[Released 18/04/2021 on a CC BY-ND copyright licence (others may reuse the work for any purpose, including commercially; however, it cannot be shared with others in adapted form, and credit must be provided to Colin R. Tosh)]
Condition
Och it wis a great weddin. Really braw. A braw weddin. This is ma pal Ab. That’s short fir Albert, which is a fell Guffy type o name am shair yi agree, and fu ees parents thoucht o ca’in um that I will niver ken fur ees fowk ir guid ferm-workin fowk o the auld schale fae Angus, Scotland, jist like mi ain. And, come tae think o it, ees saicant name is fell Guffy in a (Sanderson), bit that’s neither here nor there in the present context. Bit it really wis braw. Ab his been doon Sooth like me in mi ither guid pal Jeck (Jack), och, since ees mid twinties, and ee gaes doon there an becomes a high up kind o boy in the social services, yi ken: looking efter they lads wi problems in the heid I suppose yi wid say. Noo, mi ither guid pal, Jek; he gaes doon there in a and becomes an engineer type o boy wi the roads and the buildings and that: a civil engineer. And me? I gaes doon and I becomes a tenured academic in een o the top Russel Group universities is a physicist. A particle physicist. Christ aye, av daen a few things me, like. I even hid that LHC oor in Switzerland bookit oot fur a whilie and did a few things wi that thit wid end up in a fell weel-readit scientific paper that all no say ony mair aboot fur the risk o mi heid growin. Aye, a tenured academic in the field o physics. So wiv a daen fell weel and wir a jist ferm workers and fermers’ lads fae Angus, Scotland.
Bit this weddin. It wis like Albert a oor really. And ees wife Mildred (Mildred!) tae. The jist think o ither fowk and this wis what the wedding wis like. It must hae cost thum a fortune and it wis jist a fur the guests; the wuy it wis laid oot, yi ken. It wis jist fur fowk tae hae a guid time, no fur them it a, and maist o the time the jist skulkit aboot in the background kissing and feelin each ither up. It wis braw, yi ken. Weel, fur the first bittie, the tell yi tae drive tae a fell pair-lookin auld hotel on the edge o Slough and a gits there and thinks tae misel, haein a wee chuckle, “Christ, Ab, whit hiv yi got in store fur wi noo?” Syne abuddy turns up and thirs a fell posh-lookin lot, Mild’s fowk, and I sees a wealthy kind o, dressit-up auld wifie haudin a hankie tae ur mooth cus thir no happy aboot the hotel, yi ken. Bit this is posh cunts a oor fur yi is it no? Christ, it’s no even their weddin and it’s got fuck all tae dae wi them what the hotel is like, but still the hae somethin tae say. Is that no posh cunts a oor? Bit av a smile on mi face a the same. Ye see, am no kiddin misel. Things hiv no been easy fur wi the last yearie or twa. Things hiv no been guid atween me in the wife. Aye argiein aboot this and that and, all no kid yi, muny nichts it's no unusual tae see me fell drunk-like efter the bairns have gane tae bed. And then I starts on the doobie, and that’s no a. Mi boy, fas a guid enough lad like, he starts pittin the wee peels and tabs in there in a wee bag is a treat fur bein a guid customer wi the doobie and, of coorse, I gits tae fell likin these in a, yi ken. So this time, mi wife Anna (Annabel: she’s English tae), she says tae wi, “Look, son, you need a bit of time away from me and the kids and your job. Go down there and have a good time but look after yourself. Do you hear? Look after yourself.” Shis a guid wumin. Av niver dootit that. Shis guid a richt.
Weel, back it this weddin, syne, a great bus, braw like, rolls up, yi ken, and abuddy’s lookin tae see what this is a aboot, whin fa shid come oot o it, completely bi surprise, yi ken, bit Ab and Mild, a smiles, and Ab in a kilt (a first!) and a braw wee suitie jecket. And the twa o thum are a smiles and wavin is a in: “Come on in, we’re off somewhere else.” This is jist fuckin great and richt there and then I say tae misel am gaenny hae a guid time and no wi a the drink; am jist gaen tae tak it easy and chat and gie what I can tae the occasion. Like whin I wis young. So in wi goes, yi ken, and am lookin aboot fur Jeck, cus he’s no here yit, but he’s no there, so I jist sits nixt tae a wifie wumin, a dressed up in the wuy wifie wumin dae fur weddings (wi the feathers comin fae a tottie wee hat), and shi clearly his the same idea is me cus shi launches strecht intae ur life story. Syne Ab waks up the middle o the bus wi a crate o Moët and Chandon (the best) and thin Mild is ahent um wi the glesses, so awa wi go wi that, and this wifie is tellin wi aboot the braw career shis hid is a high up nurse in the NHS…
