It’s Time… Pt14
Written by Prim on 24/06/2022
But it’s gonna be… Unshackled
Tether Me Nae
‘Don’t shoot till you see the rectangle of their eyes’ said Jonesy reminiscing about the fuzzy-wuzzies at the revolutionary War in It Ain’t alf Hot Mum back in 19 O’ Chocolate.
An Irish Nun used to say that to me at school way back in 1974, ‘Always playing the giddy goat ain’t yer now’. ‘I try’ I reply, ‘but I’m better at the spoons.’
Ye cannae tether a goat. You can help a trainee Sangoma (Witch Doctor) hold the bugger down, slit its throat, chop it up and eat it… all of it. Or so says the creed of morality. I’m a goat, well I would be if I were Chinese. Daphne was as agile as a Tahr goat in Durban’s Bread. And hey, didn’t they tether a goat for the dragon’s tea, so George could be lured to lance it. But I digress.
Freedom is a journey, which has gone up 10p in the pound these days. Cherry et moi said goodbye to Blighty’s south. Not before I took a walk in the park amongst the goats and sheep and graves of yesteryear that entombed Commonwealth heroes and Dracula alike, then I had to give the walk back.
Cherry didn’t embark on this excursion. Her faux sheep dog appearance didn’t fool the sheep, nor the goats or the Nun, so she kicked back at home smoking the last of my Duty Free Camel Blue. I regaled to her how I imagined myself up on that hillock amongst the dead, that I was somewhere in the Drakensberg fending Zulu assegai’s. ‘Crikey, the close quarter carnage Cherry, can you imagine.’ Cherry gruffed and flicked her ash. On the way back I noticed the horses I passed on the way up hadn’t moved. Horses do a lot of standing and not much else. The countryside teaches you stuff. Cherry peered from her notes and lent a paw on her top lip, ‘How long have you been mental?’
Now wash your hands… but how?
We dust off our Southern flip-flops and head to more countryside up North. Do they have wooden horses up there too? We have a new house. It’s time to temporarily tether. I have a temporary deck chair, a temporary blow up bed which temporarily stays up, and am tethering my PC’s tinterweb temporarily through my phone as we speak. The pub is 3quid a pint, I faint. I’m brought around by a Welsh barmaid dapping wet beery hands on my face, ‘Don’t waste it.’ I startle. We have found gold.’
I join the quiz as Prim & Proper. Folk think my accent is Aussie, I tell them I picked it up for less than three quid to the pound in Vietnam… the piano stopped. I’m now Aussie Prim.
I was in McDonald’s, no time to explain. Scores of folk punching data on oversized neon screens I thought were bus stops. Microphoned staff snake through the hordes with trays of orders. Numbers bounce over the din, ‘No.57?’ Tickets and goody bags swap hands over heads like a stock market traders bid… sell sell, buy buy. The counter is confusing, is it a counter, where are the tills, are there any staff to take my order? How do I work this? How does this work! A loose buzz permeates my head, is this a panic attack, I don’t know, I’ve never had one, only a massive attack. In blind confusion I turn to a customer asking where I can find McDonald’s. He steps aside. I’m hunched in the corner, eyes darting, I slump to the floor, a microphoned leg walks past, I grab it pleading, ‘Is there someone I can talk to…’.
I went to the toilet and a on the wall were pictured directions of how to wash your hands. I look for the audio button. I go back to my seat and search for directions how to eat my burger. A taste revelation. Who knew they did edible wrapping. I go home to let the world fall out my arse.
Cherry, revitalized by her air-cooled endless walks, refuses to walk on the metal mesh on wooden decked walk ways through muddy woods, and disappears down banks in jungle grass, with one ear up as a telescopic sight. ‘I often wonder how I keep from going under…’ she sings emerging from the swamp.
We bought a bottle of milk in a real glass bottle with a good ol’ fashioned tin-top you dent, careful not to put your thumb in. So much to teach the kids when they arrive.
Cherry licks her bum, while I fall through my deck chair’s rotten seating and am stuck with my knees under my chin.
Till next time folks…
Pip pip, ding-dong and ticketyboo
Keep the world turning, keep it wheel
More It’s Time…
It’s Time – But It’s Gonna Be… is brought to us by Durban’s Bread
Also with our good chums Chow Pet Foods