Deadfast: Shaggy Dogs & Buckets of Frogs, pt.1

As you may remember, we’d ended up having going on a relaxing cruise and I was worried something dramatic would happen.
Well… it didn’t.
It was a lovely cruise and we had a great time.
I guess the troubles really started when we got home…

“Walter!” Deadfast bellowed. “What is the meaning of this?”
“It’s the doorbell,” I yawned, unfurling myself from where I had dozed off on the sofa. “I expect we have a visitor.”
”Who?” Deadfast demanded, puffing out his chest. “Who is it, man?”
“Shall I go and open the door?”
“Will that solve this mystery?”
“Yes,” I sighed. “Yes it will.”
”Then by all means, go ahead, dear boy!” Deadfast stretched, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his dressing gown undone and his nether regions swinging proud before him. “I need tea and this infernal racket is not helping me get any!”
I dragged myself to the door and opened it a crack.
I peered through and, to my befuddlement, saw a dog sitting on the doorstep.
“It’s a dog.”
”Walter!” Deadfast chastised. “That’s no way to talk about a lady!”
“No,” I sighed, leaning on the door. “There’s a dog on our doorstep.”
”Well,” Deadfast mumbled, his mouth full of stale Bourbon biscuit. “Let the hound in!”

I opened the door and the shaggy beast barrelled past.
“Are you ok?”
“I just need some air,” Deadfast said, gasping and falling to his knees. “Where’s the dog?”
“He ran off.”
”Oh.”
”Oh.”
”Right then,” Deadfast stood up, seemingly recovered from whatever was ailing him. “Pub?”
“It’s 9am!”
“Oh, right…” he paused for a moment. “And?”

To be continued…

Walter’s Diary Pt.7 – Unexpected Events

We met Mary on time, and we caught our plane home with no problems.

We arrived in London, sped to Lord Hellthwaites private club, he and daughter were tearfully reunited (well, we interupted an informal meeting and Lord Hellthwaites accountant was there … he took one look at the money-grabbing Mary and promptly began to sob like a baby).

Lord Hellthwaite took Deadfast aside for a moment, and when he came back he had a big Cheshire-cat grin on his face, and was clutching what looked like a pair of tickets and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a folded piece of paper. Had he recieved a letter?

“Walter, the bet is off…” he declared, putting an arm around me and steering me outside. “However, the week has been prosperous for us!”
“Would you care to elaborate?”

It turns out that Deadfast wouldn’t be getting a holiday home in Hawaii after all.
He did, however, get two tickets for an around-the-world cruise.
I couldn’t see why he was so happy about this, but he WAS happy and, oddly, he hadn’t had a drink for at least two hours.

It didn’t take us long to get home, get changed, grab clothing, and we were off … all a bit hurried if you ask me, but a free holiday is a free holiday. One can’t complain.
Well, Deadfast did a little, but only because he couldn’t find his bucket and spade.

So, I’m typing this whilst sitting on the deck of the boat (ship, ocean liner, glorified dingy, whatever you wish to refer to it as), and I have a Strawberry Daquiri by my side, a straw hat on my head, a pair of bermuda shorts on, and a charming young man has just winked at me from across the pool.

There is, without any shadow of a doubt, something decidedly fishy going on here.
Oh well … Deadfast is off somewhere trying to get us invited to the Captain’s table for dinner, so I’ve some time to myself.
Now, where did that young man go…?

The Cave of Dreams pt.4

Galloping through the undergrowth, charging towards the unknown adventure that the Hopeless Waterfall would bring, the three little monkeys were excited.
So excited, it seems, that they charged straight past the QuietCanyon and on towards the Elephant’s Mound.

The QuietCanyon, of course, is where the monkeys should have turned left and headed on through the SilentForest until they heard the crashing roar of despair emminating from the Waterfall… but, in their excitement, they went too far and missed their turning and instead stumbled upon the Elephant’s Mound.

 

As everyone knows, the Elephant’s Mound is where the old and feeble elephants would go to die.
For generations, they would quietly slip away from the herd and make their slow, plodding way to the Mound where, in the soft moonlight of a quiet evening, the Sombre Spirit of Salados would whisk them away to the Elephant’s Playground.  That was, of course, where all elephants of any age and standing would all be equal and live in peace for eternity.

