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| Right here is where you start paying...pt the final | |
| By NeilTollfree | ||||||||||||
| 12 March 2007 | ||||||||||||
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Still with it? Good stuff, well it's the home stretch now...the big reveal ! For those who've taken time to say things, I think I'm going to hack this to bits. I'd like to put it away and forget about it, but I love this character who comes in at the end. Going to cut out loads of the stuff with Sally though...just doesn't work. ‘Exclusive! HotGossip.com presents an exclusive interview with Simon Peters about his fantastic rise to fame’ Sally glowed a peculiar shade of smugness. Calvin was staring at the monitor, stunned. “Sally, this is very impressive, you actually interviewed him. How on earth did you manage to do that?” Sally’s smugness faltered a little. “No, Cal, you’re missing the point. I haven’t interviewed him yet.” Cal looked at her. “Isn’t it a bit misleading then?” “Cal, for heaven’s sake. I’m not going to post this without the interview. I’m just showing you what it will look like. This is what will make HotGossip.com. It’s your idea made real.” Cal drifted away to the sofa, slumped in his usual space and picked up one of his battered Tintin books” “Cal!” He dropped the book “Yes, Sal?” “You haven’t commented on the big idea?” “Well, there’s nothing really to comment on is there. I’m not sure what I can feel about a non-existent interview with someone I have no interest in.” He opened his Tin-tin book in a sulky fashion but still kept an eye on Sally. Sally softened. “Oh Cal, be happy for me. This is a good idea and I’m really excited about it.” He smiled at her, he didn’t always understand her, but he really wanted her to be happy. “Well, okay. But I don’t really understand. I mean, how are you going to speak to him and interview him and everything?” Sally silently contemplated the monitor, she’d been wracking her brains about this all morning and hadn’t a clue. Cal went back to Tintin and the Thompson twins. “Aha!” Cal looked up at her. “I’ll go to where he lives and hang around outside until a car goes past. As the car goes past I’ll make a heavy clumping noise and scream. He’ll come out and find me lying on the path as if a car had just done a hit and run on me.” Sally threw a ‘Ta-da!’ pose and looked expectantly at Cal. Cal looked at her and failed to smile. “’A heavy clumping noise’?” The ‘Ta-da!’ pose fell away. “Oh shut up” They sat in silence for a while. Eventually Sally got up “Sod it, I’ll just stalk him stealthily. I can be stealthy.” Cal said nothing pointedly. “Look, will you for the sake of all that is good and holy in this world get the living breathing Jesus H Christ away from me!” Right, Sally came to the abrupt realisation that there was no way in hell she could be stealthy. She’d attempted stealthiness for about forty minutes and she’d not only been busted at least twice, but she’d driven the object of her stealthiness to apoplexy in the underwear section of BHS. Play it cool Sal. “Um, are you talking to me sir?” “Yes, I’m talking to you. What the hell is your problem? Can’t I buy some pants without being harassed by a fat lump wearing her Mum’s curtains”?” Sally’s eyes narrowed in time with her mouth. She put her fists on her hips and leaned into him “I’m wearing a summer dress because it’s summer, I like summer and I like to look cheery in summer. I think it’s a hell of a lot more suitable that your black drainpipes don’t you?” Simon was about to retort but the look in her eyes closed his mouth for him. “And I think we’re both grown up enough to rise above that other snide little remark don’t you?” She raised her eyebrows to indicate that this question wasn’t as rhetorical as the previous. “Alright, I’m sorry about the lump remark. That was well out of order, you are not a lump. But, listen, what right do you have to follow me into the pants section and have a pop at my jeans.” “Who says I was following you?” “Well, in the last hour I’ve seen you in Boots looking at shaving foam and the men’s pants section in here but the kicker was when you followed me into the Gents toilets in Marks and Sparks and claimed you were looking for a pound coin .” Sally flushed and bit her lip; she hadn’t noticed the little man sign on the door. “Oh look, you’re famous-“ “Yes, so, I’m famous. So, what? That gives everyone the right to comment on my choice of pants then does it?” “Simon, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I’m trying to get this celebrity website off the ground and-“ “Well, I don’t know what you can get from me. I’m on the cover of a gossip rag pretty much once a week at the moment. Take your photo if you like ‘Peters and his pants’ should pretty much cover it.” He posed dramatically holding his new pants to one side. “I don’t have a camera” A fat guy was holding a vest and staring at them, mouth akimbo. Simon put down the pants and walked to the exit. Sally followed. “So what are you following me for then? Still.” “I want an answer to the question.” Simon