View Full Version : BeAm Her Up Scottie-she Needs HomE

10-05-2005, 05:34 PM
BeAm Her Up Scottie-she Needs HomE :tiphat

The First Day

The front door leads stright in to my room. I am hit by the colors, my sister Caren nudges me and whispers "Shes so stuck in the fifties" Bad taste is alive, well and camping in Nelson street

I had taken the room unseen, a fast phone call from the city. My sister having disposed of me, heads back to da big smoke. The decor has given me some reservations, Barbara the land-lady has the air of an authoritarian house mistress. Iam just in time for tea, all six boarders are hunched around the table. Pudding is served at the same time as the main-it drips then goes slush-there is an unspoken emphasis on getting the food in and getting away.

From the table I can see in to the living room, I later learn its a room hardly entered..its sodden with nick-nacks,There are garish cushions-my fav thing is a velvet framed greetings from Sydney Picture.

The orange webbing curtains pull me into the carpet, this must be the acid flash-back I have been hearing so much abort. The TV in the living room is watched from the kitchen, not really surprising - at least its a safe distance . I am fascinated by the living room, and as I am told by Paul, another boarder, we are NOT allowed in there. Barbara’s two wee dogs venture in, I find myself wanting to see the room from their height, I wonder if it sucks them in and under. In one corner a moveable bar is crammed in, and uncomfortable looking. There are 4 matching bar-stools, for the guests that never arrive, because they are not invited.
There is a rainbow colored assortment of bottles. ladies drinks all lovely colored and gooey with sugar.
make mine a Fluffy Duck and my new pal here will have a Martini. I dream the clinking of glasses , but the smell of meat soon ends my day dreaming. Placed in front of me is a mountain of food. The meat looks like cancer ridden lungs, theres frozen jubilee veges and to top it off-the potatoes are no saving grace.
I just can’t do it-I launch in to pudding, its a padding of a pudding with a korn flake crust, comforted by ozzing ice-cream. It hits the spot, fills that gap and I thank God that I get it down and leave the table.

I maneuver my way around the other boarders, muttering thank-you.

"Oh Lord, its hard to be humble when your prefect in every way". Nah, just shooting the shit and singing in my head. Christ that meal-what a production, and theres still the encore of washing up.

"shit that’s hot man" I have plunged my hands into scarring hot water.
"we like it hot. It means we don’t have to use the dish-washer" barks Barbara. I bite my smart mouth, thinking then; why have you got one?..My hands having recovered, I poke a knife under a plate and flip it up-still do damm hot to handle. I edge myself out the back door, breathing again, a little up tight and with good reason. My first day at Barbara’s , in the outta Timaru limits.

Last day = Day Two

5 Am-fucking hell why am I awake? It sounds as if a freight train is pulling past my bedroom. I snuggle back to sleep, but its not got the same depth to it and I soon a wake. Breakfast is served between six and eight, seems the hoards go closer to the six.

As Iam landing myself outta bed, there is a sharp knock on the door, and a Hoover is thrust into my room. No speech, just shoved. Iam pissed off already, I switch on my ghetto blaster, a women’s voice screeches out and I just wanta punch her radio head in. I stagger down to the bath-room and shower. When I arrive back in to my bed-room, the Hoover has mysteriously disappeared. I inspect the rug, yes some ones hovered.
As it"s near 8-30 , breakfast is a stead fast No No. I fantasize about ripping anyone’s head off. Awkward hellos are passed around the kitchen. Barbara is chatting at one of the guys. Her smoking is continuous, chat suck, chat suck.
"The weddings been called off, I’ve gotta call the motel in Dunedin, she says sucking desperately on hr fag. Dear God all mighty, sounds like TB, yes yes Iam sure of it. Is way more than smokers cough, it rips through her chest with so much movement it startles moiré. Gasping coughing and sucking, she’s off again in a loud voice, barking orders at Red.
"Red get those cats combed" she chocks this out.
Major sound effects here. Wow great that theres no chest-glue for her too cough up-Iam sure she would spatter it out and over her Tea saucer.

Red looks like Tin-Tin. his ginger hair comes in short waves. He has a goofy smile and a daft face. A highland face, a cockies face, he’s got the Look. Unfortunately it is accompanied by Korsocooughs disease and no short term memory. He looses time and it was just a turn around a-go. he is already my pal, but he’s maybe forgotten. I share my cigarettes out the back yard with him, I slip him an extra coffee. He has the most wicked grin..

Poodles Off the Cuff

a cockies face, = A Farmers face

03-09-2007, 10:13 PM
I love your off the C pens Poo

I switch on my ghetto blaster, a women’s voice screeches out and I just wanta punch her radio head in. I stagger down to the bath-room and shower. When I arrive back in to my bed-room, the Hoover has mysteriously disappeared. I inspect the rug, yes some ones hovered.

03-12-2007, 11:53 PM

thank You salsa :tiphat

Winters coming-I write more then-Also Iam getting 3 years worth of therapy stuffings back from my T----Great stuffings to work and pick over-will rig "Anti-Family" stories out of them--also working on story called

"If Folk had class it would be special Ed" :laugh

Is about my years in Edinburgh with Iain -

I love words-words just fuck with my head--Iam pulling out some old ones for you-they will make ya laugh-take me a while-

I will also get around to sending you spoken word speed rant form Edinburgh times-I need to get it off tape and onto CD-I WANT you to have a copy-

ALSO-Can you INBOX me with your addy cos I went to wrap the 2 CD"s Ive done and your address looks weird to me-could just be that Kiwi addys are totally diffirent-?--any hows InBox me it please- :flowers