Читать книгу Living Upside Down - John Hickman - Страница 6

THE TOILET SEAT DEFENSIVE

Another working week is done and dusted.

When Roger arrives home to hilarity HQ Sue is grinning like a prospector who has just struck the mother lode

“Look!” she cries clutching armfuls of brochures. “The postman had to make two trips.”

What arrived from Australia House three weeks after Roger’s twenty-fifth birthday, six weeks after James’s birth, sixteen weeks before Jayne’s third birthday, seven months before Sue’s twenty-eighth birthday, and twenty-seven days shy of their fourth wedding anniversary, was far too bulky to pass through any letter box. Sue is almost unable to contain her excitement.

“I’ll bet the postie was overawed making two trips,” he replies sullenly.

“He was,” Sue beams, “and he asked if we’re going to Australia?”

“And what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Roger plays with Jayne and cuddles James.

Ignoring the pile on the dining table, he says gently, “He cheers my day with his cooing and grunting.”

“Let me take him. That’s a changing grunt.”

It is not long before brochures and pamphlets hinder Roger’s every move. Patiently he moves them from every chair, he turns around, and they are back again. They go from chairs to footstools, then back onto chairs, the kitchen table, the kitchen bench, even their bed.

Roger’s mutterings of, ‘Musical bloody brochures,’ can be heard around the house.

Roger finds one on his car windscreen. That makes him more determined than ever as he pries the damp brochure from the glass.

“That’ll teach you,” he mumbles to himself, “ruining their glossy brochure of their white sandy beaches!”

The next one he finds on his driver’s seat with a backdrop of mist and flashes of moonlight that escapes through the clouds.

“They’re your brochures, not mine,” Roger repeats for the umpteenth time. “How’s about you have them close to you? They’re multiplying and I don’t want to look at them! Dodging them is about as easy as swimming the English Channel — and I can’t swim.”

A stony silence follows. All is not well at Camp Sue.

At their zoo feeding Sue asks, “Most months here are cold but don’t you think this year seems colder and longer?”

He sits his lame arse down before saying rather tamely.

“Yes. I’ve just ordered another load of coal for the central heating system. Damn, the budget’s blown, again!”

“If we sit any closer to the heaters they’ll become pregnant,” Sue jokes.

Feeling now that all her ducks may be lined up in a row, Sue is no longer subtle nor as welcoming as an eggy fart at a first date dinner table.

That afternoon she gives Jayne a quick couple of laps around the bath while adding hot water being careful not to scald her. Her contented sounds and associated crescendos of bath bubbles from under her bottom confirming she is happy with the water temperature. Getting her out and dried off with big fluffy towels before she shivers becomes a military operation, even with the aid of a twin-bar electric fire to warm the room.

Next morning Roger retreats to the toilet for his morning fart for merry England.

“I’m going to the library, Sue.”

His Dad used to take his cup of tea in with him, which always disgusted Sue, but it is far too cold for that.

Looking at Roger with a practiced glare that would shatter glass Sue hands him the fresh air spray.

Roger is preparing to curl one out with pride when a glossy brochure slithers under the door and bounces off his foot.

His turtle head quickly retreats.

Sighing and rolling his eyes at the lost chance to celebrate something he was dedicated to birthing he comments to the closed door, “That’s below the belt, Sue. Is nothing, nowhere, sacred?”

With nothing to read and nature proving fickle he reluctantly picks up the brochure.

What he sees is an overview of climate in Australia produced like a textbook on the run. In the north, it is described as tropical.

Roger ponders his Rodin’s Thinker pose. Tropical?

His mind ticks over; maybe a bit too hot and sticky for his pale Saxon flesh.

I could go a bit of that tropical warmth right now, he thinks, as ice is forming on the insides of his nostrils.

In the south being the opposite of north, he observes it is cold.

It is now so cold in the library that Shackleton would not have left a Husky dog outside for long. He is now so cold the poor bastard cannot feel his own testicles. Maybe his turtle is frozen? Perhaps a new archaeological find in the making?

