writing and stuff

shitty day

His week started with a break in. He woke hearing a noise downstairs, breaking glass. Not one of those moments when you think, it’s probably nothing, just my half-asleep imagination, no it was someone smashing a window downstairs. He got slowly out of bed and crept down the stairs to find two huge men with balaclavas in the kitchen, holding baseball bats. One walked towards him, he said ‘what the fu…’ and then he was hit on the head. When he woke up most of the house had been smashed to pieces and tipped onto the floor, he had no idea why. Must be someone else they were looking for or maybe I’ve pissed someone off and I didn’t know it or maybe that bloke who I shouted ‘ wanker’ at out of the car window yesterday as he cut me up, noted down my registration number, traced my address and sent someone round here to teach me a lesson.

He didn’t know. He knew he wouldn’t want to stay there that night though so he got dressed, packed an overnight bag and went to work, phoning his friend James on the way and arranging to go there after work. On the way to work the tube train stopped in a tunnel and stayed there for almost two hours. After about 20 minutes a few people started to get anxious and paranoia infected the carriage he was in. I have to get out of here, screamed a woman with fluffy hair and a huge head. A man next to her eventually grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to calm down at which point she punched him in the face causing his nose to gush onto a bloke next to him who stood up and pushed the large headed woman over. He decided to keep quiet even though he was really pissed off that people couldn’t just wait and not make a fuss. Their making a fuss was making it much worse for him. The announcements of the driver weren’t much help either. Please don’t worry nothings going to happen, he informed them every now and then but the tone of his voice sounded as if he was sitting on a stack of dynamite with a gun at his head as he spoke and each time the click of the speaker announced hi s next words of discomfort, the tension in the carriage rose. The woman next to him grabbed his hand the third time and he didn’t take it away immediately, finding a certain reassurance, despite the pain from her long nails digging into the palms of his hand.

Eventually, someone decided to prise the doors open and although he and several others screamed at him not to he managed to do it quite quickly and was out of the train and walking up the line in a few minutes. Then they heard the train coming from the other direction. A few screamed when they heard the screech of brakes and a definite thudding noise. The teenager, who so far had remained silent, surly and entrenched between his tinny headphones, felt the need to look out and comment about the blood and the fact that you could see his head all mashed up. When they got to the next station they were interviewed by the transport police and then allowed to go, he arrived at work, 3 and a half hours late. His manager who was an arsehole at the best of times, walked over to him and simply told him to go home and never come back. He went out of the door and straight to the pub. There he phoned James and told him what had happened. James was quiet for a while then said, look I’m really sorry Gav, but Shirley just phoned. So he couldn’t go there, he couldn’t go home he didn’t want to go to his parents and his other friend Harry, was away travelling for 3 months. He decided that despite the fact that he would shortly have no money having lost his job and that he was already severely overdrawn, tonight he would stay in a swanky hotel.

He booked himself into the Hilton in Trafalgar square. Once he got to his room and changed and showered he thought that he would start to put the bad day behind him. Things were looking up and although this was an extravagance, £250 for the night, it was worth it, he was worth it, after the day that he’d had. He knew that this hotel had a rooftop cocktail bar and he’d been meaning to visit for ages. He decided to go there before dinner. It was a beautiful clear crisp spring day and he could see right across London in all directions. Sitting near the edge, with a vodka martini in his hand he felt as if he was in a James bond movie. He noticed a tall blond woman with a tight fitting dress coming towards him and just as his fantasy seemed about to continue he noticed her expression. She looked furious and she was looking at him. She walked up to him and slapped him hard across the face. You fucking bastard, how dare you do that to me. His protestations made no difference and he could only stop her scratching at his face and kicking him in the balls by pushing her away from him. She toppled backwards, over a chair and knocked herself out cold on the floor. What have you done –this from the bar man who was standing over the prostrate body, trying to revive her. He called over his shoulder. Fred, call the police and then take this wanker out. You are banned and if you’re booked into the hotel, consider yourself checked out.


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Steve Wybourn

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