CONSOLDIATION

Moving my whole operation over to TUMBLR. Unless somebody give me a good reason not too.

www.dickheadrunning.tumblr.com

Tin Man Pally

"Oh," I said. I was looking in the carrier bag Enrique had handed me, the one that contained tins. Enrique, who for the second time in a week, had knocked on my door. I hoped he wasn't going to make a habit of it. He'd knocked on the door and I opened it and he wordlessly thrust a carrier bag towards me. For a split second I thought he was thrusting a headless goose at me. It wasn't, it was a plastic bag and I looked in it and said, "oh."

"You're welcome," he replied.

"Yeah," I said. I guess I was. I continued to look into the bag. I could see one tin contained macedoine (chopped vegetables)

Enrique looked around, lent towards me, looked around again and then announced, "chu look after me and I... after look..."

"..."

Enrique had another go. "Chu look after me," he said. He pointed to himself on the 'me'. "And then... me? No. I look. No. I look after. No, chu look after I? No. I look..."

That was enough. "I look after you," I said, "and you look after me," I told him, patting my chest, but that didn't sound right either. Better than gobshite's effort though. 

"Si, I look after..."

"Me."

"I look after me and chu... no."

"No. you, you," I said pointing at him. "You look after me," I pointed at me and... "what did I say then?"

"Chu look after me."

"That's right, you look after me and I, I look after you."

"Si, I look after chu and..."

"You."

"Chu look after me."

"Yeah."

"I look after chu, chu look after me."

"That's it."

"I look after chu, chu look after me," he said, faster than ever.

"You've got it!" I'd given Enrique a load of medication. Stuff I'd found at the dump, and this was payback. Enrique stood straight and again looked around then rubbed his nose.

"Well, cool," I said nodding into the bag and then at Enrique. I'd found the handle holes of the carrier bag and was holding it that way although Enrique hadn't been carrying the bag like that. He'd carried it like it was a goose and he'd been holding its neck. Like a hobo would carry a carrier bag.

"Der's fish. S'not cheap, man!" said Enrique, nodding slowly.

"Is there? fish?" I asked, my eyebrows raised, opening the bag and having a polite look in, I couldn't see any fish but I nodded. "Sweet," I told him.

"I get dem from work."

"Oh, where do you work?"

"Spar Limited." He pronounced limited, 'lee-mee-teed.'

"The one by the hospital?"

"No, no, all of dem."

"Cool," I said.

"Heh, they bit dented." said Enrique.

"Bah, who cares, eh? Still good."

"We like, er, friends, eh?"

"Yeah, we are a bit," I said.

"Chu Joey," said Enrique, nodding at me.

"You're Chandler then," I said and smiled. He wasn't fucking Chandler. I was Chandler. And Joey.

"Could I BE any more..." said Enrique. He'd been smiling when he started saying that. He wasn't when he finished mid sentence. He was sort of wincing. It was painful. Once again I stepped in to save the day.

"Hey, I'm-a-Joey, Imma eat alla these tins a food!" I said, wagging my head. Enrique laughed and nodded. 

"Joey," he said pointing at me. "Could I BE anymore..." Oh for fuck's sake. I'd given him an out but he didn't take it. He was like an animal you'd rescue from a tree only for it to run straight back up the tree.

"Could you be anymore... in a white suit!" I said in an American accent.

"Could I BE anymore in a whi' suit?" asked Enrique.

"No, you couldn't." I confirmed and Enrique cracked up laughing. When he'd stopped we stood there, smiling at each other.  "Hey, which one, chu kn-"

"Rachel."

"Si, si."

"Thanks for the this!" I said, lifting up the bag whose handles were beginning to cut into my hand. "The tins," I said. 

"Hey, chu look after-"

"Yeah alright," I said cutting him off. I was missing Masterchef Australia. I'd paused it but the longer I didn't watch it the worse the knock-on effect to the rest of my evening's TV viewing was going to be. I could make up some time by fast-forwarding advertisements, perhaps all the time, but still. "Cheers, eh?" I said and went inside as Enrique went up the stairs, two at a time. I put the tins in the cupboard and true to his word there was a tin of red salmon among them. They looked pretty good in the cupboard, the tins, sort of made the flat more of a home. I put the fish on its own side of the cupboard. The fish side.