…I could hae daen better it mi work. I see it noo. Am near 50 and still no a professor. Christ, thirs lads o 30 thit ir professors yi see noo. Bit science is a game. And yi either like playing games or yi dunnae and I dunnae and niver hiv. I gaes in it nine and comes hame at five. I hiv a job no a vocation. And like it or no, science in the top English universities is fur posh Eton cunts. Av said that afore in front o fowk I shouldnae hae and it’s a shakin o heids and, “Well no, I don’t agree with that at all.” But it is; it really is. Here’s an example. Whaur I work thir is a boy Lawson. Roy Lawson ees ca’d, and niver a worse, thick-heidit, plummit-moothed, Guffy, Eton cunt hiv yi see in yir puff. The boy his niver hid an original thoucht in ees heid since he cam oot o ees mam, bit the university drags the cunt oot tae a the student open days, yi see. Ees the type o boy the parents like tae see. A rich Oxbridge-type cunt. The see a boy like that and hear um speak and the look it each ither, the parents, yi ken, and smile and think thiv made it. Thir lad or lass his made it in the world. Weel, am kent is a boy thit his ideas, yi ken. An ideas man. I dinnae speak much bit whin I do fowk tend tae listen, yi ken. So ae day in a staff meetin I dis a wee experiment. In the middle o it I lits oot what I wid categorise is a middlin, mediocre idea fur a grant application, and whin I dis I watches this Lawson oot o the corner o mi ee, and whin I says it I see ees lugs prick up bit ee disnae start makin notes. Noo… ee waits fur a minute, thin I sees um tak up the pen and start writing and I think, “That sly cunt.” So, am fell shair yi kin see what’s comin. A week or twa later a better type o boy ca’d Edwards comes up tae me and says, “I see Lawson has written a pretty nice grant. You read it? Pretty nice. Could be funded. Not like Lawson at all,” ee says, and chuckles, and I spier um aboot what it's aboot and it’s the same idea I his. So the nixt day I waits until aboot 11 o'clock whin a the office doors are open and I watches fur Lawson tae gae doon and I shouts oot, doon the corridor, “You are a stealer of ideas, Lawson. You stole that grant idea from me in the staff meeting two weeks ago and you know it,” and the daft wee prick just pauses wi ees back tae me fur a saicant, thin ee shaks ees heid and is awa again intae ees office. Science, academia, is fu o fowk like Lawson, yi see. Daft wee pricks.
So, onywuy, back it this weddin wiv moveit intae the countryside in the bus and I hiv a soft spot fur the countryside in the Sooth (whin it hisnae hid a footballer’s mansion plunked in the middle o it). Guid hedgerows, yi ken. Guid and thick. Up the North and in Scotland thiv becomeit fell sair wi the hedgerows. Aye cut back fell sair, yi ken, but no in the Sooth. It is tae thir credit. It really is. Syne wi pous intae this braw wee village wi a braw wee greenie, yi ken, the wuy the hae these greenies, and a braw wee inn wi a thatched raif richt aside it. And richt in the middle o this green is a jist braw oak tree in a its glory, and Ab and Mild hiv hid laid oot on the green these braw, thick, lang drinkin tables and benches wi guid snacks a richt up. I hiv tae say the scene is jist magnificent and I looks aroond fur that auld cunt thit wis greetin and noo shi is smilin and a embarrassed.
So oot wi goes wi the bottles o Moët and fa shid pou up bit Jeck in the great muckle SUV thit ee drives. Yi ken, this great cunt o a thing, and ee parks richt in the middle o the greenie, richt nixt tae the tables, yi ken. So I gaes up tae um, and Ab is no far ahent, and I am happy is fuck, slapping thum baith on the back and saying it’s guid tae see yi baith; and this, it a calms doon, and Jeck, fas a joker, he his a wee smirk on ees pus like, “This is an unusual scene, eh lads?” and me and Ab jist look at each ither and start tae laugh and wi a start tae laugh thegither. It wis really guid, yi ken. Syne Jeck’s een start dartin fower wuys atween me, the SUV, the greenie, and Ab, and I ken what that means. Wi dinnae even gie Ab a chance and bundle um intae the back o the SUV and me and Jeck are in the front and it’s wheelspins a the wuy, yi ken, like whin wi wir lads and doon it the fitba pitch. Pair Ab, he’s in the back I suppose wi mixed feelings aboot the hale thing bit me in Jeck is a hollerin and wi sees the great clods fae the greennie flee a aboot. And whin wi gits oot am slappin Jeck on the back and wir baith half deid wi laughin and I looks oor an they posh cunts are it it again wi the hankies tae the mooth. The fuckin posh wankers.
Noo, I am makin a great point o accuracy in this story, fur, is y’ll see, thir is events o some ambiguity forthcoming, and events have not turned out to my advantage, so it is best thit I convey whit is clear clearly. And here, I must say, the clarity disappears somewhat, and I do not believe it can be blamed on the drink, though I do not know, for to this point I had only consumed a third of a bottle of the aforementioned sparkling beverage.
Nixt thing I minds, I am up it they drinking benches and tables alow the big tree and am standin wi a group a lookin it wi, and een o mi legs is up on the bench and am slappin it and tellin stories thit the group am wi like bit the posh cunts o Mildred’s dinnae, and thir a pittin thir hankies tae thir mooth, and am wavin oor tae thum and sayin somethin.
Syne a I minds o is pouin up in the bus tae a braw posh hotel thit is a jist clear gless a through.
Syne am physically bargin my wuy through the posh cunts o Mildred’s whin thir a sat doon tae eat and some o the wifies are cryin oot and some o the mannies are comin it wi.
Syne things hiv died doon a bit and thirs no sae muny fowk aroond and am shoutin, “Hey this daft cunt is eating my fried breakfast!” and thirs a boy fell guilty lookin like stoppin mid-byte it a great plate o meat.