stopped, this was different, he’d never had a reporter want to talk to him before. All he ever got was photographed and his life reduced to a caption. He was interested. “What question?” “Well, I don’t mean to be rude… but why are you famous?” Unbelievable. Obviously he’d known the question was coming, but expected it from one of the red-tops. A soulless, sweaty digger paid to find out the worst in people. Instead it was from a girl dressed like the youth branch of the W.I. He smiled at her. “What’s your name?” “Sally, pleased to meet you Simon.” He smiled at her. “Well Sally, there’s a Starbucks over there, what say I buy you a mochalochawaddywaddy or whatever and we’ll have a chat. Thing is though, I don’t think you’re scoop’s going to last all that long.” She creased her forehead. “Whatever, look I called you a fat lump and you deserve some level of recompense for that.” Sally paused, smiled and without saying a word turned and walked towards the coffee shop. Simon followed. He bought them both coffees and they sat at a table outside so he could smoke. He looked at her” “You ready then?” Sally dumped the contents of her bag ion the table, a lip salve rolled over the edge. She flicked open her pad and looked at him expectantly. He smiled at her and said in all seriousness “Never mock a Genie’s trousers.” “What?” “Trust me, it’s your banner headline. Never. Mock. A. Genie’s. Trousers. Look, about three months ago I’m poking around charity shops in town, flicking through old Giles annuals and Wet Wet Wet cassingles and I spy me a little bronze pot. Or bronze coloured pot, I don’t know. Anyway I liked it and could buy both the pot and a remix of ‘Sweet little Mystery’ for a pound. Got weird when I took it home” Simon dumped the pot on top of the telly; it was right next to the door in his little studio flat and therefore was a general dumping ground. He stuck the Wet Wet Wet tape in his stereo and started to smile as the slap bass kicked in. He slumped on his battered sofa in a cosy little fog of nostalgia. As the electronic drum solo kicked in he scooped up a pile of coppers and dumped them in the pot. “Oi !” Simon froze. What the hell? He tried to figure out a way to rationalise but he couldn’t. He heard a voice. Said voice was coming out of the pot and it was saying ‘Oi’. Holding the pot at arms length, he looked in. A flat face looked out at him “Jesus wept!” Simon half dropped/half threw the pot away from him, scurried up onto the bed and pressed close against the wall in an effort to get as far away from the strange little face as he possible could. He could feel his heart going like a moped and spikes of sweat broke down his back. The pot had landed on its base and to Simon’s abject horror; he saw two bare arms reach out of the top. They clasped the sides of the opening and pushed. A head slowly appeared. The head was completely bald with a very flat nose but other than being a couple of inches high he looked decidedly human. As the little man pushed himself up a strange thing happened. He expanded. As his waist appeared it was touching the sides of the pot. He was now about twice the height of the pot. By the time he’d lifted one leg out and placed it on the carpet next to the pot, the pot only came up to just below his knees. He looked down at himself and satisfied that everything was proportioned correctly he turned his attention to Simon. “You silly prannet, what do you mean dumping all that malarkey on my head. I am going to have a right lump tomorrow.” Simon stared at the little man with a slack jaw and a fairly nasty dribble of saliva hanging from the bottom of his mouth. The little man had a bare chest and pointy shoes. In between these was a pair of trousers so voluminous there could have been a littler little man down each leg and you wouldn’t have noticed. A breeze caught them and they flapped out to reveal a tartan pattern round the kneecaps. They were pretty out there. The little man looked at Simon and tutted and muttered to himself as he walked over to the bed “Bloody kids, no capacity these days” He stood at the bottom of the bed and looked up at Simon. “Hey! Sunshine! Get a grip now, this is good news.” Simon looked blankly down at him. His mouth started working but nothing other than a little whine was produced. “Oh bloody hell, you are out of it aren’t you son. Wait there a second.” He looked around. “That your kitchen?” he got no response from Simon. “Hang fire son, it’ll be alright.” As the little man trotted off out of the room Simon managed to get a hold on things again. The very fact of the impossible little man being out of sight seemed to help. The little man came back and threw half a Kitkat at Simon. “Get that down you. You’re in shock, the sugar will kick in and you’ll feel right as a pin. You know I’ve missed these, glad you had some in.” He’d made short work of the other half of the Kitkat. Simon looked down at the Kitkat and slowly reached for it, his mind was on a bit of a precipice, if he ate the Kitkat then he’d admit to himself that all this was real in which case he was mad. If he didn’t then he was hallucinating in a big way and therefore very probably mad anyway. Somewhere in the background the second song on the cassingle was drawing to a close. Sod it, he was hungry. He reached for the Kitkat. “Good lad, that’ll sort you out and then we can have a chinwag.” The little man was wandering around checking out Simon’s place “Not sure about the colour mate, you want to go for something brighter. Yellow’ll make the place feel loads bigger. