Thursday 30 July 2009

COL

COL

 

 

Col folded up The Sun and threw it back down on the small table that was cluttered with supplements and magazines that held no interest for him. He let out a long sigh through his nose and squinted as he stared out of the Barber’s window. It was sunny yesterday as well but it was still pissing down by the end of the day. He tried to blank out the sounds that came from the radio as he had no time either for the stupid pop tunes or the dickhead of a DJ who seemed to talk in loud screeching riddles

The old bloke by the door was next in line for his hair cut. He was in there before Col. You had get to up pretty early to beat these old chappies to the door on discount for pensioners day. Col had thought to himself that the fella favoured ex Good morning Britain presenter Frank Bough.

The sides of the chair dug into Col’s considerable bulk and it occurred to him that he may have put on even more weight since his last visit. There was a large sweat mark on the front of his T-shirt. Col couldn’t walk five minutes these days without breaking out in to a fair old sweat. He sighed again and Frank Bough shot him a glance and raised an eyebrow. That was something Col had never been able to master- the raised eyebrow

Jill and Helen were cutting hair. Jill’s customer talked constantly of the charity walk he was embarking on in the summer and Jill, as always, did a convincing impression of someone who gave an arse. Helen’s customer remained silent and wore a sickened expression as he glared at himself, repulsed by his reflection in the mirror. Both were senior gents who had probably been here at 8 45 waiting for Jill to open up.

Col was hoping Jill would finish first. If Jill finished first then she would have to take on Frank Bough and that would mean Col got Helen. Helen hadn’t acknowledged him as he walked in but as he wasn’t one to suffer  fom paranoia he ceased to dwell on the fact after about 20 seconds.

As Col was essentially a skinhead it did beg the question why he would ever have to enter a barbers at all. Most men in the same situation bought in clippers and did it themselves. But Col would claim he just never got round to buying clippers and let his grow out into a quasi afro just so he had a good excuse to come here, Bobley’s Barbers, and stand a fifty fifty chance of getting a chat with Helen.

He didn’t often see her in the Rope and Anchor these days. When she got married she restricted her pub visits to the weekend and when the nippers came along she was very much housebound. Apart from the odd chance meeting in the street this was the only time Col ever got to see her.

He couldn’t help the odd glance at Helen. It made him uncomfortable to see her work her way around the greasy head of the old codger in the chair. Col thought to himself that the codger wore an expression of a bulldog licking piss off a nettle. This was one of his favourite sayings and he smiled whenever it appeared in his head, even if he was in a public place. Frank’s caught you smiling Colin. He might think you’re a Rem. Quick pretend you’re laughing at the idiot DJ. Ha Ha.How could that codger look so fierce when he was in the company of an angel? He then started to think about whether the old predator might have got a hard on. You shouldn’t think like that Colin!

Of course Helen knew full well that Col had had a lifelong crush. She was flattered but Col was never ever going to be able to compete with her Bouncer husband. She would flirt with him and ask him about his benders with Adi Powell and the lads. She would always ask about his mate Adi. In fact, thinking about it, all their conversations centered around the capers and frolics of the loose canon that was Adi Powell.

Col glanced down at the table and stared at the front cover of  Men’s Health. The bloke on the front clearly didn’t share Col’s love of Pie on Barms and Carling Black label. He did not pick the magazine up to read further as he had already come to the conclusion that there could not possibly be anything of any relevance or interest to him in there.

He picked up The Sun again. He hadn’t really read the words last time and probably wouldn’t now. He opened it around the middle. There was a picture of this singer coming out of a night club off his head. Pete Doherty. Col couldn’t stand the sight of the man. Neither could Adi Powell his mate. Col didn’t know this blokes music and didn’t fucking want to. Why is this clown always in the papers? Col likes Dire Straits and some Simple Minds. Don’t you forget about me Helen. Ha Ha

Then , Helen’s voice. Helen’s angelic voice. ‘4 pound love please’. Then the demonic voice of the old predator. ‘There you are, keep the change’. Helen’s seraphic voice ‘thanks love…………………..who’s next?’. Frank Bough stood up and hung his old manky anorak on one of the hooks. ‘it’s me now love’ said Frank.  “Fucking typical”’  Col thought to himself. 

1 comment:

lonlonranch said...

Hi Lee,

I'm enjoying your stories - if enjoy is the right word they are pretty grim!

I like this one the best 'Col'. i like the way that very little happens as Col is literally as stuck into his chair as he is his life. Its an amusingly pathetic image that works really well.

And its funny. its Lee humour (like the Pie on barm cake bit) and i can hear it being said in you voice, if that makes sense.

Its cheered up my dull, dull day at work. You've got a good grasp of character as well in all three, especially Alan in Sick like the Parrot. I can really get a good picture of him in my head.

Keep it up mate, you've got stories in you. Hope your enjoying your writing. Dave