The animals all knew that nobody went to the Elephant’s Mound unless, well, you were an elephant.
The three little monkeys were not elephants…

 

“Ook?”  Samala whispered, coming to a halt with the other monkeys.  “Ook.”

“Ook?” Kawanga whispered, looking around the clearing.  “Ook.”
”Ook,” Nimbala said, pointing towards the far side of the clearing.
There, in the shadows of a big tree, stood a lone elephant.

It was Jumbala, the oldest and wisest of the elephants.
She had grown tired and weary and, as the rest of her herd were distracted, she had slowly plodded away and made her way hear.  She new her time with Salados was upon her.

She stared at the three little monkeys, not knowing what to do.  She knew that they knew the rules but, as usual, they seemed to be a law unto themselves in the jungle and were here.  Bold as brass.  Monkeys on a mission.  She was intrigued.

She raised her trunk slowly, and trumpeted across the clearing.

“Ook!” screeched Samala and Nimbala. “Ook!”
They wanted to turn tail and run home but, being a little braver, Kawanga careful edged his way forward. 
”OOK!” the two other monkeys screeched again.  “OOK!”
Kawanga dismissed them with a wave of his paw and continured forward.
Jumbala, both baffled and bemused in equal measure, slowly approached him from the other side of the clearing.
The Mound, tall and glistening with dew-wet grass, stood between them.

 

To be continued…

Posted by Norton

Walter’s Diary pt.6 – NY Blues

Well now.
I’ve just got out of a jail cell, after spending three nights “chatting” with some lovely police officers from NY’s finest.

My video shop friend, Big Al, let me spend some time in his store on Monday.
“That lady’s always in here, sitting in one of the booths and frigging herself silly!” he told me; I didn’t like to ask how he knew this… I’ve a vague recollection of him once offering to show me some “home movies” once. No doubt he had some elaborate video-camera set-up back there.
I made a mental note not to get myself into one of the booths, just in case.

After seven hours of serving (yes, he let me stay in his shop by making me work there) the “dirty mac” brigade, Mary wandered in.
She didn’t recognise me, and flounced straight out to the back of the store, where Big Al keeps his booths. Al told me this was what she always did, and why didn’t I head back there?

I called the hotel, but Deadfast didn’t answer…. I’d made the mistake of letting him into the mini-bar, and now he was no doubt unconscious.
So, after a few minutes of thinking, I called Al over to mind the till, and I headed out back.

Big Al has four booths back there, and three of them were empty.
The one on the far right had its door shut, so I deduced that Mary was ensconced within.
I crept into the neighbouring booth, and quietly shut the door…. with no plan whatsoever.

I couldn’t see a thing… there was no light in there.
I could barely make out a coin-slot on my left, so I fumbled for some change and put in a coin, expecting a light to come on.
Instead, a tv screen flickered on infront of me (behind a slightly-stained plastic window) and I was suddenly confronted with some very saucy material!
I averted my eyes, and saw a hole in the wall… a hole that would lead directly into Mary’s booth!

As I looked, I saw a finger poke through, and make a beckoning “come hither” gesture.
I was looking at a gloryhole!
I’d been told about such things by Deadfast once or twice during a long winter night around the fire, but put that (and his tales of a “no-hands bar” in Thailand in which you would recieve oral sex by an unseen mouth whilst sitting at the bar) down to his active imagination.
This was real… ye gads!

I knew what was expected of me, but… I couldn’t do such a thing!
However, here I was, in a booth next to Mary Hellthwaite, and she wanted my… special purpose.
This was unexpected!

What was I to do?

Well… I knew that I had to make some form of contact with her, and so… yes, dear reader, I did something that I regretted, and … well … after many minutes of self-doubt … and I am blushing as I type … I presented myself to her!

I undid my trousers (making sure the door was locked) and slipped my underwear down, and stepped forward… the blood was rushing, and so I poked through the hole just fine.

And that’s when the lights in the booth came on, and a voice boomed out “You’re under arrest, sir, please get yourself dressed and step out”.

Oh, bother.

Turns out, I wasn’t in a booth next to Mary at all.
That swine Big Al had seen Mary slip out the back a little while before, and had not said anything to me.
Instead, he had phoned the police and informed them that there was a sex pest in his store!
The blighter then sat back and watched as I headed back there and… well… you know the rest.