Midnight Smoker

The day wouldn't end. It just wouldn't end. It just went on and on and on. I tried to think of something bad that might happen later in the day, that evening, in a bid to speed up the day because, hey, time goes faster when there's something bad coming up. I thought I'd get home and, I dunno, press my hand on the hob. I wouldn't like. Burning my hand. That'd be shit, it'd kill. Yeah, I told myself that's what I'd do. I'd burn my hand.

An hour later I looked at my watch and saw seventeen minutes had passed. I wasn't going to burn my hand and part of me knew it. My brain part and so the day went on and on and on. It was the duracell bunny of days. Worst thing was it started to cloud over. Generally I like it when it rains at work because we get to wear our waterproofs but rain would ruin what I'd done and what I'd done was fucking exceptional.

Cycling through the gates that morning I'd noticed Graham's little white van was incredibly dirty. He'd been scrambling in it by the looks of it and the mud it was caked in had dried and so I decided to leave a message on the van. I didn't get fully off my bike but went up next to the van and removed a glove and wrote, "Cleam Me," on the side. I then tried to sort out the erroneous M but it looked shit so I wiped that whole message off. It wasn't a total bust as when I was fucking up writing the first message I'd thought of the real message I'd wanted to write. I knew 'clean me' wasn't what I'd actually wanted to write, I'd just wrote that because I hadn't instantly been able to think of what I actually wanted to write. What I'd wanted to write I'd seen it on vans a few times and each time I'd seen it I'd laughed and so under the message I'd wiped off I wrote, I WISH MY WIFE WAS THIS DIRTY!!! I then wiped my finger on the floor and rode up the hill to the hut and for the rest of the day I tried to keep a straight face. It was pretty easy because the slow passing of time was pissing me off. It was easy when I wasn't looking at Graham.

Graham is a prankster extraordinaire. One time he smashed Vince's phone, oh God, that was funny. He'd found a phone the same make as Vince's and while Vince was up in the excavator he'd waved it at him. He'd then dropped it on the floor and stamped on it. Vince went fucking nuts, jumped out of the machine, limbs all flailing Frenchly, left it still running and jumped down and I thought they were going to have a fist fight. I was crying with laughter. Vince called Graham a midget and Graham hates that because he's short and then Graham tells Vince it wasn't his phone and Vince shakes his head because he didn't find it funny and goes back to work. Two minutes later Graham's got Vince's real phone and stamps on it. Vince goes mental and jumps down and Graham's telling him to never call him short again and I'm laughing just thinking about it.

EVENTUALLY it was home time. I'm normally first out because I've got a bike and everybody else walks to the car-park but I hung back. It was difficult to make this seem casual and innocent, me hanging back but I cycled alongside Graham while standing on the pedals. I put my brakes on now and again causing my suspension forks to suspend. It was a bit like a stunt and a very casual way to ride a bicycle. I told Graham that the guy upstairs from me had flipped his car over one time because it was so powerful. Graham said he'd done that once. I whistled and said, "fuck!" I then sat on the seat of the bike and tried to accelerate as fast as possible to see if I could flip my bike, I couldn't. Got the wheel off the ground a couple of inches though. I then stood up on the pedals and applied the front brake, causing the forks to suspend while Graham caught up.

"What the fuck?" Asked Graham when he saw his van.

"What I asked?" I was looking over at the incinerator. A fucking huge grey square building. I sensed Graham begin to run off to my right and so I followed.

"Who did this?" Asked Graham pointing at the letters written on his van. 

"Dunno, mate," I said wiping my nose on my glove and looking back from where we'd come from. Vince was on his way. He had four keyboards. He'd doing something with them. He must have, no exaggeration, a thousand keyboards.

"Check it out!" I said to Vince pointing at Graham's van.