Looking at the brochure, his attention catches their coastline about half way up the Australian continent on the left hand side. Their summertime is the same as British wintertime because of the reversal of the hemispheres, he understands that, but, from what he is reading, it is warm to hot by British standards.

With his usual optimism and unclear lateral thinking, Roger suddenly becomes somewhat hooked on the idea of not spending about one third of their disposable income on coal heating.

Could it be that simple?

Finishing up with a smile, he even waves farewell to the turtle as the water swirls it away to its watery grave.

“Amazing how once in a while having a shit can be such a wonderfully revealing experience,” he murmurs as he almost collides with Sue, busy with additional odour neutralisers, her face a picture of concentration.

“You know, Sue…, according to these statistics a family could live in say, Perth, wherever that is, and never need to buy coal for heating.”

“Wow! You’re sounding wonderfully positive today.” Sue brightens.

Sue looks as if she is about to crawl out of her skin from excitement.

“You’re right,” Roger beams, “optimism is beginning to infiltrate every cell of my body.”

In a devil-may-care moment, brim full of new found knowledge about fuck-all but temperatures Down Under, they race out and buy thermometers.

Placing these at strategic distances, in and around their cooker, they plan to get the edge over the highbrow meaning of the statistics.

“You mean we’ll feel for ourselves what sub tropical temperatures Down Under really feel like?” Sue asks.

“Exactly.”

After a while Roger announces shrilly, “It is very hot.”

“Your hand is almost inside the oven,” Sue says defensively.

“Trouble is Australia’s in Celsius and our thermometers are in Fahrenheit,” Roger groans staring at their appliances with an air of hopelessness.

After attempting to do their school day conversions in their heads, and with limited success, they decide rather than go completely bonkers — to take a short cut.

“How’s about anything above our thirty-two Fahrenheit is a bonus?” Sue gushes.

Roger toys with this thought for a while before dismissing it. “Here we’re used to a life threatening ten above at peak of day, so a move is looking good, but what about the children?”

Sue’s smile brightens. “I think it best we take them with us, don’t you?”

“Yes. I meant how’d you think they’ll cope?”

“Why? They’re children; they’ll adapt well, probably better than we cope. Your legs are white and skinny. You’ll look like a flamingo.”

“Presupposing we are to leave this land of our birth. Admittedly a land of benighted fools and spoon fed unremarkable people who’ve been born into unearned privilege,” Roger pauses to collect his breath, and further supposing that I’m even employable in Australia.”

Sue is hanging on his every word. In her mind’s eye, she is already visualising a life Down Under as a panacea for most of their ills.

Anything to get out of this mind numbing, grey, lifeless, British climate and the extra distance between them and Roger’s bank guarantees might not be a bad thing.

“And further surmising other costs measure up similar to here,” Roger continues counting again on his fingers, “whatever is left to spend after taxation could mean we’d be one third better off financially than we are now.”

“Simply by moving to the other side of the world and living upside down,” Sue prompts gently.

“Yes.”

“Their ‘ten pound assisted passage’ is a big pull, but still no mention of Fred.” Roger ignores Fred. “It’s a no-brainer, Sue. Money-wise I’ll never be accepted here as anything above lower middle class, because I wear the wrong School tie. Can Down Under be worse?”

Sue perks up. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it? Do you think we’ll be forbidden to walk on the grass in their parks, like we are here? Will we have to keep Fred on a lead?”

“I have no idea what to expect. Do they even have green grass in Australia? Or even parks, or dogs?”

“Maybe now is the time to try and find out?”

The following afternoon they visit their local librarian. He explains, “The name Australia is derived from the Latin Australis meaning of the South. Matthew Flinders was the first person to circumnavigate the continent when the only inhabitants were Aborigines, and he referred to them in his book.”

“Aborigines? What about the Aborigines?” Sue asks.

“Well, from what’s in the library, they invented the boomerang, which in aboriginal probably means, ‘Don’t stand there’, but they don’t appear to have come up with much else in the past 40,000 years, or so. According to newspaper articles, they only recently got the right to vote, which means they’ve certainly been disadvantaged. Maybe you should take an interest in the Aboriginal culture?” the librarian suggests.

