I went to the village where I was raised yesterday for the local village gala. Like any gala, the notion of FUN was in the air but the reality of was absent. I had taken my son to just kill some time really but i ended up regretted it.
First I went to where it was held last year. It had moved to a different field, my old middle school's field actually. The school has been modernised beyond all recognition since. In the years gone by it had moved out of the realm of SHIT and HOLE and become something quite nice. As we walked down the street to the school, I told my son how his daddy had walked up and down these streets when I was a little bit older than he was now.
The ghosts of years gone by walked around with me until something worse happened.
I saw a face that looked a bit like it could've been one of the girls I grew up with on my street. She carried a child and looked suitably more haggard than I remembered twenty years ago. Then I saw her still living grandma and witchy mother following behind.
I took evasive action in a way to not alert them to my presence. The reason? Well it's a long regrettable story from years ago. Nothing sexual you understand. But definitely hormonal. There were too girls on my area of road, one was extremely plain and the other was fat and ugly, which made the plain one seem like a beauty queen, especially in the dreams which would creep into my mind as I dreamed the dreams of a wet youth. (yuk).
She was three years younger and so there was a chance that I was in one day.
Not true, not true at all. I don't think she could be less interested. But since I seemed to hover around her and was older , I think she enjoyed the ever less discreet attention I payed her until one day I just said "can I snog you or what?"
Fuck the charm games I thought , just fucking ask.
"No" she said.
I hate the word NO, it's just so...well, final.
I'd like to tell you I took it well but I didn't. Her sexual powers had pissed me right off and the illusion had shattered. "Hang on" I thought, "I don't even really like you".
There was truth in this , but also a little untruth.
I'm afraid to say that I went up to the moor tops with two accomplices and we all wrote with stones on rocks, what a slag she was. (bizarrely).
My friends just copied me in an act of boredom. But they were spreading my twisted reactions across the landscape. I even went as far as doing crude drawings on the rocks along with words which slept out what had been put where.
But the strangest thing I did of all... Was sign my name under it. What a cock!
I was that fucking mad at her and yet my ego would not allow something I had created to not be in part, attributed to me.
You may think, yeah but , you were miles away on the moor tops. That's true, but as coincidence or memory had it, this was where her gran would walk our gang of kids to every weekend. This was going to be a very traumatic moment for all involved as the ten year plus olds were going to be greeted with my filth when they came to play.
to be concluded..
No comments:
Post a Comment