Syne am doon on mi knees in the dirt in mi suit ootside the front o the hotel bit thirs a wire fence afore wi and am trying tae git under it and a hears mi suitie rip and a looks ahent wi and thir is twa lads thit speak intae thir hands in black suits comin fae a great black Mercedes car. Bit I gits under the fence and up tae and intae the hotel but noo thirs nae weddin if a. Thir is a business conference I see in a wee gless roomie up the back and a couple fowk in white lab jeckets meets wi kindly in the foyer and taks wi gently bi the elbas intae a wee roomie thit’s a white licht. And it’s fell streenge like. The door tae this wee roomie is inside the hotel and richt aside the main entrance so thir cannae be onythin ahent it but in I go a the same.
Thin thirs a bit o clarity. I waks up in a baid. A hospital baid in a wee hospital-type roomie wi a the machines roond aboot and roond aboot wi is stood aboot ten or 15 braw-lookin fowk thit av niver seen afore. Yi ken; rich, braw looking fowk. The boys hiv on braw strippit suits and thir hair is gray and a braw side partit that wuy, and the wumin is a wi the business haircuts and camel hair jeckets and so on. Yi ken: braw fowk. And een o the auld wumin his the auld hankie tae ur pus, like it the wedding, bit av niver seen ur afore, an shis greetin. Syne I feels somethin it mi side and I looks tae mi left, like, and I nearly jumps oot o mi body. Thirs a fine-lookin young wumin wi blonde hair, aboot 25 mibbe, and dressed up braw the same, on the bed wi wi, cuddlin wi affectionately, and wi ur heid richt aside mine. And I looks it ur and up it these lads, and I dinnae ken fu, bit I jist kens richt there and then that these lads is mi family and this lassie lyin wi wi is mi dauchter and lyin wi wi tae mak us feel better and git in better health. Then mi cock starts risin. I cannae believe it. This lassie, yi see, av niver seen ur afore. I can feel ur tits and ur curves against wi and I feel mi cock risin up jist like the big hand on the clock rises wi the passin o time. Bit immediately I think, fuck sake, this lassie is mi dauchter, and shis lyin against wi and mi cock is risin. Am a fuckin incest paedo! I panics. I feel ivery single pore a oor wi pumpin oot the swite and a panics and shoves the lassie fae wi richt oor the side o the bed and shi lands on the hard flair. Of coorse, thir is a commotion. I shouts, “What the fuck is this? I am a tenured fucking physicist in a Russel Group university. What the fuck is going on?” and the auld wumin lits oot a howl alow ur hankie and cries, “He is Scottish!” and am no even shair hoo shi says that cus mi everyday accent in England is no a that Scottish and it wisnae richt then. Yi ken. Fowk cannae understand yi if yi speak wi yir tongue! Syne een o the braw lads, aboot mi ain age mibbe, he looks distressed and is pointin it mi laig thit his come oot o the bed covers: “Why, he is just emaciated,” ee says, and I looks doon it mi laig and thirs nothin emaciated aboot it if a. It’s jist the same laig av aye hid. And aside wi thirs a bit gless like; the lid o a fancy medical machine or some such, and I looks in it and it’s jist me the same is iver. Fatter even I wid say and wi a fair bittie stubble. Bit of coorse, this is oor muckle commotion fur abuddy and the crowd perts and a puckle lads in white jeckets strides forrit and in the needle gaes and the auld een spin aboot in the sockets a bittie I suppose, thin it’s lichts oot, mi boy, lichts oot.
Then wir back tae the dribs and drabs fur a while. I minds o the braw lads and wumin bein back, standin roond mi baid again, yi ken. And am aye lyin there, yi ken, jist in a blind panic, switein, yi ken, wi it; jist no kennin what the fuck is gaen on and what tae dae. So I minds I nod tae a puckle o thum standin there, trying tae be fell business-like, ken. I says tae een o thum, a boy, yi ken, I says, “And how is business?”; nae mair thin pluckin it straws, yi ken, and the boy looks fell guid; ee brightens up, yi ken, bit ee looks oor it een o the labcoats stanin up the back and the labcoat shakes ees heid, and I thinks, by fuck you dirty white coated cunt, bit I gits a few ideas there a the same. The game shapes up in mi heid fell fest noo like. Fell fest. Oh aye.
