writing Gary's Trip

[Idris 241]

Gary’s Trip

Gary-fin’s programming job had been especially tedious this week. Putting his fresh cup of Earl Grey tea on the bedside table he snuggled down under his He-Man duvet to read one of his favourite short fanfics, written by his favourite author and narrator, Miss Gribbler. He hadn’t revealed his love of her work or that of animated horses to anyone, not even his friend and fellow train spotter Gary Spode. He nearly had once, but he was luckily saved by an EVS freight loco hauling cement wagons out of Old Street Station. As the BO-BO class diesel electric roared toward them, the distraction made him realise how close he had been to making a terrible mistake. He had quickly pulled up the fake rabbit fur hood on his nylon jacket and returned to the hobby at hand. The train driver waved to the ‘Garies’ as he passed. He would never tell anyone he was a Brosey.

As the time passed on the wall clock he had borrowed from work, he wondered what the author was like? Who she really was when not writing or speaking into the microphone? Did she live in a thatched cottage in the county of Nofolk, of maybe in a big Londonium town house? Could it really be that hard to find out? The next day was Saturday, so he rang Gary. “Hi” he said, “can you help me find someone?” The phone went quiet for a bit, followed by the questioning response “what, like a girlfriend or something?” (another pause) “You had best come over”. Once at Garys house he felt much more comfortable. The ambiance was much more to his liking, with smart green steam locomotive standing on the mantle piece. He knew Mr Spode would be able to help. He was a top notch jobs worth at the council, with access to many files from years of big brother snooping. All he had to do now, was put up a convincing lie as to why he needed this top secret information. They talked about the steam loco that would be traveling the main line next Sunday, and chuntered about how the railway would be if they ran it! Then, during an awkward pause in the conversation, Tall Gary asked “Who do you want to find”?

Convincing Gary S that she might be a relative had not been easy, and he had sworn that he would never reveal the source. But one week later it had all the makings of the perfect weekend, by meeting his idol today, and photographing trains tomorrow. He had a spring in his step as he walked the streets to his destination, address on a bit of paper clutched in his hand. The Victorian town house sat in a long row of identical dwellings, all painted in some form of pastel or white. He walked up to the front door and knocked. He was planning to say hello, smile and comment on how much he liked her work and that he thought it important to say so in person. But after a minute there was no reply. He wondered if she was perhaps collapsed in the hall way and checked though the letter box?

At this point he had a genius idea, which was probably the best he had ever had in his life! If no one was in, he could say that he popped round to post a stamped address envelope asking for an autograph. And that when he had opened the letter box, he had smelt gas and done what any decent citizen was required to do, by ventilating the house before it was lost to an explosion! He was very pleased with this plan and no one would check a genuine hero to see if he actually had such an envelope on his person? Removing his trusty cub knife, he unfolded the blade, ever careful not to cause any more scarring, and slipped the short blade betwixt the two halves of the sash window at the front of the house. The latch slid easily to the side. Pushing hard upward he was starting to make progress against the many layers of paint, when suddenly, he was aware of movement in front of his face. It was too close to focus on, causing him to fall back into the small front garden with a sharp intake of breath. Oh no! He was caught! His future life in prison flashed before his eyes. Collecting himself he expected to see Miss Gribbler standing there with a frying pan, ready to give him ‘one for the road’, but was instead greeted by a fat tabby cat. “Phew, the hero is saved again”, he said to himself readying himself to climb in through the window.

This was not as easy as first thought, and a crash suggested some of the property inside was now not in good health. He was sure he could replace whatever the item was and having spent so much time hearing Miss Gribblers warm tones, he felt like she was an understanding friend. On the floor was a desk lamp which now sported a broken bulb. It was an easy fix though, as he had passed a go-op shop on the way from the station and he knew he could buy a new bulb there. Now he was inside he could see the place was like a book shop store room. In front of him was a leather bound book with ‘Law of the Land’ written on the front in bold gold letters. It appeared she also did some heavy reading? Against the wall were tall dark oak cabinets with glass fronts. It was difficult to tell the scale of the collection inside, because the neatly stacked piles of books extended nearly to their tops. Peeks of colour could be see of figurines hidden in the gloom of their literary tomb.

This truly was the adventure of a lifetime, he thought to himself. It was like walking the corridors of a museum to his hero, but without the red ropes and peak hatted curators, staring suspiciously at every visitor. Here you could touch the exhibits! But first order of the day was to close the window. He thought he saw a curtain twitch across the street, but looking harder it all seemed to be quiet outside? He used a birthday card he found in a bin to safely remove the broken bulb and then to scrape up the evidence before tipping the pieces into his coat pocket. With a good deed in mind he stepped out through the front door leaving it slightly ajar so he could get back in. I took maybe fifteen minutes to go to the shop and back and he now had a brand new 60watt bulb. This was bigger than old bulb, but he was pleased about fitting it, because he didn’t want anyone getting eye strain from using a dim reading lamp. This truly was an exciting outing and he decided to start the main tour upstairs.