"I wish my wife was this dirty," Said Vince reading it and then laughing. Graham didn't see the funnyside. 

"It means dirty in a sex way. Wish my wife was the dirty. Cock sucking and that." I was looking at the words and although I was trying not to I was smirking. Graham was staring up at me through narrow eyes. "Because your van's di-"

"Ooooh!" Said Graham getting it. "Oh my God that's funny," he said. He laughed a little bit, then there was a pause, then he laughed a bit more and then there was another pause and then he was laughing. It was bit like a Spitfire starting. I was laughing too and Vince was laughing. Vince was also struggling with the keyboards' cables. Everyday he takes keyboards home and yet he still hasn't got a system for carrying them. I'd wrap each cable around each keyboard.

"Did you do that?" Asked Graham. Because he's from Liverpool he actually said, did-youdo-da.

"I don't know Davey," I said doing my gormless American voice and rolling my eyes.

"Did ya?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said. We all looked at the side of Graham's van.

Graham chuckled again and shook his head. "Dat's grrreat dat is," he said. "Me wife'll flip." 

"Well, see ya guys!" I said and then I turned my lights on and rode home laughing. 

Verve

I stepped out into the hall and I was closing my door when the man from upstairs shouted at me. He shouted something strange.

"Hey! My shit turn blue!" He shouted and so I stood there and pondered. I wasn't sure how to reply although I was certain he was addressing me. It's not everyday a disembodied voice from above shouts something like that at you.

"Okay!" I replied musically and then with a wary face and a head cocked to the side I waited for a second. No further messages came and so I headed down the stairs and fucking hell, his bike was on my bike. I grabbed it, really grabbed it like I was teaching it a lesson and then wheeled it over to the other side of the table. The tyres were both pretty much flat and I heard somebody bouncing down the stairs.

I didn't recognize Enrique straight away. He wasn't wearing his purple, blue and green tracksuit. He was wearing a white suit, a cool white hat and no shoes. I assumed he must work in a hotel. I'd assumed he worked in a hotel when I first saw him, but as a cleaner or something, seeing him dressed I assumed he must work in a hotel as a guy at a desk.

"Hey, my shit turn blue!" He said to me as I held his bicycle and he held onto the bannister. He was leaning forward but still on the steps.

"Yeah," I replied not knowing what to do with that. I looked down at his bicycle. "I heard you, hey, your tyres are flat."

"S'okay, I like it like dat. Blue, really blue, aye-aye-aye, like..." Enrique looked around for something that was as blue as his shit but there was nothing in the hall that he could see.

"You should leave your bike on this side," I said placing his bicycle against the wall.

"S'fucking amazing, man!" Enrique told me and I nodded, it sounded it. "S'okay?" He asked.

"I'm not a..." I said. "You gotta pump these tyres up, you'll wreck the rims," I said because although I wasn't a bike mechanic either I knew that. I also knew Enrique's bike was fucking riduclous. "Why don't you drive your car? That's your car out there?" I cocked my thumb towards the door, that's where out there was.

"Thas my baby, man!" Said Enrique stepping off the steps onto the tiled floor of the entrance hall. His feet must've been freezing. He danced for a bit and then stepped back up onto the carpeted steps.

"Why don't you drive it?" I asked.

"Can't man, s'too powerful."

"Too powerful to drive?"

"Si," he said nodding gravely. Enrique again stepped onto the tiled floor and came over to me. Danced over. Trying to not let his feet touch the floor. It was quite a sight as he was also grimacing and then when he was right in my personal space he just started talking. "One time I driving along and I have girls in the car, si?" I nodded. "Three girls and I drive and stop at de coloured lights, red, you know?"

"Traffic lights?"

"Si, I stop and this guy he pulls up next to me in a racing car, si?"

"Okay."

"He wanna race wid me and he... brum brum bruuuuuum!"

"Yeah." Guy who pulled up next to him was revving the engine. I could picture that.

"So I," said Enrique pointing to himself before grabbing the steering wheel which was nearly in my chest, "brum brum brum brummmmmm!"

