Story by Big M
It was the eve of Easter Sunday, or Easter Saturday night, if you like. Foodge had tossed and tossed then turned for hours, so it seemed. It felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and wondered if tossing was such a good thing after all. He was usually (always) ignorant of world events, but even Foodge couldn’t escape the images of the Brussels Sprouts attacks, cramps, IBS etc,. He wondered if something similar could happen here, then remembered something about the Lindt Chocolate Café siege.
Foodge tried to shift his mind from violence and terror, but kept slipping back to that night he was told his parents had died. The Pleece Constable seemed like a nice bloke who had brought a lady constable to soften the blow, but it didn’t seem to help.
Life was never the same for Foodge, he became withdrawn, preferring to stay inside and read. Some teachers tried to get him labelled as ADD(Attention Deficient something, er, um, sorry lost my train of thought) or autistic, or worse MINUS(Mentality Insecure Neurotic User Syndrome) or acoustic, whilst the more cluey ones realised that he was just a sad little kid with a big penis. It worked to his advantage, though, he read so much that he excelled at English and History, which enabled him to go to university, well to the car park anyhoo. PM material for shore.
Then there was the blossoming relationship between him and Granny. In spite of being HIV, MRSA, VRE and LGQBTI positive, it created a great deal of anxiety in Foodge, who had never had sex, sorry, never had a long-term girlfriend. ‘What were her expectations of him?’ He pondered.
Foodge remembered reading something about insomnia. Emmjay and Big M had written that nothing really works. Viv reckoned it got worse as you got older, while Algernon swore by having a head job, nose only of course, just in case kiddies are watching, cured it. Perhaps he should follow O’Hoo’s advice. ‘Get stoned, pissed, and then laid.’ Well, he could probably do just one of them.
With that he wandered down to the Gentleman’s Bar, and poured a double South Sea Islands Imitation Scotch, and sat in one of the aging Chesterfields. Everything was quiet, but there was still some low-level background noise in the Pigs Arms. It gave Foodge a sense that the place was alive, but it was probably just the sound of refrigeration compressors.
[Editors note: It was really just Hedgie trying to tunnel out of AgH2O after meeting one to many Alfie’s, think about it before any correspondence is entered in to]
Foodge had managed to drift off, after a second Imitation Scotch. He awoke with a start (they don’t call him Foodge, Very Private Dick for no reason). There was the slightest movement just out of the corner of his eye. He looked around to see a pink figure with a basket full of eggs, which the figure was distributing around the pub. He let out a small gasp, as he had never managed to catch the Easter Bunny in the act. The ‘Easter Bunny’ turned around to reveal Granny, in her best pink chenille dressing gown, and her hair up in a bun. ‘Can’t sleep dear?’ As she continued to hide Cadbury’s eggs around the place. ‘We’ll fix that.’ With that she hid her last egg, then led Foodge upstairs to her room.
Two out of three isn’t bad! Cluck, cluck.