A while ago I ran a blog filled with musings and half ideas – I thought I would place some of these posts on here for possible mini performance at future Crash Test’s and to open up the idea for others to submit
Mine are generally darkly comic, often surreal but importantly short
Offing The Offspring
“I bought you that tie!” I blurted a little too eagerly considering the dubious aesthetics of said garment gift.
My siblings instantly gave me fierce looks, having broken ranks. To be fair George was only capable of such a gruesome expression after one fateful, joyous and sadistic night when we had injected a job lot of botox into his face as he slept. The effects had been irreversible and he had forever earned the nickname of Popeye.
The nickname was cemented by George’s frozen lips preventing production of any sound other than ‘Ag ag ag ag’.
The anchor and chain tattoo had been a genius touch added later by Sophie on yet another mickey finn inspired night of torture.
We were sat in a row whilst our parents attempted to decide which of us they loved the least.
The government had offered significant monetary re-imbursement for any family who was prepared to reduce their numbers. There was a recession on apparently and people were expected to help out by tightening their belts – preferably around the necks of one of their spawn.
I had always been favourite, according to regular polls amongst friends and family, and so I felt safe but not safe enough not to hobble the opposition.
The tie, as garish as it was, had been a masterstroke admission. My two Brothers and my Sister had forgotten my Dad’s birthday the previous week leaving them firmly in the firing line.
It is true that I had altered the house calendars some two months previous, shortly after the government’s announcement, so that my entire family believed it to be the height of Spring when it was in fact February. Nevertheless, it was I who had to put up with the constant complaints about the unseasonable weather.
It is also true that I worked day and night on the rest of the kids convincing them to put all of their money in the safe I kept in my room and then promptly lost the key, up my own backside, when everybody discovered my date ruse.
Harry had force fed me figs and bran for over a week but no amount of sifting, they were like pigs searching for truffles, had revealed a key. It had obviously been lodged somewhere in my lower intestine and yet I still found humour in my antics despite the pain and the blood in my urine.
“We can decide with a foot race,” Harry declared, all three beaming at me.
My parents applauded the idea and readied the two pistols – one to start the race and one to blow the loser’s brains out.
Being the biggest and the fastest I was uncertain at Harry, George and Sophie’s glee until I stood up and realised my back and legs were completely paralysed.
The old epidural before the race trick.
Bravo Harry, bravo!