Eternally North
Page 4
Was this my sign? Was this the sign that I had asked for? Was Ms. Austen sending me a message from the grave that the anecdote to my current f**ked up situation was to seize the day? Or was I going completely nuts? I knew it was likely to be the latter, but who isn’t just a tad off-kilter? So hell, I went with it!
I grabbed my handbag, which I’d dropped to the floor during my impromptu séance, and tottered off down the street. A short way down, I turned a corner and walked straight into a homeless man sheltering in the alcove in between a row of bars.
He steadied my wobbling frame and smiled at me with a toothless grin. “Alreet, pet? Ya look bloody miserable, like. Life’s never that bad.”
I stared at the man for what seemed like an eternity and proceeded to… laugh my flippin’ arse off!
Here was a man with no home, no job and no real prospects attempting to cheer me up. Oh, the irony!
"You’re right!" I shrieked, causing several magpies to scatter around me.
I stood there in the rain, overlooking the Tyne Bridge and the twinkling blue lights of Greggs The Bakers down the road.
I took a calming breath, inhaled the delicate Newcastle aroma of cheese and onion pasties and Lambert & Butler cigarettes, and thought of the many legends that this town had created – Sting, Jimmy Nail, Ant and Dec – and said to out loud,
"Man up, Natasha; you are a true Geordie: strong, focused and as hard as nails! If wor lass Cheryl Cole can get through this kind of shit, so can you!"
“Atta girl!" my new hobo life coach shouted. "Don’t suppose you could spot me a fiver for a pack of ciggies?” he shrugged.
Laughing, I pulled out my purse. “Here's a twenty, splash out on me!”
I set off walking again, knowing there was only one place to go from here –to my best friend John. He would sort me ‘reet out!
"Natasha!" shrieked John, as he opened the pink-and-purple door with superb dramatic flair, wearing his trademark white drainpipe jeans, yellow muscle T-top and thick guy-liner rimming his big blue eyes.
Before I continue, let me briefly fill you in on John Weallans. Erm... John. How to describe John...?
I know!
Think pink, glitter, unicorns and fabulous! That’s him in a nutshell, and he is my soul’s significant other, minus the sex and any form of physical attraction. He's the Ying to my Yang, the Ben to my Jerry and the Ziggy Stardust to my David Bowie.
John and I became best friends in High School after we met in a 'Beat-the-Bullies' group in Grade Seven. I know what you’re thinking: surely these two amazing kids were in the popular crowd? But alas, John was as bent as a butcher’s meat hook, and I was as fat as a pig. Not the most sought-after attributes when picking your mates in the harsh corridors of Newcastle Tyne High in 1995.
One day, after I had been sacrificially rounded up and captured by the Grade Ten boys and symbolically roasted on a manmade spit (this really only consisted of a set of rugby posts, extra-strength electrical tape, a hockey stick and two boys rotating the device), it was 'felt' by the headmaster that I should seek comfort in a group of fellow bullying victims, and by 'felt' I mean ‘forced to go’, because obviously this group would prevent further bullying!
John was in the group after he decided to appoint himself as the head, and by ‘head’ I mean the only, cheerleader for the boys’ rugby team. One look at John in a triangle-cupped bikini top, strap-on fairy wings and matching pink tutu ignited the long-lost aggression needed in the players. However, the aggression did not take place on the pitch as preferred by the coach, but on John’s face and groin.
We had been best friends ever since, aptly naming our little pairing the 'Oink Fairies'.
I ran into John’s arms. "The shit has hit the fan!" I said, shaking my head.
"Oh, my Gods of glitter!" His hands began to flap, and he jumped up and down on his welcome mat, which read 'Please Enter if you are Pretty and Witty and Gay'. "You’re a lesbian. I’ve always suspected, what with your love of khaki and your k.d. lang obsession. It's okay, Wilbur,” Pig-related nickname. “I’ll guide you through this transition, and let me just say on behalf of the LBGT community, welcome to the land of unicorns and rainbows," he said with a graceful bow.
"Tinkerbell,” Fairy-related nickname. “I am not a lesbian. Firstly, I like khaki because I feel soldier-strong and like GI Jane when I’m wearing it; secondly, k.d. lang is an exceptional singer who unfortunately has a somewhat questionable style in fashion but gives me no tingles in the downstairs department; and thirdly, I enjoy pork way too much to switch to an all-fish diet!"
