Johnny Davies was only short when they told him the story. About the four men who had lived next
door. But then you’re not that tall at
only two.
Anyway, one day, Johnny was crossing the road and one of the men, the
tall thin one, offered to help him to cross. How they got out of the way of
that truck, I’ll never know. Funny
guy. Funny peculiar- that is, dressed a
bit like a monk. You know, long black habit, cowl, guess he was a gardener or
some such with that scythe he carried.
Do you remember the riot? Johnny does, when those five guys started up
on the black family next door, (on the left hand side, not on the right hand
side where the four guys were). Before
you knew it, Combat 18, NF, the Anti-Nazi League and a representative of the
Monster Raving Loony part, who had gotten lost while canvassing, all turned up
with knives, skewers, corkscrews and whatever other implements they had managed
tom borrow from the other 4 guys next door.
Do you remember how the police turned up? After the majority of the
crowd had dispersed, and they arrested anyone remaining, bleeding or drunk
(apart from the off duty officer of course.).
And Johnny meanwhile, looking aghast from the window, was moved, pyjamas
and all, to throw on his dressing gown
and shove his feet into slippers and bugger off down the road, to a safe
distance, to absorb events.
The gentleman standing beside him in the gawking throng was smiling at
this time, although Johnny, in his combination of shock, amazement and
excitement, didn’t notice this. Anyway,
Johnny grew older, as unfortunately and inevitably one does. He didn’t move. His parents were victims of a car crash when
he was eighteen, when he was of an age, to take charge of the house.
But by this age, Johnny had a problem with his weight. Despite incipient anorexia and the earnest
but terrible cooking of his mother, (in earlier years obviously... even I’m not
stupid enough to confuse my continuity that much)… no matter how little he ate,
he steadily piled on the pounds. So that
at the age of 20, he realised that the only career he could embark on was that
of professional wrestler. Fortunately
one of the gentlemen next door came to visit dear old Johnny. This neighbour was the pale rather slim one
-with the ash blond hair and albino eyes.
This gentleman suggested a high- quality though rather unnerving diet. Anyway,
luckily for Johnny -he was never brought to book for his – ahem –cannibalistic
crimes. Though he was rather foolish in that he used the same cab firm each
time. But the desired effect was
achieved and Johnny soon became a fine figure of a man (albeit rather short). So his thoughts began to run to courting.
Joanna was tall, fair and graceful.
Johnny met her at the Jim. He had
intended to go and work-out, but was unfortunately dyslexic and had in fact
walked into a bar. He managed somehow to
work his way into her favour, and after the obligatory “coffee”, her knickers
as well. Indeed, with the very marriage
arranged and a stag night in view, Johnny was left, as one is, deciding to whom
to invite to the “almighty piss up”. But
he had few friends, more like “acquaintances”, due to his earlier more
unsociable activities. So Johnny thought it might be appropriate to invite the
four men next door (Although he was very insecure concerning their ménage a
quarter).
Anyway, a jolly old evening was had by all, apart from the barman who
experienced an attack of scrofula, and the knife fight about whose pint was
whose?
Johnny hadn’t realised that the Farmers Arms was a gay pub, and what
with all the pub grub being out of date, and the old guy at the corner table
being found dead, when everyone thought that he was just taking his time over
his pint. Mind you, the tall skinny man
was winning at pool.
And when Johnny got home (he’d invited them all in for a drink) there
was the message on his voicemail. From
the hospital. Joanna was critically ill
with pneumonia, pleurisy, and something that they’ve only just discovered and
hadn’t given a name to, yet. (They were
sure they’d be able to think of something in time for the TV news.)
“Oh and she was dead” they added.
“Never mind, better luck next time?”
However Johnny remained single, and heartbroken. Mourning his lost love, until, some 10 years
later, all four chaps who lived next door
(who had been his emotional and physical crutch), popped up on the
doorstep.
“Hello Johnny” they said, in an affable manner.
“We’ve come to cheer you up.”
“And give you a good haircut,” remarked the stocky one... although not
in a way that anyone could hear clearly.
“Anyway” the thin one said, affixing a tourniquet on his upper arm as
they sat at Johnny’s kitchen table,
“Anyway,” he reiterated, “We think – that is we collectively –“
“Hold on -” the deep voice of the tall one said, “Who the fuck’s in
charge here?”
“Just get the fucking clippers” the stocky one replied.
Johnny, proud of his lush and flowing locks (and the fact that he hadn’t
had to pay for a haircut in 11 years), was somewhat taken aback at this. However, when held down by Mr Skinny, Mr Pale
and with his head held firmly in place by the muscular forearms of Mr Stocky,
he resigned himself to the robust attentions of Mr Grim (I think you’ve all
guessed it by now!). Time passed – as it
does – and here we find Johnny sitting bemused and shorn, upon his kitchen
floor. Rubbing his shaven and rather itchy denuded head. He is heard to mutter to himself (first sign
of lunacy –or maybe it is the first sign of sanity)...
“That fucking tattoo, what does it mean anyway? And what did he mean by that?”
For as the tall one had left, tattooing equipment still in hand, he had
said softly, smiling,
“You’re ready now Johnny, you’re
ready.”
Mind you, with a face like that, there’s not much you can do but
smile. And why, as the sign was engraved
on his head, and he had yelled the characteristic “What the fuck do you think
you’re doing?” had the pale one replied “How apt, how apt.”
Three years later, at the age of 33, Johnny was elected Prime Minister
of the United Kingdom. The rest will be
history, (Or Prophecy depending on how you look at it.).