I was carted down to the station, and questioned as to what I was doing in New York, who I knew there, and so on.

Luckily, after a few days of there rather inept questioning, Deadfast had bailed me out (with, I hasten to add, my own money that he had pilfered from my bank account whislt I had been “missing in action”), and we headed back to the hotel.

“Walter,” he said through the door of the bathroom as I slipped into the hot bath I’d just ran. “I know where Mary is.”
“Oh,” I stuttered, somewhat in shock. Surely he couldn’t have done some actual work?
“I bumped into her in the bar downstairs, appologised for your behaviour on Saturday night..>”
“My behaviour?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, oblivious to the real world. “I then invited her back here for a chat and, when she left in the morning, she agreed to come home with us.”
“Has she ran out of money?”
“Yes.”
“You two got along, didn’t you…” I muttered, sinking under the bubbles.

In a few hours, we are going to be sitting on a plane, headed back to London.
We’ve spoke to Mary over the phone (well, Deadfast made some strange cooing noises when he had the mouthpiece, whilst it was left to me to arrange things) and she is due to meet us in the lobby in twenty minutes.

I must go and wake Deadfast now… I’ll inform you of the reunion with Lord Hellthwaite and his daughter when we get back to the UK.

I’d kill for a chip buttie right now…

 

Posted by Walter

The Cave of Dreams, pt.3

The next morning, when the sun was high in the sky, the three little monkeys awoke and had a little play fight.  Monkeys, much like young boys, like to fight with one another. Nothing serious, of couse, just the odd poke and bite and banana-stabbing.
Anyway, after they had calmed down, they set off for the day.  They all knew it was going to be a long trek through the jungle to reach the Hopeless Waterfall and, with luck, the Cave of Dreams.
The Cave of Dreams was a magical place and, it was said, you could find all of your hopes and desires inside.
Now, monkeys are quite hopeful little creatures so they were not looking for that.
Oh no.
They were looking for their biggest, deepest desire…

 

Do you know what that was?
That’s right… bananas.

”Bananas?” you may cry, looking puzzled and scratching your head (a bit like a monkey). “The three little monkeys live in the jungle and have lots of bananas!”
Why, yes.
Yes they do.

However, they do not want some bananas.
They do not want lots of bananas.

“OOK!”

Ok, Nimbala, ok!  No need to shout, I’m getting to it.
Sheesh.  Have you ever tried telling a story about monkeys?
They get very impatient.

*sigh*

 

What the three little monkeys desired more than anything was an unlimited supply of bananas.
They wanted to be able to get as many bananas as their little bellies could handle, and then be safe in the knowledge there would be more the next day.

They were, when all is said and done, very greedy little monkeys.

 

So, with the sun high in the sky, they set off.

 

To be continued…

 

Posted by Norton

The Cave of Dreams pt.2

 

“OOK!” screamed Kawanga.
The three little monkeys raced as fast as their hairy little monkey paws could carry them, into the thick jungle and up to the top of the nearest tree.
They didn’t stop until they got to the very top, and there was nothing above them but the sun and the sky.

Sarikin Bakka, way below on the jungle floor, yawned and closed his eyes.  Three little monkeys were nothing to him.
”Ook,” Nimbala said, crossing his arms.  “Ook ook.”
”Ook?” asked Samala, peering down to the jungle floor.
”Ook,” confirmed Kawanga, stretching and leaning back against the tree.

They stayed there for most of the afternoon, basking in the glorious sunshine and occasionally swatting at an errant fly or, more often than not, one another.

 

When they felt safe, they slowly made their way across the trees, being careful to make as little noise as possible in case the great tiger should hear them.
It didn’t take them long to become tired and, what with the sun going down, they thought that perhaps it was time for bed.

“Ook?” asked Samala, hoping one of this friends would tell him a story.

“Ook,” Kawanga said firmly, and Samala turned away.  He would get no story on this night.

“Ook,” said Nimbala quietly, as Kawanga himself turned away. “Ook.”

“Ook?” said Samala hopefully, one eye looking at Kawanga. “Ook?”

“OOK!” Kawanga yelled, not turning his head.  “Ook.”
It was time for bed, and the three little monkeys knew had become tired after their busy day.