“What like join in their rain dance on a Friday evening?” Roger asks tongue in cheek.

“Why not?” Sue smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. “Great idea — weather permitting.”

“If Aborigines spend much of their time outside, sitting under trees, you do realise something very important?”

“What?” Sue and the librarian ask in unison.

“Everyone needs a hobby?” prompts the librarian with a smirk.

“No. I mean it can’t be that cold, can it? Not where they are, because if it’s freezing their nuts off they wouldn’t be sitting around outside. Would they?”

Sue has another of her involuntary little shudders, “No-one lazes about outdoors here. Not even in Arctic clothing and around a big bonfire.”

Each afternoon for a week after work, Sue and Roger run around in ever decreasing circles in all their local libraries looking for books about Australia.

“Australia’s so far away it might as well be on Mars,” Sue says dejectedly.

“What we want,” Roger explains to any librarian who will lend an ear, “are books, preferably big books, with lots of glossy coloured pictures all to do with Australia.”

At one particular library, after some soul searching and rummaging about, three books are found.

Eagerly Sue picks up each one to check them out.

“No!” She places the books back on the counter. “It’s not the nesting habits of the Pelican that we want to know about.”

She does an eye roll to Roger that is so massive it almost gives her a headache.

“Frankly, if we wanted to settle on the Moon there’d be more up to date information available,” Roger says gravely.

“You’re probably right,” the librarian’s soft voice replies, “experts have recently been there and documented it.” He scratches his head. “Come to think about it there’s more interest about the Moon — than Australia.”

“All available information comes back to what the Australian Government is putting out by the dray load, but that’s all heavily slanted in favour of their sponsored areas,” Sue explains.

“How can we find out something worthwhile about Australia without actually going there?” Roger asks another brainy looking librarian.

“Why, Australia?” Brainy asks.

“Because we’re thinking of becoming ‘ten pound Poms’ and going there to live.” Sue explains patiently.

Brainy shows interest. “You’ve seen their television advertising?”

“The son of Fu Manchu couldn’t avoid it. It’s never off the television. If you buy a newspaper it’s got full page advertisements.”

“They’re supposed to be a weird lot,” Brainy says softly, “you’ll need to take care.” He begins rummaging through his card indexes for books. After a while, he pulls one out. “Will you want to build a boomerang?”

Roger looks at Sue. Sue looks at Roger.

“No. Probably not,” Roger replies. “Well, not straight away, anyway.”

Brainy puts it back, rummages further, and draws out another. “What about a Didgeridoo?”

Roger looks blankly at him. Sue raises a shapely but sceptical eyebrow.

Brainy shrugs. “Another confusing thing about Australia is their animals.”

“Why?” Sue asks. The smile has melted off her face.

“They’re divided into three categories; venomous, odd, and sheep.”

“You amaze me,” Roger grimaces.

Brainy beams. “Thank you. It’s true.”

“I don’t doubt it,” says Sue in a resigned tone as she attends to James in his push chair.

Jayne tightens her small grip on Roger’s hand.

“Of the ten most venomous arachnids on the planet, Australia has nine,” Brainy announces proudly.

Roger is thoughtful. “Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say then, that of the nine most venomous arachnids, Australia has all of them?”

Anything else?” Sue asks; she is becoming bored.

“There are snakes.”

“You mean the spiders haven’t killed them all?” asks Roger.

“Most snakes live near the sea, even the spiders won’t go near the sea, but be careful to check inside your boots and shoes.”

“When?”

Brainy is thoughtful. “Best before putting them on. Oh, and under toilet seats before sitting down.”

“What, for snakes, or spiders?”

“Both I’d say, oh, and always carry a large stick.”

“What else have you got in your bag of tricks?”

“Watch out for Drop Bears.” Brainy continues. “I’ve heard there are these Bears that stay in trees, they wait for you to walk under them, then they fall on top of you and attack.”

Sue and Roger are mortified. Jayne perks up at the mention of bears falling out of trees.