I nodded, Enrique had done an extra brum and a longer, higher final brum. He was ready to race.

"Lize change to..."

"Green?"

"Si! Green, and de guy in the racing car he make it go! Whoosh!" Enrique chopped his hand forward but luckily he turned to the side or he'd have chopped my arm off at the shoulder. I watched the racing car race from the line. It was heading for the stairs. I nodded. "So I fucking..." Enrique was snarling in my face and gripping the steering wheel that wasn't there. "Grrrrrr!" He said. He then let go of the steering wheel that wasn't, his face relaxed and he stood straight and demonstrated the next part with his hand. His hand started off horizontal before he slowly lifted his fingers. "Car, flies in air, de front go up in air, e fucking spin," Enrique did a spin with his finger tip, "in the air and land, where was. Just fucking land. Ez too fucking powerful."

"Kin' hell," I said.

"De girls? Each girl different seat. Bof bof bof, different seat."

"Fuck," I said.

Enrique rubbed the side of his nose with the back of his left hand and then nodded.

"Can't you get it made, I dunno, less powerful?" I asked. I don't know as much about cars as I do bikes.

"Si, one day I take it to a garage." Enrique pronounced 'garage' 'garakka'.

"So you ride the bike?"

"I ride bike," we looked at the bike. What a fucking shit bike.

"Do you want me to pump the tyres up for you?" That would mean going upstairs to get my pump. I had time but didn't really want to.

"Nah, s'okay," he said. He nodded and looked around before opposite-fire-walking back to the stairs. "Dat!" He said pointing at my bicycle as he minced past it. "Dat blue!" He said. He was pointing to the red white and blue bands that decorated one of my bicycles tubes and then he was bouncing up the stairs two and a time.

At work I told Graham about the guy who flipped his car. Graham said he'd done that once.

"Fuck."

Lovely

I was watching Masterchef Australia wishing I knew how to fillet a fish.

And cook a fish when there was a knock upon my door.

This had never happened before.

I sat for a while motionlessly hoping I was hallucinating with my ears.

Marco Pierre white was telling an Australian he'd burnt his fish skin.

I'd want my fish skin burnt.

Marco Pierre White was being a dick and I held the remote control and waited.

I've got Sky+ and I can pause live TV.

I pinched my lower lip.

Marco Pierre White's wild unkempt hair must get in his food when he cooks.

I'd imagined the knock.

I watched the clock and relaxed in my chair.

There was five minutes to go in the double elimination.

The fat woman in the hijab was in trouble.

Her rice pudding was never going to cook.

Not in a million years.

Knock knock knock.

I paused the TV on a shot of Marco Pierre White and although he'd only been talking I'd paused it on a frame that made him look insane with his eyes half closed. The first time I thought I'd heard the knock it'd stressed me out but the second knocks were much worse. Like how they grade earthquakes. The second knocking was not just twice as stressful as the first lot, it was ten times worse. There's two doorbells outside that prevent unsolicited knocking so that meant whoever was on the other-side of the door knocking was on the other-side of the door and knocking. Had to be the guy from upstairs or, well, let's not beat about the bush, a ghost, and I wasn't too thrilled with the prospect of opening the door to either and I thought about pretending I was in the bath.

I'd bump into Pedro on the stairwell later and he'd say, 'I was knocking on your door,' and I'd reply, 'yeah, I was in the bath.' That's life. That's what I'd do I decided as I stared at Marco Pierre White's grimace that reminded me of that photo from Vietnam. The guy shooting the other guy in the head. I listened for his footsteps but instead heard a knock. The fuck? I mouthed. I was going to have to answer the door or sit there for God knows how long pretending to be in the bath. Three knocks though and I hadn't moved I decided I may as well wait it out. If there's a forth I would answer the door, ghost or foreign man from upstairs be damned, but I wasn't going to give up now. I'd gone this far. I looked at the arm of my chair and heard the forth set of knocks and stood and went to the door. I opened it and the foreign man from upstairs was standing there with an empty bowl.

