By Big M
Foodge woke with a start. It was still early, eleven, or eleven thirty, by the way the light slanted through the aluminium Venetian blinds, illuminating dust motes, which seemed to have lives of their own. The groans emanating from the mound of bedclothes on the other side of the bed were a dead give away that he wasn’t alone. ‘Mmm.’ He thought to himself. ‘Must’ve got lucky.’ The mound of blankets started to move, and a blond head emerged. “Hello, big boy.” Foodge sat up in bed, grinning away. He remembered buying Victoria a bottle of ‘champagne’ at the Pigs Arms, and then everything else was a blank.
Victoria sat up. “Lovely room, did you decorate it yourself, dear?”
“Well, no, it, err, kinda decorated itself.”
“Coffee’s the first order of the day.” Victoria stood up, deftly wrapping the sheet around her tall body. She wasn’t beautiful, or even pretty, thought Foodge, but she sure was handsome. She wandered out to the kitchen, where she promptly started opening and closing cupboards. “Where’s the percolator, dear?”
“No percolator, just Blend Forty Three in the cupboard above the kettle.” Foodge dressed quickly. An experienced PI like himself was never off duty, so, there was no room for a woman in his life. He was going to have to break it to her gently. He went through to the kitchen. “Look, Victoria, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression…err… um… didn’t mean it to be a one night stand.”
Victoria laughed. “Stand. One night stand? There was no stand, dear. There’s a serious lack of ‘stand’, and I suspect the brewer has something to do with your droop!”
Foodge wasn’t used to the cryptic talk of women. “It might be better if you just left.”
Victoria turned on her bare heel and flounced through to the bedroom. “That’s alright, dear, I have a back-waxing appointment, anyway. She dressed quickly then marched out the front door. “Blend Forty Three, indeed!”
‘Gosh, she’s tall in heels.’ Thought Foodge. ‘Women’.
The main bar at the Pigs was open. Foodge thought it wise to walk down and pick up the Zephyr from the parking lot. Merv was drenched in sweat from his morning workout. A glass canoe found its way across the bar. Wes stuck his head around the door. “Uncle Merv, what will I do with these out-of-date cartons of cigarettes?”
“ ‘Ow many?”
“Hundreds.”
“Oh, shit.” Merv had forgotten that he’d allowed Lenny the Lurch use the shed, just before he went to Long Bay, for a long stretch. “Leave ‘em there, use the other shed.” Wes was trying to find a space to lock up his Charlie.
Foodge looked around. The pub was back to normal after Granny’s brews had come back on tap. The place actually looked a lot cleaner. “Had a spring clean, Merv?”
“Nah, Wes’s not paying any board, so he’s doing a bit of bouncing, bit of cleaning, even taps the odd keg if Granny’s busy. Plus, Janet’s been poorly, you know, the doc told ‘er to rest, you know, with twins, ‘an all.”
“How far along?” Foodge had no idea why he asked, as he had no idea about how ‘far along’ a pregnancy should be.
“Eight months, although it feels like eighteen.” Merv smiled at his little joke. “Doc reckons ‘e might need to seduce ‘er closer to the time.”
Foodge nodded knowingly, not entirely sure why a doctor would ‘seduce’ a pregnant lady. He stared into his glass and was about to say something about getting lucky when Wes stuck his head around the door again. “What about that female impersonator, Victoria, pity the bloke he took home!” Wes laughed.
“Oh…ah…female impersonators.” Foodge blushed, inwardly thankful for the brewer who’d induced his droop.
“You looked pretty friendly with her.” Wes gave a knowing wink.
“Oh…err…yes, Victoria’s an old friend…err…aquaintance.used her as a snout.
“They never get the walk right, do they?”
Foodge thought that Wes was being as cryptic as Victoria, earlier this morning. “Err…no. You doing anything tonight, it is New Years Eve?”
“No, I’ll help Uncle Merv and Granny. Big party here, you know, Angles, Bowling Ladies, Male Nurses Union, you know, usual crowd. Oh, shit, get out of that, you bloody useless creature!!” Granny’s goat was chowing down on the high tension lead of Wes’s Charlie.
‘It wasn’t the usual crowd.’ Thought Foodge. JL was MIA, hopefully not in gaol, Manne was supposed to be overseas with Neville, but Neville denied any knowledge, Gez and the Mysterious H were busy in their new place, as were ‘shoe and Asty. Winnie was till in Japan, but, thanks to modern technology, was able to send a telegram now and then. The famous Greek playwright and his missus never turned up. To top it all off, O’Hoo was doing a cricket tour with, soon to be, Superintendent Rouge. ‘Well. ‘ Thought Foodge. ‘Happy New Years Eve to ‘em all, whether at home, or away!’
