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Chapter 2
While Mrs. Egduf was out and about, I was up in me old abode looking the old place over. It wasn't too bad, the wallpaper was peeling and had yellowed over time, but I wasn't one for decoration anyway. The floor was all scuffed and dulled, but that too didn't bother. There was absolutely nothing in the old place or so I thought.
As I walked over towards the large window that when not filthy grimy would show a chimneyed view of the skyline, and if one looked down, a busy Fleet Street, I was suddenly whacked in the face breaking me nose, blood shooting out of it -- by a loose board that when I stepped on it, flew upwards at me person. So bad was the force of the board, that it had thrown me over backwards onto me bum. I don't know what hurt worse, me bum or me gushing nose.
I sat there cursing me fool head off trying to stop the flow of blood from me quickly turning black and blue proboscis when I happened to notice the upturned board revealed a box. MY BOX of old trinkets. Okay, not trinkets exactly, but a lovely set of chocolatiers metal spatulas. Their lovely ends sharp as knives. I was happy. THESE beauties I had engaged in thievery to obtain. Yes, I did. After another traumatic experience that led up from many Easters of ear-less bunnies, I had vowed to get back at me stepfather, I did. I had walked by the local catalogue store called Monkey Wards and saw these sharp-edged beauties in the display case. I was going to cut off the ears of me stepfather as recompense for all those chocolate rabbits he mutilated. I thought it would be fun and just, to slowly saw away with sharp chocolatier spatulas. OH YES! But alas, I was found out when the beetle came to the door and informed me old mum about me sticky fingers.
She made good the cheap price of the spatulas and told me to hand them over, she was taking them. Fearing she would be good to her word, I ran back to our old abode that I knew was not lived in and hid the box of shiny culinary tools under the floorboards. I went home and told her I lost them in a bid to go back to Monkey Wards but I was mugged by an old lady with a wheelbarrow (you have to understand, I was young and STUPID), and returned them for her money back. She was suspicious I had not only taken up burglary but lying as well. But then suddenly she landed on her deathbed.
I should have seen it coming, when stressed me mum would gorge on tasteless English chocolates. I had come home from school to wade through what looked like a trash heap of candy wrappers. There were Smarties, Cadbury Crunchie Bars, Aaro Milk Bars, Flake, Glacier Mints, Turkish Delight, Frys Chocie Cream Bars, Lion Bars, Ritter Coconut Bars, Maltesers, Kit Kat Chunky Bar Big Breaks, Rountree's Fruit Pastilles, Lee's Fudge, Sherbert Fountains, Walnut Whips, Mars Revels, even Maynard Wine Gums (big yuck), Quality Street Chocies, Paynes Poppet Mint Cream Cartons, Neilsons Jersey Milk Bars, Milky Bars, Toblerone Dark Chocie and Tunnocks Marshmallow Snowballs, and I think even an empty Hob Nob box! (Did I mention me mum weighed 25 stone -- 350 lbs?) I waded through the wrappers and cartons all the way up the stairs.
The Dickens-ish undertaker was at the top waiting for me, his face like an aged turtle, his neck all crinkled like it had been in its shell too long. His tall frame hovered as I slowly made me way through the wrappers, his veiny hands were clasped over a tin box of Altoids. He looked disapprovingly at me and I looked away afraid he'd frisk me for breath mints. But then I saw me mum laid out on her bed, wrappers everywhere, I ran in and couldn't keep me big mouth shut and confessed to me dying mum me plan.
Unfortunately for me, SHE found the strength to live a few more hours to fulfil her promise of "Wait until your father gets home young man," and spilt the beans. As soon as she told him me plan she succumbed to an overdose of chocolate (on the death certificate it read: Death by chocolate) that left me an orphan. OH the injustice of THAT. He then saw no reason for me to be around. I was after all twenty years old, still in comprehensive school and learning nothing but comprehensive. I acted like I was eleven years old (the first year of me mum's marriage to "Chocolate George" as I referred to him, the first year I was traumatised by ear-less bunnies) thanks also in part to me mum who would tell both of us, she didn't want me to grow up and be thrown into that cruel chocolate-less world that was London. You see, London is not known for its chocolates (or its food). Belgium is. Her dream was for us to move there but unfortunately, there is a sign on the Belgium border that says: NO CHILDREN ALLOWED. We were forced to stay in England and eat the bland chocolate that had hardly any sugar in it. YUCK. But I remained eleven years old for nine more years because each time I would snap out of the childish state I found meself in another as Easter would roll around and once more I would be traumatised again!
She always said English chocolates would be the death of her AND THEY WERE! But for me, even at the age of twenty, I was a ne'er-do-well in the eyes of me stepfather. He never liked me and I swear he always seemed overjoyed to see me face when I'd discover the ear-less bunnies each Easter. I found meself thrown on a ship, the Titanic I think it was called, anyway the bloody thing sank on an iceberg and I found meself swimming in a freezing cold ocean UNTIL the young blond weasely looking lad happened to see me with his eagle eyes, and I was pulled onto a freighter headed -- of all places -- back to London.
It took a good ten years to get there, but by God, I was back! Now I sat with me legs sprawled on either side of me trinket box, blood flowing down me shirt front looking fascinatedly at me very sharp chocolatier's utensils.
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