"Sorry, I was in the bath. Didn't hear you knocking." I said. "Were you even knocking?" I asked realising in the nick of time I'd nearly blown it.

"Si, I knock, I no want to bother you," He said.

"It's okay," I lied.

"Es... you no have no heroin just maybe?"

"Ooh, no, sorry mate, I haven't. I don't... I don't use it," I did that apologetic face people do even though they've no reason to apologize. Like when somebody asks you for directions and you don't know them and you feel you've let them down.

"S'okay, s'okay," said the man but he looked so sad. His shoulders were slumping as I watched.

"Yeah, sorry," I told him. The man took a deep breath and when he let it out his shoulders were lower than ever. He was looking at his pathetic empty bowl that didn't have any heroin in it.

"Sorry for bother you," he said turning ninety degrees and looking up the steps.

"Yeah, sorry mate, I just-" But the guy cut me off by lifting his left hand. He was upset. I watched him slowly mount the first step. And then the second. It was too much. "Hey, Pedro!" I said. Pedro turned and told me his name was Enrique. "Enrique, I've got some morphine, that any good to you?"

"Morpy?" He said looking down at me.

"Morphine, liquid morphine."

"I don't know..."

"Oh, morphine, powerful stuff, you need a prescription. You want some?" I asked. Enrique wasn't sure. He'd had his heart set on heroin. "You may as well take some, I've got loads."

"No, I okay," said Enrique turning and looking back up the stairs. He wasn't moving though. I waited and when he didn't take another step and called him again.

"Come and see this," I told him standing aside. He looked at me and then walked down the three steps he'd gone up and into my flat. The guy smelt good. I showed him into my bathroom. "I let the water out," I told him pointing at the bone dry bath and then I distracted him by opening the airing cupboard door and showing him all of my marvellous medicines. Two shelves of the stuff in opaque plastic containers. Three containers on each shelf. "Check it out," I said pulling out a container packed with pill boxes, small brown plastic bottle and larger glass bottles.

"Holy macaroni!" Said Enrique.

"Yeah, I just find them at work."

"You bin man," Said Enrique nodding and peering into the container I was holding. He was perking up.

"Bin man! Fuck off!" I said. "I work at the waste disposal plant." Enrique looked up at me saw I was correcting him and apologised and then went back to peering into the container. He picked up a small brown plastic bottle and turned it around. "Most of the labels have gone," I told him. "Been out in the rain," I said. Enrique nodded picked up other things, turning them around and placing them back. "There's gotta be some good shit in there."

"No heroin?" He asked.

"Nah, there might be that heroin substitute. What's it called?"

"Dunno," said Enrique still moving things around the container I held.

"Oh, I know it..." I said but I couldn't think of it. I knew I'd think of it as soon as he'd gone. I hate that. "That's the morphine," I said holding and shaking a glass bottle. "Knocks you out." Enrique nodded. "Just take a selection," I told him.

"Chu sure, man?"

"Yeah, go for it," I said. I put the container on the bathroom floor and Enrique gave me his bowl. I tipped a few pills from a few bottles into the bowl. I took out a few foil wrapped blister packs of different sized squashed boxes and topped it off with a bottle of morphine. "That should keep you going," I said my hands on my knees. I was happy with what I'd done. I stood and handed him the bowl.

"How much?"

"Dah, don't worry about it," I said waving my hand at him. I put the container back in its space in the airing cupboard. "I got loads of this shit," I said looking at the shit I had loads of.

"Chu sure, man?" He asked holding his bowl.

"Yeah, sure. Be careful with that shit though, yeah?"

"Just medicine, man," he said.

"True enough, hey, you'll probably get really healthy if you eat all that," I said and Enrique laughed. He looked at the bowl he was holding like an offering plate and shook it so the pills moved around a bit.

"Why you keep all dis?" Asked Enrique and I didn't tell him because of the end of I Am Legend.