Nixt een I minds o am sat in a wheelchair wi a wee blanketie roond mi laigs and lookin oot on a fine country estate wi a big country hoose ahent wi! Syne noo am a bit mair relaxed, yi ken. Am no jist firefightin, if yi will; av a bit mair time tae think aboot things and work things oot. I minds o that film wi James Bond a puckle years back whaur the pair cunt gits a helluva rattle in the bas and his tae gae tae a place like this tae convalesce. Yi mind o that een? So I thinks I’m like James Bond sittin there convalescing and I even his a nurse; a nurse boy. So am thinkin a bit clearer noo and I thinks I may as weel hae a crack at it. Am hopin this nurse boy winnae be sae well briefit is the ithers. Yi ken. So I thinks o they posh lads roond the bed. They are posh cunts thit speak posh so I must tae. Noo, I dinnae ken hoo tae pit on the posh English accents. I have niver been guid it thum, bit am cursin misel fir no tryin harder. Yi ken, av been sat in that fuckin university office slavin awa it the partial differential equations whin I shid hae been a puckle doors doon in Lawson’s office learnin how tae dae the auld plum mooth. Am cursin misel there fir mi stupidity. So I think o a posh accent I can dae and the best een I thinks o is the posh Scottish lads. Yi ken, the type o boys thit hing aroond George Street and Charlotte Square and that in Edinburgh. Lobbyists in politicians and lawyers and such like. So I dis een o them accents. I says tae the nurse boy, “Oh I do love to be in the open air, you know, but how I miss the cut and thrust of the business environment.” This is building on mi success wi the braw lads stanin roond the baid. Yi ken, whin the posh boy stanin it the baid reacts weel tae wi mentioning the business, like. So I waits fir what seems like a helluva time fur the nurse boy tae speak, and ee says, “You seem a little more like yourself, Mr Blythe. You’re missing the banking are you? Well I’m sure you’ll be back to it in no time.” So am motorin noo. It’s clear tae me noo that am no really misel. Abuddy sees wi is anither boy and what I ken so far is that am a businessie type o boy, a banker it seems, and that am likely a rich posh cunt and thit mi surname is Blythe. That's no bad I think tae misel. I git a great flush of positivity and a mak tae spier the nurse boy again but ees awa and athin is blank bi the time ee comes back.
So thirs jist ae mair een, jist a wee een, afore things open up and a git a wee bit mair clarity. Bit it’s funny een. Very curious indeed. Am sat there again like auld Jimmy Bond lookin oot tae the country estate in mi wheelchair, whin I thinks, well, by fuck, all hae a stand up. Am no sittin here like some daft auld cunt half deid; all hae a stand, I thinks. So up I gits, nae bather, and I could hae run a mile jist is easy, but ahent wi I hears two o they whitejeckets, “Oh Mister Blythe you’ll kill yourself standing up like that,” and thir strecht oor wi the syringes intae the erm and I minds o gittin a fell curious view whaur am sat richt it the back o een o mi eyeballs and looking oot the hole it the front. Thin it’s lichts oot.
So, as I mentioned previously, ladies an gentlemen, now starts what could be characterised as a period of prolonged lucidity or clarity. And it boils doon tae the following: am in the nuthoose. The visits fae the braw lads dries up and the daytime reveries on the country estate tae and I find misel in a fell poky room bi nicht and a big plain type o room wi abuddy else in it bi day. And bi “abuddy else” a mean a the ither nutters. And a dinnae ken bit a think wir fell high up like in a buildin, like, kiz yi hae tae gae doon a lift tae git tae the wee gerden, and wir in a toon or city. It first, yi ken, I thinks, “By fuck, wid the treat James Bond like this?” bit syne I thinks o the Tories in thir pair relationship wi the public services and the public servants, like, and I thinks thit the jist micht treat auld Jimmy exactly the same. Yi ken, a couple weekies on the auld country estate wi the saucy nurse tae perk the boy up a bittie syne doon in the hospital minibus wi the auld covid PPE oor ees pus tae some shitehole like Bracknell or Slough fir “sustainable long-term care.” Bit enough o the satiricals. In a seriousness, it’s no sae bad, and I wis surprised bi the nature o the ither residents o the establishment. Yi imagine lads a rockin in thir seat and smearin thirsels wi shite bit it's no like that if a. Maist o thum jist sit fell quiet and fell melancholy like, nae doot contemplatin much is misel on the lang-term implications o a life in the bammy cain. Thirs jist a couple o fell daft like lads. Weel, twa or three. Baith o thum are fell young like. The first een is a young lass. Shis a great farter this een. Shi gaes up tae fowk and farts roond aboot thum, yi ken. Syne thirs a young boy. His specialisation is howkin it ees erse and cock end and haein a bit sniff it thum. Ae day thi hae this howkin boy makin the tea. Part o ees rehabilitation I suppose, yi ken. Onywuy, ee plunks the cup o tea doon and I his a bit look it it and I sees a wumin aboot mi ain age lookin across it wi and shi his a wee resigned smile on ur and is shakin ur heid. Shi his a cuppie in front o ur as weel, yi ken. So I thinks, all hae a wee chat wi this wumin, so I gae across tae ur and sits doon and shi disnae mind. Syne I says, “And what are you in for?” and shi pits ur forefinger tae ur temple and rotates it, like, and then dis the wee birdie whistles. Yi ken, the wuy yi indicate thit yir no richt in the heid, like. Weel, this maks wi laugh, like; a person capable of humorous self-deprecation. So I laughs and shi disnae mind so I ventures, “Excuse me, but may I ask your opinion of The Cockney?” (this is anither boy all cover in due coorse), syne shi tilts her heid back and gits the yochs up fae ur throat, yi ken that wuy, and turns ur heid and his a guid big yoch on the flair ahent ur. The twa big guards starts and maks fur ur and athin, yi ken, bit syne thinks the better o it and jist gits the cleaner tae clean it up. Bit this is the worst o thum. The daftest o thum, yi ken. Twa or mibbe three is far as I kin see.
