The government had been holding my Bitches Black arse for 5 days, sat at my desk before lunch on Tuesday lunchtime, I was going to crack, I could feel lunacy in my throat.
Why hadn’t they called?
I grabbed the phone and called the captors of my dark dreams. ‘When?!’ I cried after an agent picked up, ‘WHEN?!’
‘All ready for you Mr. P.’
I didn’t bother to enquire why the fuck they’d not called me. I slammed the receiver back into the cradle, sweating with delight.
I had to wait a few hours before I could get her. The bill for her stay was more than I’d anticipated but I was so happy to have her back in my charge I almost didn’t care (though looking through my bank balance this morning I fucking do, of course.)
It’s not all-good news either; more stuff needs doing to her throwing into doubt a planned sojourn with a mate. But for the short time, she’s back under me, and I’m going to ride her, hard.
I’d have been happy to have taken her out for spin last night but had planned to meet Swineshead and Tim in a boozer off Oxford Street. We three wound up at The Intrepid Fox drinking and listening to Rock and smoking cigs out the front and shit. It was a hot evening and I wasn’t relishing the sweaty tube journey back South… it was bound to be crowded. In hindsight I wish it had been.
We said our farewells and I boarded the tube at Tottenham Court Road. As is customary, I sat in the front carriage, stuffed in my headphones and waited for the whole nastiness to pass. Two minutes into the journey the huge lady in front of me leant forwards and said something. I wasn’t entirely sure if she was addressing me or not as her eyes were at ten to two, I then noticed that the ‘ten’ was looking directly at me.
I pulled put my ‘phones and she repeated her question, which was ‘is the next stop Stockwell?’ We were about 7 stops from Stockwell and the train was due to terminate at Kennington where we’d be ushered across the platform to wait for connection. I explained this but it was quite clear that the recipient of my information wasn’t firing on all cylinders. I’d sort of already gleaned this, in addition to the question and the searchlight eyes she was eating the fluff off her trousers.
At Kennington I explained we had to get off. A LU guard had been notified that a person with a mental disability was alighting at the station and was there to assist her. To my horror he was shrugged off by the lady who informed the guard that ‘he was helping me,’ and nodded in my pissed direction.
Fuck.
The LU guard glanced at me and told the lady there would be someone waiting for her at Stockwell, and to make sure she got in the first carriage. I found myself taking her to the opposite platform and waiting with her for the train to arrive.
Of course, the first carriage was stuffed full. We stood in the middle of the crowd as the lady spontaneously began to supply me with information about her. She was headed for Norwood, her mother was dead and her boyfriend (?) didn’t hold her in bed… I attempted to make small talk in return that had to be conducted at an attention-grabbing ‘audible’ as the Lady was also a bit mutt n’ jeff. Luckily the entire carriage stopped talking and stared at me as if sizing me up for Crimewatch.
After what seemed like a fucking year we stopped at Stockwell. I looked hungrily out for the LU guard who was supposed to be waiting. Of course the cunt wasn’t there so I had to get off with the Lady. I looked up and down an empty platform turning back in time to notice that the train driver had popped his head out the cabin, he saw us and gave me a broad grin, upped his thumb and fucked off.
Fuck, again.
I had no choice. I took the Lady to the barriers, another guard offered assistance but like the first was he was ushered away and I was cited as her primary carer. The Lady needed to take the number 2 bus to Norwood, already out the station I figured I might as well see this through so I walked her to the busstop on the opposite side of the road. I had to take care as the Lady was prone to wandering about, she nearly had us both under the wheels of a passing 345.
At the busstop more small talk was conducted under the noses of a posse of hooded young me who felt that sucking their teeth at me was the best way of aiding my act of fucking charity. I was full term in needing to piss; ‘I’d be happily home by now,’ I sighed to myself.
After 20 minutes (and another year) the bus finally arrived. Just before I helped her board (she wasn’t physically disabled I hasten to add, just enormous) the Lady told me she didn’t have any money for the ride. Great. I let everyone board ahead of her then shoved her on and told the driver she didn’t have any money. The driver looked at her, then me, then her again,’ Come on mate…’ I said. I didn’t mean to sound exasperated.
He gestured her on. I then asked him to tell her when to get off at Norwood. He looked angry which in turn enraged me. ‘Who are you?’ he enquiring curtly. ‘Oh me, just fucking helping out, you gonna tell this lady when to get off?’ He looked at me as if I’d just ordered him to cuddle her after sex. I’d had enough. I didn’t wait for his reply… I turned and addressed the bus, ‘Can someone tell this lady when to get off at Norwood?!’ someone piped up at the back. I screamed back a ‘Cheers!’
I said goodbye to the Lady who thanked me by name, which surprised me somewhat. I got off the bus, dived behind the nearest dumpster and pissed like a horse.
This is quite beautiful…