Deftly observed M. And I can see that bulge in your cheek where your tongue is. (At least I think it’s your tongue?)
I particularly liked self decoration but for a brilliant off the cuff observation on the fly I have to give it to “They never get the walk right, do they?”
Wry humour is your forte and like all “naturals” you make being very funny very human at the same time. I dips me lid.
Indeed I remember a long caravan of drinking starting at the Bourbon years ago that end up with a room party at The Regent, at least I think it was The Regent, my recollection starts to blur about there. A kind soul took me in charge and I woke up in a lovely suite at the Wentworth. In those days I was want to wake up in places I had no recall of going to sleep in, so I gingerly rose noting that whomsoever had put me to bed had left me fully clothed. Probably unconscious.
In the sitting room looking equally shabby in bathrobe, lank hair and stubble was Francis, as in “Francis,” pointing to himself, “you do remember don’t you?”, already reading the Herald and having a cup of coffee. I had a few vague recollections of Francis from the night before but somehow I couldn’t make them fit together. We exchanged the kind of clipped conversation two recovering drunks with heavy hangovers do. I was grateful etc, etc. Yes we had some fun blah blah; but the blocks from last night simply wouldn’t fall into a coherent pile.
There was toast and coffee so I hoed into it while Francis went and had a shave.
You guessed it. Francis emerged from the bathroom some time later like a butterfly from it’s cocoon. She was stunning and there wasn’t a single stick of stubble to be seen. It was then that I remembered the wig and the clothes and the vague recollections became a solid memory of a great night drinking and dancing with Francis, or Fran as she was the previous evening.
We wandered down to the Quay and eventually had a very late lunch at a place in The Rocks. Fran was the focus of many admiring looks; she wasn’t exactly beautiful but she was extraordinarily striking, very attractive. I had a punishing hangover, perhaps one of the worst I’ve ever had, I was barely conscious, and coherent compound sentences would have to wait until much later, I was relearning walking upright, but I was grateful for Fran’s kindly attention.
We parted ways later that afternoon and I’ve never seen or heard from Fran again.
As she walked away from my departing cab I looked back and thought somewhat churlishly, given the care she’d lavished on me, “They never get the walk right, do they?”
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…seduce, induce, and then we have babies….
Too busy to join the Piglets at Arms, clearing the house after the three boys went back to Sydney, only to come back here soon! How many more sleeps, before schools are back…
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Granny’s brews are back on tap and Granny’s likely tap dancing. How you are so funny with a straight face, Big M. Thank you for the delightful images that are our new companions. Always in character.
Victoria sat up. “Lovely room, did you decorate it yourself, dear?”
“Well, no, it, err, kinda decorated itself.”
Very nice to be in it, Big M. A corker too that Winnie because of modern technology managed to send a telegram every now and then although she was still in Japan! Love that! 🙂
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Thanks, ‘shoe. All the mod cons, here. Granny’s gunna fix the projector in the Nathan Rees Memorial Cinema (you know, upstairs, past the spare Ladies). Then we can all watch a fillum.
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Big, is it true that the feature tonight is that famous Leb western “Fistful of Doners” ?
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Touche, Emm!
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Happy new year one and all. Keep the stories coming M.
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One of my ex boyfriends turned from John to Jessie. That’s a pretty funny story…but I talk too much, another time…
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Disappointed?
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No really, M. It was a great story.
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Forty three beans, brings back the memories. My mum took the ad seriously, almost dividing the jar in lots of cups of coffee divided by 2 beans per cup.
Good story big M. What was it that induced the droop? Not Grannie’s wedge in the negligee again? That back waxing could be a problem too. Not a hairy bum, surely? That would cause droop for sure. It all raises more questions than answers. Can’t wait for the next spine tingling issue.
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Gez, did you see in yesterday’s Herald that Christian Landers is STILL flogging Stuff White People Like ? Second Book out now. Not that I feel compelled to support the flogging of deceased equines.
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That was a lovely evening Emm. I got his signed book.
I had some kind of yearly summing up of my own wordpress blog. The most popular item was ‘Home birthing in the Inner West’. Crikey proved to be the main referrer as well.
It’s all so confusing and maelstromig.
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Brewer’s droop, never had it meeself. I’ll just check with Mrs M….
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I just realised that the Wardrobe Manager was missing from Foodge’s list, but, then, the Wardobe Manager, and his First Mate, are ever presnet at The Arms!
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