"Seemed like a waste," I told him and then we stood there in the bathroom. Looking in the bathroom mirror I could see the reflection of the living room and Marco Pierre White's paused and twisted face. I showed Enrique out. He went up the stairs carefully holding his bowl.

That night I heard a whole load of laughing and babbling coming from upstairs. It was funny, that contagious laughter and I chuckled too and shook my head. Enrique was alright.

The next morning Methadone was my first waking thought.

Small World

I froze on the steps because the man was in the hall. I'd heard him come down the steps earlier - enough earlier - he should have been out, well out, that's why I was going out, so I wouldn't encounter him right here in the hall where I was encountering him. Something had gone badly awry with my running plans. The man was just standing in the hall and must've been for quite some time. He was regarding the table with intensity.

He was foreign and was sporting a moustache and looked absolutely nothing like this.

His moustache shit all over Vince's. The man looked at me. "Hello," I said and the man lifted a finger, the corners of his mouth and his eyebrows like I was just the person he wanted to see even though we'd never met. He extended his hand and told me his name. It was Fillippo or something. Something foreign. I wasn't really listening. Might have been Mario. He looked a bit like a Guy Fawkes mask. "You moved in upstairs?" I asked. He could just have been an intruder but I didn't think so.

"Yes!" He exclaimed pumping my hand. The way he'd said 'yes' suggested I must have a load of questions to ask him about the exciting development of him moving in upstairs and he'd be only too pleased to answer them all. I didn't and so I nodded. Fillippo was still pumping my hand and smiling. No, I had no further questions for him. One maybe. Why are you still shaking my hand? I saw that even though I'd brought a table home to separate the bicycle leaning areas he'd leant his bicycle on mine.

I would have gone mad about that if he wasn't there. "Okay," I said trying to bring our meeting to a conclusion.

"Dis table," he said pointing at the table while still looking at me.

"Yeah?" I asked. 'Dis table' wasn't a full question.

"S'mine."

"It's yours?"

"Si, s'mine. S'my table," the man was smiling broadly. I didn't know what was going on.

"Listen mate, I don't want any trouble," I told him. I shuffled backwards so my heels hit the bottom step. I wasn't going to get stabbed over a table. Might have to push him and leg it up the stairs. Luckily I'm good at that. The man didn't respond and went over to the table and bent over it as if checking it for level and then stood straight and tapped it.

"My table," he said wheeling around on his heels and crossing his arms and nodding. He was smiling and that was throwing me off.

"Take it," I told him. I lifted one leg and placed my toes on the bottom step.

"How it even come here?" The man asked.

"I... I found it at the.. the dump."

The man clicked his fingers and pointed at me. "De dump! S'mazing, dis my table from my old place."

"No way," I said.

"Si! Dis one."

"Well, small world, eh?"

"Si, small word." I'd said world. Not small word. "I can't even believe it."

"No, it's amazing," I agreed. If it had been his table it was pretty amazing. If he was lying it was pretty amazing also. Why bother? Why? "Why did you dump it?" I asked him. There was nothing wrong with the table.

"I no dump it," he said looking at me like I'd just completely misunderstood everything. "I no dump dat!" He stressed and that was all I could take.

"Well, nice to meet you Fillippo," I said bringing my toes off the step and heading for the door.

"Enrique."

"Enrique." I smiled and edged past him. "I'm just going out," I grimaced. I was talking to him like he was my mother because I was uncomfortable.

"S'like a..." Enrique said, he hadn't quite finished. He was one of those people who couldn't read signals. I opened the door and held it open and politely waited for him to finish.

"S'like a..." Enrique said pointing at the table. "A er..." he was growing frustrated with himself and that's when mad people snap. I'd opened the door further and looked back at Enrique with a patient smile. I lifted my eyebrows to encourage him to finish his thought. "A..." he was saying while  jabbing a finger at the table.

"A...?"

"Um," said Enrique. He was looking at me for help.

"A? I don't..."

"A thing, a..."

"Coincidence?" I said.

"No, a... ah!"

"S'wood, a thing..."

"Oh yeah, it is." I agreed and nodded but inside my head I was shaking it.