The Hopeless Waterful, and the legendary Cave of Dreams, would have to wait until morning.

To be continued…

 

Posted by Norton

The Cave of Dreams pt.1 (A Three Little Monkeys adventure)

One bright, sunny jungle day, three little monkeys were chatting away in a tree.
“Ook,” said the first, who was called Nimbala.
“Ook?” asked the second, who was called Kawanga.
“Ook!” the third, named Samala, said excitedly.

They excitedly jumped around, chasing one another, as they decided what to do about the scheme Kawanga had suggested.

“Ook ook?” Samala asked, pointing towards the Cave of Dreams.
The Cave of Dreams was situated on the far side of the jungle, past the tiger’s lair, and towards the Hopeless Waterfall.
“Ook?” Nimbala wondered, scratching his bottom. “Ook!”
“Ook.” Samala confirmed and, with a nod from Kawanga, they galloped off into the dense foliage.

An hour or two later (with several stops for banana eating and butterfly chasing) the three little monkeys cautiously approached the tiger’s lair.
The tiger, Sarikin Bakka, was sleeping outside his cave.
The sun was bright and causing patterns to dance through the leaves as the wind blew, making the ground seem as if it were moving.
The three little monkeys were nervous.

“Ack?” whispered Kawanga, trembling.
“Ook.”
“Ack?”
“Ook.”
“Ook!”
With all three monkeys agreed, they began to quietly crawl across the clearing and past the sleeping tiger.
They were almost past, and were preparing to charge off into the thick jungle once more, when Sarikin Bakka suddenly opened his eyes…

To be continued.

Posted by Norton

Walter’s Diary: Pt.5 – Mary

Mary, it turns out, didn’t want to be found.

“Fuck off, you weirdo!” were, if memory serves, her exact words when I approached her in a bar. “I’m a lesbian.”

I’d tracked her down to Greenwich Village on Saturday night, and Deadfast and I spent alot of dollars and most of our energy trawling bars until I recognised her.
Deadfast, of course, wouldn’t recognise himself in a mirror unless prompted, so these things are always left to me.
I pointed her out, and he sent me over;
“Walter, lad, we don’t want to spook her. She’ll recognise me,of course… so you go. I’ll just sit here and have a drink. Could I borrow some money?”

I had got within five feet of her, and was about to ask if I knew her (well, I wasn’t stupid enough to actually tell her why we were there), when she’d spun around, made eye contact, and growled her above response. Then, with a flourish, she’d grabbed the nearest young lady to herself and proceeded to give her a long and lengthy kiss.

I was enjoying the moment, actually, but it was ruined by the crashing of a table behind me and Deadfast approaching at speed, and with a big dopey grin on his face.

“Ladies,” he annoucned, but I managed to wheel him away before Mary decided to kick either of us in the unmentionables. “Don’t go anywhere!” he yelled over his shoulder at them.

“I think it’s best if we…”
“Oh, tish and pish, Walter… I know what to do!”
“Have a drink?”
“Exactly.”
And, with that, he wandered off to the bar.

I figured it would be best if we followed her as she left, and approached her in a less-public place.

So, for the next two hours, we sat about and drank (water for me, with a slice of lemon, and alochol for Deadfast… he isn’t fussy which type).
I was keeping a close eye on Mary and her friends (most of whom, as far as I could work out, were friendly with one another, if you know what I mean… they exchanged saliva an awful lot, and I’m sure that kind of thing isn’t sanitary), but, as is his way, Deadfast got bored of not having my attention and so declared he was going to dance.
He then proceeded to try to start a conga-line.
This didn’t work, of course, but provided enough of a distraction for me to lose sight of the young Miss Hellthwaite for a moment and, when I looked back, she and her entourage were nowhere to be seen.

The evening ended with me running out of there with Deadfast over my shoulder, and an irrate bar patron and his friends giving chase after his wife had been the unwilling victim of Deadfast and his rising libido.

He is still asleep, now, and I’m trying to figure out what to do next.

I’ve a friend who works in a video store (believe it or not, some still exist) down the road who says Mary is a frequent customer.
I’m thinking of sitting in one of the booths there all day on the off-chance that she comes in.

