From the reviews.
“This is like an immortal dog. It is unputdownable.” (London Review of Books)
“You’ll See Us outjoyces Joyce, checkmates Chekov, Guy Fawkesy du Maupassant and shakes the Speare.” (Times Literary supplement)
“To read this you can’t be in your right mind. For wrong-minded readers only.” (Glaswegian Gallus Gazette)
Occasionally, they let me out. Having been a good boy and jested less than usual the asylum gave me a free day pass, yet told me I could only stay out for one. Doesn’t add up.
I headed to the park because as the song goes “The lunatic is on the grass”. The lovely shrill of the Meadowlark was quarrelling with the sound of a bouncing ball. My ESPN powers kicked in. I knew it, man. There was a playing area with a caged off basketball pitch where four lads were practising their shots. Missed, missed, missed and missed again. I rubbed my eyes disbelievingly. Basket cases. And they say I’m mad. I let fly at them with a volley.
“What have I told you wannabee Wilt Chamberlain’s about playing basketball. A football is for kicking. Don’t waste your time with silly hoopla.”
Another goon threw at the basket. Missed. That’s it, I dropped the Myshkin from my name and just went into full Let’s Get Crazy Mode. I won the rebound and dribbled away from the pack. I was stoating the ball with a good slapping motion and headed downtown. I stopped, turned and eyed my target uptown. It was only thirty yards away. This was my Rollerball “Jon-a-thon, Jon-a-thon” moment. Here Goes. I hurled the football into the air. The orb arc’d t’ward its intended destination.
Drum Roooooooooooolllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll.
Missed.
My final rejoinder was “But I tried, didn’t I? Goddamnit, at least I did that.”
Delving deeper into the dark woods I could hear a thousand voices all speaking in tongues. Through a gap in the trees I could see a great stage of fools. These bampots were flying off into separate squabbles before jabbering back to the same theme.
A bespectacled Albion brainbox was preaching to the heavens about the glory of HD. In a chorus of one he sing-psalmed “Glory, Glory, HDEEEEEEEE”.
An Embran Battleship Admiral and a Portuguese wolf from Mersey were having a stand-off over which was the better fortress- a castle or a cave. I’ll A4 and F5 your cave, said the paper-game grid-playing Midlothianer. I’ll huff and I’ll puff said the big bad OZ.
To me, to you, to me, to you, to me, to you. A two-faced ex-Dane and a Rhodesian rugby fan were having a tug of war over Andrew Motion’s book about the House of Windsor. They were yelling at one another “My enemy’s enemy…”
A Welsh firebrand was exploding like Krakatoa with a headache. A new wildflower had been discovered in the…wild, and the botany experts had deemed to call it- Ragheadus Osborneus!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Even though these were all tangents and cosines and cosecants, the cast always came back to the same script. The argument was over who was the 4th youngest Charioteer.
Cutty Young! Why do you hang about with the Last of the Summer Wine, Christopher?
I must have said that out loud because the players all looked at me. And they were angry. It was anger all right, not just wee anger but anger with triple AAA batteries AAAnger. They positively charged at me. They move pretty fast for elders. I ran for my life but they were gaining on me. Who are those guys?
Suddenly, in my path there was a lone skateboard sitting handily. (Deus ex machina, it’s my story remember.) I hop footed onto the board and shuttled away from the baying long in the tooves. Sayonara, be seeing ya, senoritas and seniors.
Just when I thought I was out of it, the sky blackened. Coming over the crest of a hill was a warrior-like lady in a chariot. I think I’m done for. She’s going to take my writing privileges away. Noooooo.
Boadicea's Chariot 
A beritabubble tour de thingy.
Brilliant bit of writing, but I generally speaking loathe wine and beer. I do, however, appreciate an aged port — tawny, never ruby, an occasional glass of sherry — cream or amontillado and the twin nectars of the gods, junmai ginjo and junmai daiginjo.
I just drink McEwan’s, Christopher.
One of your best so far, Sir. Masterly – Cheers. x
Thank you, Araminta. It is always good to hear from you. You were the first person I interacted with on the old ship many years ago. Thank you for continuing to read my little diversions. Give my regards to Bilby
Oh dear, senility is fast approaching, I fear. I didn’t understand at least half of this entertaining oeuvre, but I enjoyed it anyway. More power to your elbow! 😎
I’m sure Boadicea won’t eviscerate you or confiscate your pencil. She’s kind-hearted under the war-paint.
Thanks Bearsy. I can’t wait for the annotated edition to be released. Then I’ll know what this is all about as well.
Actually, young sir, I now sing the praises of UHD. However, unless you have a TV screen which virtually covers the whole wall of a room, Ultra High Definition is rather over hyped, and anyway, Mrs FEEG prefers to watch crappy old black and white films on Netflix!! 😦
JW – Greetings from The Cave and I hope you are well. As a slight aside from the topic, but as you mentioned the lunatic being on the grass the NSW and I happened to be is Lisbon a couple of weeks ago, as was a certain Mr. R. Waters for whose concert at the Altice Arena we had premium tickets. It was a bit good.
The gig was top notch in terms of venue, sound, images and lighting. Rog has always been more than a bit of a metropolitan leftie luvvie and becoming a multi-millionaire rock star and presumably more mature has not altered him one iota (same as Bonio in this regard) , which rather spoiled the second half of the performance with the politics drowning out the music.
Anyway, all the good stuff was there and we enjoyed it muchly. Now back home we are looking forward to a relaxing summer of barbies and beer and perhaps contributing a little more to The Chariot.
OZ
Personally, JW, I blame Alex Salmond. And the introduction of minimum price alcohol by Sturgeon. Those 4 cans of your beloved McEwans Export now cost you at least £4. No wonder you are a wee bit stravaiging in this post. It’s enough to drive a body away from drink. Almost.
Charitably, I forgive you the ‘free day pass’. Does not work in Scots, as you well ken, and definitely 7 day synonymish, in my opinion.
That said, a fine tour de farce and a riveting Jimmy.
Orange jerseys next season? Fine that, if true. Should really upset the Bhoys.
Which is, of course, no bad thing.
JW – I will have to read that again – it was a sort of colour by numbers but with a roulette wheel. But very entertaining.