Bit this Cockney, this boy, oh aye, he's the star o the show richt enough. He's the star o the show, thirs nae doot. I clocks the cunt the minute I comes in here. I sees um. Ees an Arthur Daley type o boy. Duckin and divin yi ken, and ee his the London accent, Cockney like, yi ken. Ee wears the cheap towellin tracksuits, gruy or black, gethert it the ankles, yi ken, wi the white sports socks (guy grey lookin) an leather shaen on ees feet and slicks ees hair back wi the laqueur yi ken. An unpromisin lookin boy really, truth be telt, bit ees wide, is the say, a wide cunt, an I thinks fell early on, like, thit a wide cunt is mibbe jist the type o boy I needs in here so I starts tae cultivate ees acquaintance. I gae up tae um and offers mi hand, yi ken, and ee taks it and says pleased tae meet yi, Professor, and his a great laugh tae umsel. Bit I pits up wi it, nae bather like. So I speaks aboot this and that and ee taks wi on no too bad like. I says tae um which fitba team dis ee support and ee says Tottenham Hotspur so I turns um roond tae look it ees heid fur the Kippah, yi ken, and ee thinks this great comedy, yi ken, and that's me mair or less in there wi um. In ees confidence, yi ken. So eence av got um saftened up I says tae um, fell saft so the guards and ither inmates dinnae hear; I says, “Now Alan. I’ve got a predicament as I'm sure you know. I freely admit I may be suffering severe mental health distress, but to my best knowledge I am a professional scientist of lowly Scottish origin working in the North of England. However, the world perceives me as an affluent Englishman banker operating from the heart of the City of London.” I gaes on, “Now, Alan, I make no judgement on the present accommodation and way of life and I would completely understand if you are quite content with it, but, try as I may, I cannot quell the drive to be free of this place. So,” and I come tae mi point here, “what I am asking it that you assist me in obtaining information as to my perceived identity,” and I tells um what I ken; thit am Mr Blythe and so on. Weel, this sets the auld cogs turnin in the boy’s heid and ee looks doon tae the flair fur a whilie syne ees heid comes up: “You’re a good man, Professor. I’ll help ya,” and ee shapes ees fingers in a gun and pokes wi playfully doon aboot the stomach wi thum. So I says all gie um a couple weeks on the snoop and all dae the same and w’ll meet back here, and ee likes this idea. It's a kind o a wee adventure tae um and mibbe gies um somethin tae dae, so ee shaks mi hand anither time and ca’s wi “Sergeant''.
Noo, thirs an aulder wumin sits aboot in the big room. No that auld like bit aulder thin me. Noo, the thing aboot her is thit shi niver moves. Av seen it happen. In the mornin shi comes in in the wheelchair sittin doon and the lifts ur sittin doon intae the easy chair, whaur shi bydes sittin doon fur the rest o the day. Shi hauds ur heid doon alow ur shuiders that wuy like the auld fowk wi osteoporosis dis bit thirs jist somethin aboot that wumin thit tells me shi disnae hae osteoporosis and this sittin still wi ur heid doon is a part o ur mania, if yi will. Bit I dinnae ken this fur shair and am no gaintae add ur tae mi list o dafties athoot better evidence. That widnae be fair; me bein a scientific kind o boy and that, yi ken. Onywuy, that is by the by tae some extent. No lang efter I cam in here I wis telt thit sh’ll communicate wi ur een so I aye his a look it ur een bit shi niver taks win on. Syne, no lang efter I starts takin up wi The Cockney, I happens tae hae a glance it ur and I am most surprised tae see ur een following wi aboot the room; and no jist that. Whin I comes near ur the een start dartin aboot this wuy and that. I even gae back tae the ither end o the room and waks back oor tae ur again and it's jist the same: first the een followin, thin the dartin aboot. Weel onywuy, I pu’s up a chair tae this wumin and shi launches intae it immediately. I paraphrase: “Sir,” shi says, “I do not know who you are but I can tell from your carriage and bearing that you are a distinguished person and I must advise you to limit your association with that devil in the tracksuits.” “Why, what is wrong with him?” I ask, and ur een start tae roll aboot and a grimace comes oor ur pus, the likes o which av no seen on ur afore. “Why, do you not know,” shi says, “what he was admitted here for, sir? Why, he…” syne shi pauses a bittie and a bit flush comes oor ur wizent pus. “Why, he was admitted here for indecent offences, sir. Offences against youngsters, sir. He is noted for exposing himself to children in playgrounds and play parks and goodness knows what else, sir.” Weel, I thanks the auld wumin and gies ur a wee pat on the shuider. I am genuinely grateful tae ur, yi ken. Syne I jist gaes awa tae mi baid and jist bydes there. Lyin there I thinks o hoo far av drappit in the world and the types o boys am associatin wi noo and the auld depression jist settles on wi like the clean, crisp sheeties thit fas on yir baid whin it's bein made up. And it’s fell likely I wid hae been in mi baid yit bit fur the letter that comes through.
I’d been dormant twa days and the big lads that stand aboot wir threatnin tae come in aboot tae git is up. Syne fa shid come in aboot bit a nurse wi a letter in ir hand:
Dear Mr Blythe:
A independent review of your progress within the _____ _____ _____ Facility has been organised for November 24, 2pm, at the _____ _____ of the _____ _____ _____ Hospital. You will be accompanied to and from the meeting by members of the _____ staff of _____ _____. During the review you will be interviewed by Drs Timothy Winstanton and Rosemary Chesshire of the _____ _____ _____ _____ .
The doctors look forward to seeing you then,
Sincerely,
Miss Chantelle Smith
[Secretary to Dr Winstanton]
The letter cam through jist alow a week afore I wis due tae meet The Cockney and while I will say thit I wis no strecht up and oot o the baid (depression disnae work that wuy), I picked misel up and made busy weel enough, like.