Entering the bedroom it didn’t seem as girly as he had originally expected? But there was a neat little dressing table by the front window. The top draw was tantalisingly half open. There were many delicate lady’s garments in there, but as he held an example up to the light streaming in through the window he could see the initials JWS. This struck him as odd, but he thought that maybe it was the name of a shop, or maybe they were a gift? He was careful to put them back just as they had been and leave the draw partly open as he had found it. The next draw down was very strange and seemed to contain some thin leather straps and hand cuffs? Curiouser and curiouser thought Gary. Maybe she was a secret agent? This second draw was tight. He gave it a sharp tug, but then his phone starting to vibrate. He was about to thrust his right hand into his jacket pocket when he remembered it was full of broken glass from the bulb. Pushing the draw smartly back into the cabinet his phone stopped making the noise. This was the most rubbish phone he had owned, and he rued the day his last one had fallen into a puddle. It then struck him that being found upstairs would be a bad idea. Sure, the gas leak excuse would work if he was downstairs opening windows, but even he didn’t think that it would work if he was checking furniture for evidence.

The kitchen was a simple affair. In the middle was a scrubbed pine table with cloth doylies placed ready for guests. In the middle was a porcelain vase, painted with exquisite small flowers, easily as vibrant as the ones it contained. Gary was about to sit in the chair at the head of this table, so as ‘to get the whole feel of the place’ when he changed his mind. No, that would be wrong. Some things were personal and he wouldn’t invade the lady’s personal space in this way. A white stone-ware sink sat to one side, with two well worn brass taps. One dripped slightly, with the Birmingshire hard water slowly forming a stalactite at its tip. Under the sink was an enamel bowl catching the same drip as it exited the leaking U bend. It was no good, he was going to have to wash up. There had been many rows with ‘mother’ about keeping their house tidy. One particular night there had been a crash and a cats scream, and the next day the tons of old newspapers lay blocking the last remaining gangway of the dinning room. It was now an easy task to walk on top of the detritus of his mums chaotic mind, while dragging his fingers along the ceiling. Mrs tibbles hadn’t been seen since, and Gary knew that one day in the future, when his mum passed on naturally, or got smothered, or some accident like that, that he would find the matted grey creature pressed flat in the geological layer of 1982. It had been like that as long as he could remember, and that was 20 years ago. This memory was simply unacceptable and he wanted to live life in this house, and the first part of this new plan would be to get that saucepan clean.

He was super pleased with his handy work. After all, the cat had gained some outside time, the lamp had been upgraded and who couldn’t be pleased to come home and find the washing up done! What a shame he hadn’t met her. But his train left soon, and it really was time to put this adventure behind him. He shrugged and made to leave. Opening the front door made him feel like he had been electrocuted. He came face to face with a mountain of a man. At least six feet tall, shiny boots, pressed dark trousers, white shirt. His angry red face continued up to a tall helmet with a silver badge on the front. “Come here you” said the policeman as he visibly lifted Gary’s feet off the ground by his furry collar. “it’s my friends house, Miss Gribbler” he protested to no avail. “You can tell that to the Judge” said the policeman calmly, as Gary’s legs tried to keep up as he was dragged down the garden path. “This is the house of the MP and bachelor Jeremy Wing-Sparkle, Miss Gribbler lives in the next street.”

THE END

 

 

I’m hoping Scribbler finds this funny, and doesn’t drive up to Stafford and beat me to death with a plushie. Not just because I really feel bad if I hurt people, but because she read it out to me as I wrote it, with her voice, chattering away in my imagination.

The inspiration on this project was twofold. First off, to pay homage to the many fan fictions I have listened to over the past weeks, especially the ones that showed me how far you could go, Like “In Bloom” by Pascoite. And how far I didn’t want go. But the main spark was Scribbler saying that she didn’t make a difference on a Dr Wolf interview, and most comments on the vid said quite strongly that she did. It was while I was reading about her I noticed how well hidden she is, which is probably a very good idea! And while I pondered this, a wicked grin started to spread across my mind as I went to sleep that night. That is; How annoying can fans be? By 11:30 my brain had already been working on the project while I was sleep. Engines were now full steam ahead and it was time to start writing this plausible disaster down on a lap top. (Because you never really know if it is utter cock until the next day). At least the genre was easy to select and it had to be good old British Black Comedy. And it kind of had to be set in the UK, because, quite honestly, I have no idea what a house anywhere else looks like? But I have seen a lot of sash windowed Victorian houses.

If I do become a victim of Engicide at the hands of an outraged writer armed with a Twilight Beany, I’ll get Rosie to video it on the Ipad for you.

Thank you for welcoming me into the fandom, and for getting me back into writing 

[Idris 241]

YouTube link with Goombasa as VA; https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fO7Avi7jVOg