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about” “Who are you?” Simon managed between bites. “Me son? I’m a genie, me” “A genie?!” “Ho yes, would have given you a bunch of smoke and lights but frankly, my head is still smarting and those lights would have set off a blinding headache. And to be frank, I’m not sure you could have handled it.” “A genie?” Simon was a bit more on track now. “Yes son, don’t you sound so sceptical. You maybe living under the tyranny of New Labour and reality telly, but there’s still some magic left in this world.” He was flicking through Simon’s extensive CD collection. “Got any Pearl Jam?” Simon gestured to the back of the collection “Right there”, the Genie found their latest CD. “Oh nice one, mind if I burn a copy of this?” He started to busy himself on Simon’s laptop. “A genie?” “Change the record mate, I’m a genie, you picked up the gourd.” He gesticulated vaguely at the bronze pot, “Such as it is. QED three wishes to you.” “Three wishes?” “Yup, haven’t you seen the movies? I liked that one with the bloke from Mork and Mindy. Very funny, but too flash for me with all that spinning around and changing into Jack Nicholson. Cousin of mine went in for all that. I prefer to keep the razzmatazz to a minimum and get the job done. So, three wishes oh master, let’s get this road on the show. Oh, but listen, one condition; you tell anyone anything about me and the magic disappears along with whatever you wished for” Simon was looking at him, he couldn’t help but smile. “Why are you wearing tartan trousers?” The Genie looked at him and narrowed his eyes. “Now steady on, I won’t have anything said against these trousers, this tartan is from Rabbie Burns clan. Got a lot of history has this” Simon started to giggle, “But they’re huge. You look like a Scottish MC Hammer.” “I said leave it, you cheeky little sod. We’ve only just met here, and I’m a mystical being of phenomenal power. So lay off the keks and show a little respect” “What happened to the ‘oh Master’ talk then?” said Simon slyly. “Listen son, you’ve just had a shed load of good fortune descend on your grotty flat. Take advantage of it and let me get out of here. You are trying my patience.” Simon sat in silence for a while staring at Genie. The Genie tapped his foot “Come on, come on. What is it? You can’t think of three wishes? Everyone’s got three wishes. Standard pub conversation isn’t it?” “Oh, I’ve got my three wishes, don’t you worry about that. It’s just my old man, you know ? He’s my Dad and he brought me up and everything. I’d like to do something for him. I just wish I knew what.” The Genie looked at him strangely “Oh ! Ooo ! I know, I’ve got it. I know exactly what I can do for my Dad.” The Genie continued to stare at him with that strange look on his face. “Go on then son, let’s be having you” “Right I wish for West Ham to win the Premiership for my Dad and for Me, well, I’d like Fame and –“ “Right you are son, consider it done” “Eh?” “Three wishes done and dusted. Keep your eye out for Dawkins, he’s a lad from Barking, going to be the Hammers secret weapon this season.” “But, my third wish? Fortune? You got that didn’t you?” “That wasn’t your third wish mate” “It was, you cut me off before I had time to say it.” “Oh no. Oh no no no my lad. Three wishes right?” Simon nodded. The genie counted the three wishes off on the fingers of his left hand. “You wished you could know what to get for your dad, for West Ham to win the championship and Fame for yourself. I’m like Magnus Magnusson me, got to take your first answer.” Simon’s jaw dropped. The Genie grabbed the freshly copied CD from Simon’s laptop. Thanks for the album, hope it’s as good as ‘Ten’. That was a belter.” Sally looked at him agog. “Pearl Jam?” Simon smiled “He’s a being of enormous power and magic, who are you to judge his music taste.” He finished his coffee “Well anyway, that’s it. He climbed back inside my new pot and the whole thing vanished. And speaking of MC Hammer. ‘Stop ! Hammertime’ I am getting out of here. Thank you for putting up with the more scabrous bits of my nature. I genuinely hope this is of use to you; you seem like a nice girl. But I’ve a feeling you may well be out of luck.” Simon grabbed his coat and left. Sally sat there. A waitress came up to her and started clearing the table. “Who was that then? He seemed familiar.” “Who’s was what?” “That guy who was sitting here” “Oh right.” She stared for a while at the ashtray. The waitress drifted off without an answer. A radio announced West Ham's first loss of the season.
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