I grabbed my handbag, which I’d dropped to the floor during my impromptu séance, and tottered off down the street. A short way down, I turned a corner and walked straight into a homeless man sheltering in the alcove in between a row of bars.
He steadied my wobbling frame and smiled at me with a toothless grin. “Alreet, pet? Ya look bloody miserable, like. Life’s never that bad.”
I stared at the man for what seemed like an eternity and proceeded to… laugh my flippin’ arse off!
Here was a man with no home, no job and no real prospects attempting to cheer me up. Oh, the irony!
"You’re right!" I shrieked, causing several magpies to scatter around me.
I stood there in the rain, overlooking the Tyne Bridge and the twinkling blue lights of Greggs The Bakers down the road.
I took a calming breath, inhaled the delicate Newcastle aroma of cheese and onion pasties and Lambert & Butler cigarettes, and thought of the many legends that this town had created – Sting, Jimmy Nail, Ant and Dec – and said to out loud,
"Man up, Natasha; you are a true Geordie: strong, focused and as hard as nails! If wor lass Cheryl Cole can get through this kind of shit, so can you!"
“Atta girl!" my new hobo life coach shouted. "Don’t suppose you could spot me a fiver for a pack of ciggies?” he shrugged.
Laughing, I pulled out my purse. “Here's a twenty, splash out on me!”
I set off walking again, knowing there was only one place to go from here –to my best friend John. He would sort me ‘reet out!
"Natasha!" shrieked John, as he opened the pink-and-purple door with superb dramatic flair, wearing his trademark white drainpipe jeans, yellow muscle T-top and thick guy-liner rimming his big blue eyes.
Before I continue, let me briefly fill you in on John Weallans. Erm... John. How to describe John...?
I know!
Think pink, glitter, unicorns and fabulous! That’s him in a nutshell, and he is my soul’s significant other, minus the sex and any form of physical attraction. He's the Ying to my Yang, the Ben to my Jerry and the Ziggy Stardust to my David Bowie.
John and I became best friends in High School after we met in a 'Beat-the-Bullies' group in Grade Seven. I know what you’re thinking: surely these two amazing kids were in the popular crowd? But alas, John was as bent as a butcher’s meat hook, and I was as fat as a pig. Not the most sought-after attributes when picking your mates in the harsh corridors of Newcastle Tyne High in 1995.
One day, after I had been sacrificially rounded up and captured by the Grade Ten boys and symbolically roasted on a manmade spit (this really only consisted of a set of rugby posts, extra-strength electrical tape, a hockey stick and two boys rotating the device), it was 'felt' by the headmaster that I should seek comfort in a group of fellow bullying victims, and by 'felt' I mean ‘forced to go’, because obviously this group would prevent further bullying!
John was in the group after he decided to appoint himself as the head, and by ‘head’ I mean the only, cheerleader for the boys’ rugby team. One look at John in a triangle-cupped bikini top, strap-on fairy wings and matching pink tutu ignited the long-lost aggression needed in the players. However, the aggression did not take place on the pitch as preferred by the coach, but on John’s face and groin.
We had been best friends ever since, aptly naming our little pairing the 'Oink Fairies'.
I ran into John’s arms. "The shit has hit the fan!" I said, shaking my head.
"Oh, my Gods of glitter!" His hands began to flap, and he jumped up and down on his welcome mat, which read 'Please Enter if you are Pretty and Witty and Gay'. "You’re a lesbian. I’ve always suspected, what with your love of khaki and your k.d. lang obsession. It's okay, Wilbur,” Pig-related nickname. “I’ll guide you through this transition, and let me just say on behalf of the LBGT community, welcome to the land of unicorns and rainbows," he said with a graceful bow.
"Tinkerbell,” Fairy-related nickname. “I am not a lesbian. Firstly, I like khaki because I feel soldier-strong and like GI Jane when I’m wearing it; secondly, k.d. lang is an exceptional singer who unfortunately has a somewhat questionable style in fashion but gives me no tingles in the downstairs department; and thirdly, I enjoy pork way too much to switch to an all-fish diet!"