First wis the issue o this damned accent. Three weeks afore the review and I didnae hae a word o the Southern English plum mooth in wi. What wid a dae? A puckle o the nutters are posh lads bit if I got een o they lads tae teach wi the wid jist clype. Thiv nae self control, yi ken. Syne it cam tae wi: the BB fuckin C. Al git thum tae switch that TV in the big room tae the BBC News Channel and sit listening tae they posh moothit cunts thit reads the news. So that's what a did and there was resistance all right from the other inmates (many of them being daytime TV talk show fanatics) bit I quelled it wi a the faculties I hid it mi disposal. Bit gittin the channel cheenged wis jist een o mi problems. Yi see, tae learn the wuys o speakin yi hae tae speak it, yi cannae jist think it. So I finds misel sittin there alow the TV mumblin awa tae misel athin thit the newsreader says in front o wi. And how dis that look? Precisely. Three weeks to go and Mr Blythe is more deranged that ever and now speaks to himself while watching television. Thin I his a richt guid idea. A richt, guid een. I asks een o the nurses tae git wi the Financial Times ilka day. What all dae noo, I thinks, is tae sit there alow the telly wi a bit pen markin awa it the stocks and shares and whin I mumbles tae misel wi the verbal trainin, yi ken, all hae a bit point wi the pen it the paper and th’ll think wi commentin on the vagaries o the stocks. It’s genius shairly. Christ, I yased tae dae that whin am writin the auld physics equations. Errant genius, yi ken. Perfectly acceptable. And it works! I sees anither een o the nurses look it wi whin shi gaes past, thin shi looks doon it the flair smilin a that contentit wuy, like mi ain progress is makin ur job worthwhile. And the nutters! Thi a start tae ca’ wi “Mr Blythe” and no “The Professor”. Yi ken, am really startin tae mak progress noo and I starts tae huid mi shuiders up and pit mi hands ahent mi back whin a speak and I mixes a bittie o the new parlance in there in a, yi ken, and the effect is stunning. The nutters are cowed. And the staff, yi ken. Thir a smilin. The method works, the think. The psychiatry works. He's on the turn!
So alang comes mi meetin wi The Cockney. Noo, I have made absolutely nae mair progress on the issue o mi ain identity. The nurse it the country hoose wis the best o thum. I cannae git onythin oot o the ither staff. The jist smile that wuy whin I gae onywhaur near it. And nein o the nutters ken onythin. Bit I his mi hopes up fur The Cockney. The wuy ee is wi the duckin and divin and the staff ir shairly less investit in keepin the details fae him thin thi are fae me. The micht lit things slip if ees cliver, yi ken. So wi meets up and I says, “Well?” and here, ladies and gentlemen, is what the daft cunt dis. Ees viry serious. Ee taks a wee bit rippit paper fae ees greasy breeks, yi ken, syne ee reads oot what ees written on it: “Your name is Tarquin Smithers-Blythe. You work for the bank, Groves of London. You live in Ascot. You have a wife, and a daughter who is 26. You went to Charterhouse School.” Syne ee fauds the bit paper back up and pits it back in ees breeks. Weel, I cannae believe this. Two fuckin weeks o intensive investigative work fur that. I sees lichts in my een and I see misel stranglin the cunt. I feels mi hands constrictin roond ees filthy greasy paedo spine. I staggers a wee bit and his tae support misel wi the wa. Bit am thinking even then thit richt enough ees failed wi bit I micht still need the cunt, yi ken. Av still a way tae guy and av naebuddy else tae help wi. So I dis it. I speaks tae um calmly. I coughs tae clean mi throat. “Well Alan, you have clearly been busy. Well done. Let’s go to the kitchen and talk further.” So awa wi goes and ee tells wi o the various ingenious means ees yased tae extract ees gems fae the assorted staff o wir institution fir the insane.
So, I wid characterise the ootlook noo is poor bit no yit desperate. I think av aboot mastered the auld plum mooth bit I still ken very little o mi true identity. And I ken jist is shair is day follas nicht thit these twa lads in the review will jist rip wi tae pieces. Yi ken, these lads’ll ken am wantin oot and a micht pretend am the bankin boy and th’ll be trying tae mak shair am no jist pittin it on. Th’ll hae a full briefin wi mi wife's name, my dauchter’s name, the name o mi dug, the pub a drinks in; the hale lot, yi ken. I need mair information; muckle mair I thinks. Noo, I’d thocht o it afore, I will admit, bit I hid pit it oot o mi mind on account o its improbability. Yi see, thir is a wee office that a nursie sits in a nicht and a day and whiles whin the gae oot the sneck the door and whiles the dunnae, and in this wee office, yi ken, is a computer wi internet access and a printer. Yi ken. If I kid jist sneak alang the corridor and roond and intae the office ae nicht whin the nurse isnae in I kid hae a guid lookie fur wir man on the information superhighway and mibbe git a pucklie sheets printed oot tae swot up on, yi ken. Bit it’s no easy; oh no. In fact a mair perilous enterprise I could barely think o. Fir a start the corridor licht is kept on a nicht and the loonies’ bedroom doors in a. And ‘tis the nutters thit are the problem. Half o thum dinnae sleep, yi see, and hoo is a boy tae git past a shower o nutters lyin in thur baids fully awak wi the fluorescent licht beamin doon on wi. I do not think it can be daen bit jist the same I ken I hae tae try. So I his a pucklie dry runs. I wait till it's late ae nicht thin slips the shaen aff and up a goes, past ae bedroom, past twa, syne three thin I think that’ll be enough fur ae nicht, and back tae mi room. The nixt nicht I gits past five athoot incident, syne the nixt nicht I tries tae gae fur the eicht (thir is 15 rooms atween me and the office) bit whin I gits tae the eichth a great wail fae a wumin gaes oot and I hae tae run back and intae mi roomie afore the nurse kin see fas oot.