"A..."

"Bye," I said and stepped outside gently closing the door. I waited while my Garmin tried to lock onto a satellite and as I did the door opened.

"You can never throw away, dat thing," he said. He lifted his right hand and made a chopping motion and then a wishwishwishwish sound with his mouth. I looked at the Garmin, the fucking thing never locks on when I'm in a hurry.

c'mon c'mon c'mon

"A boomerang?" I said.

"Si!" Said Enrique.

I fake laughed. "I suppose-" I began but he'd closed the door. Charming, I would have thought if I thought words like that. I don't think words like that I just squinted at the closed door. I just started running even though the Garmin hadn't locked on and the record of the run was going to be compromised.

Nothing Wrong With That

Graham drove me home in his van because of the table. That was a result because it could not have been windier and I hate cycling in the wind. The table was only small but it was going to look sweet in the entrance, I knew that much. I left my bike outside and carried the table in, holding the top, four legs pointing forward, while Graham held the door open. "The fuck's that?" He asked pointing his head at the black car. Graham had driven me home many times before and that car had never been there.

"Fuck knows," I told him truthfully.

I then positioned the table in the place where I'd been imagining placing the table ever since I'd seen it. It was like the fulfilment of a dream. That sounds too much. I don't mean it was my dream to get a table, I just mean I'd been thinking about placing the table and when I placed the table it was a daydream come true.

"There's nothing wrong with that," I said adjusting the position on the table slightly so that one bicycle could fit on either side of it and that was taking into account the opening of the door. The lights in the hall went off and because they're on a timer and so I pressed the switch again.  My bike was going to go to the right of the table while looking at it, this would mean my bike was further inside. Both would be inside but mine would be further inside. Further from the door. It just seemed better that way.

"That looks boss!" Said Graham.

"It does, eh?" I agreed. We stood and looked at the table. "Wait there," I told him and brought my bike in. It fitted perfectly between the table and under the return of the staircase. "Look at fucking that!" I said. We looked at it some more.

"Might get a vase?" I said thinking out loud.

"A vase on that table would look gear," said Graham agreeing with my thought. The lights went off and I pressed the switch again.

"Or a big bowl," I said, that had been my other thought. A big bowl, like a fruit bowl. I wouldn't put fruit in it though much like I wouldn't put flowers in the vase. Graham didn't respond to my second thought. "A bowl," I said and looked at him. He was standing with his arms straight by his side, his eyes closed, his nostrils flaring with each breath and he was clenching and unclenching his fists. That's a tell-tale sign Graham is about to lose it. "No, a vase!" I shouted and he came back to me. "Yeah, a vase for sure."

"Definitely a vase," said Graham. "Not a bowl. What would you put in a... friggin' bowl?" Graham was staring at me. At least his eyes were open but he hadn't fully regained his composure. His question was pointed.

"Nothing, that was stupid. A fucking bowl," I shook my head at my own stupidity. "A vase."

"Yeah, a vase would be nice. You could get some of those..." Graham made a hand gesturing that looked like he was lifting noodles from a pan, "twigs."

"Oh yeah, those twigs."

"Don't have to water them," said Graham whose surname, going on his horticultural knowledge, might well be Monty Don. It's not. I forget what it is though.

"No, those twigs look great," I said and we both stood there and pictured a vase on the table. The one I pictured was Art Deco but the one Graham was picturing was red and white and said LFC RULE OK. "Are they just normal twigs?" I asked. "Or are they, you know, treated with something?"

"They're dried," said Graham but I suspected he didn't really know the answer. Just from his delivery I picked that up but I nodded. We stood a while longer. The lights went off and I turned them back on.

"Cheers for that," I told Graham. "See you on Monday, yeah."

"Have a good one, la," said Graham still looking at the table.

"Look for a vase next week."

"Deffo," he said and then turning to me a fixing me with his eyes he warned, "not a bowl."

"Fuck no," I replied. When he left I went up the stairs two at a time I got to my door before the lights clicked off again.