Thursday, May 16, 2013
It all started innocuously enough, as I imagine receiving an unwelcome and unwanted bumming attempt usually does.
Heading home after work I notice Ex-High School Friend about to get in a car, armed with takeaway food.
EHSF: Bloody hell!
We’ve only seen each other a couple of times in the last twenty years.
Me: How are things you twat?
EHSF: Awful! My wife’s leaving me, I can’t remember the last time I saw my daughter and I’m back living with my parents!
Me: [Laughing with genuine delight at his misfortune] Brilliant!
Me: Oh you know. Other-half left me, took-up with an unworthy and lesser man then moved hundreds of miles away taking my son and daughter with her. I wasn’t invited. Oh and I've just had an MRI that showed I’ve got brain damage. You know how everyone used to say I was ‘fucked in the head’? Turns out they were right! We should have a drink sometime.
We shake hands and exchange mobile numbers and I go home. Ten minutes later I receive a text.
How about now?
He arrives a short time later armed with beer and vodka. We drink and talk and may as well still be in high school. He’s that sort of friend – the type you don’t see for years and it’s as if no time has passed when you do.
We call it a night at about three in the morning and he goes home.
(Yes, I know he hasn’t attempted to bum me at this point – this is just some back-story. Don’t worry – it’s on the way.)
A couple of days later - as his parents are away for the weekend - he invites me round to their house for some drinks. I accept, on the reasonable basis that I do not expect to be bummed at any stage.
We drink far too much for far too long. At some point we begin wrestling. Which is very odd. It’s not the sort of thing I tend to do of an evening. And at some point he is on top of me, I’m flat on my back on the floor, he’s much bigger and heavier than I and he is attempting to unbuckle my belt and unzip my fly.
At this point I should add that he may not have been trying to bum me. He may have just wanted to wank me off. Either way, if anyone is to spontaneously tug me off I prefer that person to be a woman. And I'd rather my bum-hole remained intact no matter what the situation.
With this in mind, I manage to get my feet under him and kick him to the other side of the room. Taking no chances I then put him in a head-lock, the inside of my elbow blocking his wind-pipe and carotid artery. Understandably, he struggles against this and three days afterward I still have the cuts and bruises incurred whilst he fought against impending unconsciousness.
It was llike that scene in Unbreakable where Bruce Willis confronts the kidnapper using the same method and is slammed around leaving dents in the walls and holes in the plaster-board. By which I mean an ashtray was kicked over. It was carnage.
Eventually he passes-out and I sit on the floor panting. After a little while the blood and oxygen flow to his brain returns and he awakes.
Me: [Experiencing the sobriety that comes with a sudden burst of adrenalin] Hi. So. Have you ever had any gay feelings before now?
EHSF: Not until tonight.
Me: I’m going for a wee.
By the time I return from the toilet he is unconscious again. I calmly finish my drink and put his half-full cigarette packet in my pocket.
It’s the least he owed me.
I limp home.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Mr. Daniel Surname.
INTERIOR. DAY. THE BOARDROOM OF FUCKING WITH TIRED DAD INC.
THE CEO IS SAT BEHIND AN ENORMOUS MAHAGONY DESK AND LIGHTS A HUGE CUBAN CIGAR WITH A BURNING FIFTY-POUND NOTE. ALSO PRESENT IS A NERVOUS-LOOKING EXECUTIVE.
CEO: [Pausing to sip from a crystal glass filled with the tears of orphaned children] Report on the progress of Operation Dan.
Exec: Um. Yes. Ok. Phase One has been successful. He wrote a blog post about it and everything. Not that anyone reads blogs anymore but…
CEO: ENOUGH! I will not tolerate negativity in this organization. So?
Exec: Right. Yes. So. We’ve commenced Phase 2. We should see results soon. Sir?
Exec: Isn’t this all a bit trivial? Who is this guy anyway? Who cares?
CEO: It’s that sort of talk that’ll see you back in the Department For Making Sure USB Sticks Never Go In The Right Way Round On First Attempt.
Exec: Dear God no. Anything else, sir?
CEO: [Rising and undoing his trousers] You KNOW what else.
FADE TO BLACK.
Somebody is definitely fucking with me. [This is me now]
Regular readers will remember my receiving some odd post, before all this ‘going missing’ nonsense.
I receive yet another envelope addressed to Daniel Surname but the ‘surname’ itself is different from the last one. Everything else – including the postcode – is bang-on.
This is far too co-incidental. I am hugely uneasy as I open it, which I know I’m not supposed to do. The postmark is familiar to me, a place near where I used to live in the South-West of England.
‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROTHER.’ Says the card.
I scratch my head. It’s nowhere near my birthday.
In biro within the card:
“Have a really fab 40th Dan! With lots and lots of love your Big Sis Surname.”
I'm not named Dan and I'm not 40 years old. I’ve lived here years. I know the man who lived here before me, who also lived here years and is not named Dan. Surely a man’s SISTER would know his current address? What is this?
Enclosed is a cheque for £20.00 made out to Daniel Surname signed by ‘Big Sis Different Surname’
This is outrageous. Not only are strangers sending me musical details of GENUINELY the worst songs on earth but they are also tormenting me with Twenty Pound cheques I cannot possibly cash.
This is all making me deeply uneasy. If I didn’t know any better I would think someone were doing it on purpose.