Noo things are desperate. I hae a week afore the review and I decidit thirs nae mair room fir practice. The nixt nicht I dis it. I gits tae room siven afore it a fas tae pieces. Thirs a boy in there aboot mi ain age mibbe and oot ee comes, silent is the grave, and a helluva lookin boy yi ken, gaunt aboot the pus, ill-shavit, skinny tae, yi ken. In ees pyjamas. And the wuy ee comes wi ees erms doon and slack and wallapin aboot. Yi ken, I hiv a weakness fur the survival horror games on the computer consoles. And whiles in them y’ll be wakin doon a narrow corridor and a grey-lookin ghostie type o boy’ll come wallapin on ahent yi tryin tae eat yir soul or some such. Weel, this is what it felt like tae me. Ee didnae even mak a soond this boy bit ees movin fest enough like and comin it wi, and ees atween me and mi door tae, so I jist taks tae mi heels and I shouts oot “Help” cus am that faird and I dinnae mind sayin it. A great stooshie gaes up fae a the rooms and ee catches me this boy and ee starts bytin mi erms. Oh aye, strecht tae the erms and starts bytin awa it thum. I starts greetin am that faird. I dinnae mind tellin yi. I starts greetin, and syne the nursie boy is oot and a couple o the big lads and that's the end o that. This boy still bytin awa it mi erms, yi ken.
So it’s back tae The Cockney. I his a think aboot it and decides I micht come it um fell aggressive like. I invites um intae the wee kitchen aff the big roomie and manages tae sneck the door a wee bit athoot the big lads seein. Syne I says tae um, I says, yi ken, pittin the auld Guffy accent on, I says, “Now Alan, my boy, I’m afraid we can't have any arguments on this issue. It has to be done; I have tried, and now it is your turn.” Syne I tells um am needin um tae hae a go it the auld office brak in I hid a go it, and I speaks aggressive tae um, yi ken; assertive like, and wi the guid Guffy accent tae. Ee says, “Mate, there is no fuckin way I’m having a go at that. I’m ten doors down. There is no chance you stupid fucking cunt,” ee says. I taks a step taewards um, keepin the stare on and the auld plum mooth up, yi ken. “What did you call me you little fucking oik?” Ee says, “I’m sorry Pr… Mr Blyth. I shouldn't have called you that but if they catch me there I’m fucked. They find me near a computer and my life is over.” Well that was that. I presses um hard fu it shid be sic a bad thing him bein caught near a computer and ees jist silent, lookin doon that wuy. The tears are coming tae ees een, yi ken, and thin ee jist says ee’ll dae it.
Three days later I his the printoots in mi hands. Daily Mail Lifestyle Supplement: Tarquin Smithers-Blythe - My beautiful Ascot home. Daily Telegraph Business Supplement: Tarquin Smithers-Blythe - While the young guns drop, he just keeps going and going. Ees wife's name, ees dauchter’s name, the car ee drives, the shaen ee wears, the cream ee wears tae saften ees pus efter a shave. I hides thum ahent a wee chest o drawers in mi roomie and sneaks thum oot it nicht. A nicht am up whiles, keepin thum pointed tae the wee crack o licht thit sheens in mi door. I kin near hear the grindin in mi heid is a read thum, like yi kin whiles hear the processors sparkin awa inside a computer if yi pit yir lug up tae it. Readin atween the lines. Stories built on stories. Twa, three, layers doon. Like a master chess player it practice. Deep parsimony. Probabilistic truth. Am energised. Like a wis is a young lad oor it MIT. Bi the bedroom lamp. The papers fleein fae wi. Schemes, proofs, optimisations.