It’s going to be a long, hard day…

Posted by Walter

The Final Leap

Theorising that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Doctor Samuel Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator and vanished…

 

Over the countless years of leaping, across decades and lifetimes, he had become accustomed to waking in strange places.  In a stranger’s clothes.  With a stranger’s face.
He had almost lost track of who he himself was but, with thanks to his friend Al and with his own Swiss-cheese memory slowly being filled, he could remember enough of his own life to hold onto his personality and his beliefs.  He knew who he was, inside, behind the unfamiliar face and he was confident he could retain some sense of being for long enough that, one day, he’d leap back into himself.

That day would never come.

Sam felt himself become someone new, someone strangely tired, and opened his eyes.

He realised that he was against a wall, legs sprawled out on the floor and that there was something metallic in his mouth.
He brushed straggly blonde hair out of his eyes and caught his reflection in the glass of some French doors to his right.

With a start, and too late to stop himself, he realised he had the barrel of a gun was in his mouth.  His involuntary twitch of surprise tensed his hand and his trigger finger, resting on the trigger itself, pulled back…

The End.

 

Posted by Norton

Walter’s Diary: Pt.4 – A Bet Is Made

“Walter, pack your things, we are going to the Americas!”This was the phrase that Deadfast greeted me with this morning as he stumbled into the kitchen.
I handed him his dressing gown (even though we were an “open” house, I didn’t want the maid seeing him in all his morning glory…) and a bowl of cereal, and sat him down at the table.”Why is this?”

“A-ha, lad!” he exclaimed, toppling backwards off of his chair and flinging cornflakes everywhere. “Lord Hellthwaite has set us a challenge!”

“A challenge?”

“Yes, in the shape of a bet!”

“Wonderful.” The last bet that these two had made had ended with Hellthwaite riding upon one of the stone lions at Trafalgar Square, naked except for a bowler hat. “I’ll get the bribe money out now, shall I?”

“Oh no,” he grinned, plonking himself on a chair. “This is a good one… we’re on a search to find his daughter!”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh yes!”

“Oh, great.”
Lord Hellthwaite was a man born into money, but he had doubled his family fortunes with a shrewd property deal in the early 60s.
His daughter, Mary, was born at the end of the 70s (for a while, Lord and Lady Hellthwaite had dabbled with punk fashion… a disaster that ended up with safety-pin sin their condom drawer. Don’t ask!), and had, for want of a better word, wasted her life.
She was, I guess, what you’d call an “IT” girl… you know the type; always attending parties, getting drunk and doing very little else except spending the family fortune.
Well, I’d heard recently that she’d hooked-up with some musician wannabe, and this hadn’t gone down too well with her father.
“What the hell do you think you are doing, woman?!” was, I think, the phrase he most used when the two conversed.
Anyway, after one-too-many arguments, young Mary had stuck two-fingers up at her father and the establishment, and had fled the family home.
This was, of course, an embarrassment to the Hellthwaite name, and so… we were roped in to find her thanks to Deadfast and a bottle of Tequilla.

“Get your things, lad, we’ve work to do!” he yelled, and leapt out of his seat and ran off to his room. I heard him shout over his shoulder; “Get on the phone and find her for me!”

So, I spent the most part of last night making frantic phonecalls to the few contacts I have.
It turns out, according to the editor of a top-shelf magazine, that she was seen boarding a plane to New York.
A few minutes later, I had booked us a flight and a hotel.

That’s why I’m sitting here typing this in the departures lounge of Heathrow airport.
Deadfast, for his part, is downstairs in the hotel bar, playing the piano and trying to get some rich socialite to buy him a drink. I don’t think it’s working; I’ve recieved two text messages already, both of which said “Walter, it’s your round”.
For the record, I’ve never seen him buy a drink, and I’ve known him for ten years.

I’m off downstairs now; I’ve arranged a meeting with a friend of Mary. Hopefully, he’ll push us in the right direction.
I’ll fill you all in later on.

-Walter

PS.
“How is this a bet?” you ask?
Well, it turns out that Deadfast somehow managed to persuade Lord Hellthwaite to give him a holiday home in Hawaii if we find his daughter.
The Lord has more property than he knows what to do with, so I don’t think he’ll miss one.
And, for his part, if he loses, Deadfast must walk naked down New Oxford Street in nothing but a bow tie.
I think it’s a private school thing.
I find it best not to ask.

Adieu.