsh and Ffion. I wanted life to be simple, predictable and comfortable; but it's jagged, edgy, spiky and...CONFUSING. Isn't it? Do you sometimes find that, buddies? That life is so, so C–O–N–F–U–S–I–N–G.
    Don't want to be sombre, babes. Don't want to be grim. Want to lift it, want to be high. Perhaps you want me to say that when I got home Belinda said:
    'Want to fool around, big boy?'
    And so:
    I went to kiss her but nearly missed her; at first I fumbled, I practically stumbled, before she tumbled. We played hunt the thimble: I found a pimple; she said, 'Help me, I've found Anoushka Hemple.' I caught hold of a hemp plant, made some manila envelopes; she took hold of the egg plant, made some vanilla ice cream. And we coasted along quite nicely. Then we primed it and timed it, found a bell and chimed it; we hubbled and bubbled without any trouble despite her contortions and my legs bent double. Yes, we continued to pump it and then on to hump it, I played a queen and she went and trumped it. So, we humped and we pumped—did the hop, step and jump—till we'd drained right down to the very last sump.
    Finally, striving and straining—feeling glad of the training—outside it was raining, and my pump was draining—undulating and raving—huffing and puffing—puffing and panting—both of us ranting—we blew the house down.
    By this time it was Christmas and we'd all passed the litmus test except Alan—Belinda's father—who was in the outside loo. What's the matter with that guy?
    He always looks forward to Christmas, can't wait for it. But on the day itself, when faced with the printout which Belinda has produced for him, he goes to pieces, throws a tizzy—just walks out! To the OUTSIDE loo, my loo (— ig loo, in January). Sits there for half an hour . You wouldn't think he'd been an air traffic controller. Thank goodness he's retired. Jesus! Can you imagine an emergency with him in charge? You'd brown your Y-fronts, wouldn't you? Air traffic controller ??? Belinda adores him, she goes:
    'Isn't he delicious ?' [My italics.] 'Charlie, isn't Daddy delicious?'
    All I'm trying to do, babes, is tell a story. But I find from time to time that I get confused . I wanted to tell the tale as straightforward narrative but keep getting sidetracked. Okay, so let me try once more to set out how it is:
    My name's Charlie and I'm married to Belinda. I write software for a living, she used to be a P.A. There's also another Charlie who is a character in Cybernurse which may or may not turn out, one day, to be a computer game. There's Ffion who's a sort of middle-aged fantasy and Cybernurse who's an adolescent fantasy. Martin exists as a colleague although I got a bit confused about him at one point.