Syne mi day comes. I gits thum tae buy wi a suit and a pair of guid leather shaen and a couple tough lookin lads meets wi similarly attired. Syne awa wi gaes in a fell posh lookin type o car, me in the back wi windies blacked oot baith wuys; calmin misel doon; pushin the analysis back; littin the social man oot. Up and intae a tower wi gaes, fuck kens whaur, and up in a liftie, in the plunk wi doon it a desk wi Timothy and Rosemary facin wi. Am no gaentae labour the ins and oots o the interview. Naebuddy wants the details o an interview or meeting. Maist fowk gits enough o that fucking shite in thir ain workin day athoot kennin ony mair. All only tell yi aboot three incidents thit I hope will gie yi an idea o the depth o preparations I hid undertaken. First een wis tae dae wi the dug; aboot a half oor intae the interview and me, tae that point, daein fell weel like it recallin the facts and figures. Auld Timothy says, “I suppose you are missing your little dog, Mr Blythe.” Weel, I nods mi heid morosely, “Yes, my poor dear little…” Weel, fuck me; I couldnae mind the name o the dug. I hid read it tae am shair bit I jist cannae mind it noo! So it’s strecht intae plan B. Nae panickin. No, No. Mi heid gaes doon and a force the tears oot o mi een. Av dane it a thoosint times sittin there wi the printoots in mi baid. Syne a looks up. Am sobbin noo. The heid gaen up and doon an a, yi ken. “Oh, my dear little collie dog,” (I mind it's a collie) I sobs. “My dear little tinkums. Oh my dear little tinkums, I can no longer remember your name.” Syne am richt layin on the waterworks. The heid is gaen up and doon; the tears are streamin oot: “Oh you doctors don't know what it is like to be through what I’ve been through. You don’t know what it does to you,” and so on and so on. I lays on the hysterics fur the best part o ten minutes oor the heid o forgittin this dug’s name, syne I asks fur a break and I gaes oot the room and jist braks doon greetin, fell loud, yi ken, the twa toughs stanin there and no giein a fuck. Syne back in I goes, calmed doon noo like, bit still helluva upset aboot the pus wi the reid een and that and I apologises profusely tae thum and asks thum tae please be accommodatin o wi. I have been through a lot. Timothy even comes roond and gies wi a hug roond the shuiders and tells wi am daen great.
Saicant een wis deep and relates tae an understandin yi hae tae hae o successful fowk. I am no a great man fur generalisations. Tae me thir is oor muckle o it and is far as I can sae maist systems (people, countries, cultures etc.) is whit yi kid cau complex attractors and no easily subject tae reduction tae commonalities; certainly no tae the extent thit maist daft cunts on the telly and in books wid hae yi believe. Bit ae thing I wid describe is a generalisation is an insight I hae aboot successful fowk. Yi see, whin ye see some daft famous cunt on the telly saying something thit abuddy is splitting thir sides aboot (economic growth is nae hindrance tae combating the climate crisis, fir example) what yi hae tae understand is thit maist o these lads really believe whit thi are sayin. My experience is thit it is a grave misunderstandin tae think thit a successful boy tellin yi somethin disnae genuinely believe what ees sayin, nae matter hoo daft ee soonds. Tae be successful yi hae tae believe what yir saying. Yi hae tae force yirsel tae believe what yir saying cus if yi dinnae believe it thir’ll come a day whin yi jist cannae git oot o bed tae say it. So whin Rosemary starts waxin lyrical aboot the NHS and hoo wir socialised healthcare system is the best in the world, I did jist what yi wid expect a mean, money-grabbin cunt like Smither-Bryce tae dae. I says, “Well that is all very well Dr Chessire, but do you know the role private finance, banks like Groves of London and many others, have had in bankrolling the NHS through PFIs and other mechanisms?” And on I goes. Weel, Rosemary is crestfallen and I sees ur looking it wi like am a richt nasty cunt and I jist thinks tae misel, job dane, mi boy, job dane.
Last een is deeper still. Yi see, I notices the love letters tae auld Tarquin in the Sunday supplements starts dryin up a puckle years back and The Cockney (tae ees credit) his included a tiny wee snippet fae a paper fae a year back indicatin thit wir man his been up fir twa coonts o sexual harassment in the workplace. Weel, weel, weel. So what I dis whin I gaes intae that interview, richt it the start whin I sees Tim and Rosemary fur the first time, is tae cast a glance it Rosemary’s legs and tits and mak shair shi sees wi daen it. Weel, am sittin there in that interview jist crossin mi fingers that auld Tim’ll need a shite or some such and efter aboot three quarters o an oor ee excuses umsel and am left there wi Rosemary. So casually I says tae ur, lookin ur in the een, kind o like am haen tae force it back, sic is mi nature; I says tae ur, “Doctor Chesshire, you are very beautiful.” That’s it, nothin else, bit a look comes oor ur puss like shis smelling Timothy’s shite doon the corridor, and, again, ladies and gentleman, I know I have hit the mark.
So that's wi daen. Thi shuffles thir papers and thi his een o they wee smiles tae each ither. Professional fowk dae this y’ll notice in meetins and sic like; the like tae subtly pass information atween each ither wi wee glances and gestures. Fu the cannae jist say “That’s a good point” tae a boy whin ee says somethin guid or “Yir talkin shite” whin ee says somethin daft, like a ither cunt wid dae, all niver ken, but that is what they dae onywuy; wee gestures. So the tell wi whin all hear fae thum and oot o thir seat the go. And thir near oot the door whin auld Timothy pauses wi ees back tae wi and turns roond. Ee smiles: “I say, you were at Charterhouse weren't you? So was I. What house were you in?” Charterhoose. The auld schale fuckin tie. I've just forgotten a aboot it and The Cockney telt wi aboot it tae. I must hae subconsciously ignored it cus it wis the greasy pedo telt wi. Fuck me. I mumbles some shite but the kens am beat afore I even say it. Am skitin oor the table and grabbin ees hand. Kissin it, up the erm: “Oh please let me out of this fucking nuthouse. Please let me out.” The auld plum mooth his gaen. “I miss my wife, I miss my kids, I miss my fishing, I miss my snooker, I miss my football. Please let me out, oh please let me out.” Syne I hears the door open ahent wi and feels the prick in the erm and it’s lichts oot, mi boy, lichts oot.