26
THE END
AND SO IT ENDS AS IT BEGAN, WITH A SIMPLE POEM.
And as I sit here all alone in Hotel Jericho, drawing the final line beneath the final paragraph on the final page of my final red exercise book, I feel a sense of satisfaction, if not a little of finality.
For sure I never changed the world for the better, but who really could? As Colon might have said, life is not about what happens to you, it’s about how you deal with it.
I rarely venture far from the hotel and when I do it is only at night. I have to be conscious of my every movement. I became too adept at causing change to occur during my stay in America. Now I have to take great care over everything I do. From the way I clip my toenails to the side I part my hair.
A millimetre too short on the right big toe and Germany might win the cup again. Too many hairs to the left-hand side and flares will be back in fashion. I abused my gift and so must pay the price of solitude.
I have some pleasures left. Small pleasures, trivial things. I watch a lot of television. I like to see all the politicians compensating away, never causing anything to happen, just balancing what does with a hand-tuck into a tailored-suit or an adjustment of the spectacles.
I have few callers now. The occasional Jehovah’s Witness, a lady with a straw hat who sharpens my biros. But I am contented.
Given my time over again, I might have done things differently.
I don’t think I’d have walked out into the path of that dry-cleaning truck for a start and I really would have dedicated my time to having a lot more sex.
But what is done cannot be changed. Except of course, for plumbing.
‘Is that it, chief?’
‘I think so, Barry, I can’t think of anything else to write.’
‘Not too morbid this last bit, not a feel-bad ending?’
‘I don’t think so. Just a bit of repentance and introspection to show that I’m really a caring sort of fellow.’
‘That’s nice, chief. So what shall we do now?’
I rose from my desk, went over to the window and drew aside the greasy curtain. Sunlight fell upon my ghostly features.
Golden sunlight falling from a sky of the deepest blue. ‘Stuff it in here,’ I said. ‘Let’s hit the beach.’
THE END
[1] Pine legs! Ha ha ha…
[2] The one he had worn whilst winning medals at The Battle of Maiwand, where he was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet.
[3] Sir John Doveston being the famous local brewer, knighted by the late King George for his services to brewing.
[4] The poet Henry Read, except he couldn’t be there because he’s dead.
[5] Brother of Sid from the parable.
[6] Well, no-one said anything about it being fast.
[7] History does not disclose how the late Earl met his end, but the fact that totters broke into his tomb and stole his body, lends a certain credibility to all the fore-going.
[8] He claimed direct decendance from the infamous Captain Leonard ‘Legless’ Lemon (of whom more later).
[9] So this was probably the nineteen-sixties.
[10] So I must have been wrong about the nineteen-sixties!
[11] Even the most sinned against are sometimes to be caught sinning.
[12] This is absolutely true. Check any map of the London Underground, if you don’t believe me.
[13] I didn’t really. But there were times when I wished I had.
[14] Of course the list isn’t really endless. This is just a figure of speech.
[15] Actually, in this case, the list is endless.
[16] For my Carmen Miranda impersonations.
[17] The boat of course.
[18] Still the boat.
[19] And trust me, friends, my opinion has never altered on this.
[20] Satire
[21] This is a lie, as will later be seen.
[22] Great, great grandson of the infamous pirate Captain Leonard ‘Legless’ Lemon.
[23] Great, great grandson of the infamous cleric Victor ‘Vaseline’ Vez. (It’s a small world, isn’t it?)
[24] That’s one top row on each wall. Ten TVs to a row. It’s hard to explain really.
[25] The Exorcist, of course.
[26] I know the term beggar is not considered politically correct, but please bear with me on this.
[27] A special thank-you to SPROUT LORE for that one.
[28] I have a mother too.