“Surely not!” Roger gasps.

Brainy smiles appreciatively and winks at Roger as he flicks through more index cards. “Did you know over half of the entire flora and fauna that exist in Australia are found no-where else? And yet, to top it off, that it is the most inhospitable place to support life outside of Antarctica.”

“Good to know,” says Roger snidely, “actually it sounds a great place to live and bring up a family.”

“Another confusing thing about Australia is the inhabitants,” Brainy continues.

“Surprise me,” Roger retaliates.

“Well, about 50,000 years ago Indigenous Australians arrived from the north possibly in boats.”

“But if they arrived by boat or on foot, how come they’re Indigenous?” Roger asks. “I thought the definition of being Indigenous was that they were always there?”

“Because it was 50,000 years ago, apparently they qualify.”

Roger shrugs.

Brainy peers at Roger over the top of his bifocal glasses, “They’re called Aborigines, you do know that.”

“Yes, that’s easy to find out.”

“I’ve got a number of books about them. The tree hasn’t grown too far from the apple if you get my meaning?”

Roger looks puzzled. “Isn’t it the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

“Yes, but remember we’re referring to Down Under? Anyway, they ate all the available food and a lot of them died of starvation. Those who survived learned respect for the balance of nature, man’s proper place in the overall scheme of things, and the spiders. They learned about spiders and snakes.”

“What happened then?”

“They ate the spiders and snakes.”

“Then what?”

“Well, they settled in and spent a lot of the intervening time telling strange stories they call the Dreamtime.”

Roger sighs. “It’s more about life now for people like us that I want to read about. Not how to throw a spear or make a boomerang.”

Brainy grins like a schoolboy, “Well, it all boils down to some bloke landing on a beach in a silly hat about 200 years ago.”

“Silly hat? You mean their three cornered hat?”

“Yes, but it was known as a ‘cocked hat’ during its time and later known as the Tricorne, until in the 1800s when it fell out of fashion.”

“Well, yes. I suppose it’s unlikely they’d have been wearing Akubras back then.” Roger smiles. “That would be the European convicts sent by the Crown in chains to a penal settlement in the south?”

“Well, yes, you’re probably correct. Crime and punishment would have been like a bushman’s holiday for many, only with a few deranged officials in charge. Anyway, after they’d killed more aborigines than malaria, they tried to plant their crops in autumn. They failed to realise that the seasons were reversed you see. They ate all their available food and a lot of them died of starvation.”

“It has a familiar ring to it.”

“What them killing the aborigines?”

“No, the British have always killed everyone in their way. Look at any atlas to witness the extent of vast, pink Imperialism. That’s one of the reasons we’re so damned unpopular.”

“Oh, ok.” Brainy beams. “Well, there’s no substitution for a winning personality, but it was about then that the sheep arrived and have been a treasured resource ever since.”

“So really the only information I’m likely to find is that I should eat more lamb and always carry a stick.” Roger sums up.

“What else?” Sue sighs. “We’re drifting off topic.”

Brainiac looks a little beaten.

“Well I’m afraid that’s all I have on the matter.”

Back home Sue attends to Jayne and James while Roger sits at the dining table twiddling a pen as though it is a well-earned cigarette.

“Time for a bottle of Chateau cardboard and another rethink.”

“It’s earth shattering stuff,” Sue calls out from the east wing, its entirety affording their bedroom, “Now it’s going to cost us a whole £10 each and we’re being extra choosey.”

Sue joins Roger at their table.

Both now into the plonk, Roger is thinking it could be a great time for him to try the horizontal limbo, as Australia is an awfully long way to go for a shag.

He raises his glass to his wife, and smiles, “Here’s to us then, Sweet Pea.”

Sue toasts back, “Good luck to you then, Knucklehead.”

Roger frowns. “Maybe I should act royally.”

“Alright, how’s about Lord Pist-a-lot then.”

“According to Brainy, it’s the driest, flattest, and at times hottest, place imaginable. The most merciless place north of Antarctica. Remind me again, Sue, why are we going there?”

“For a better life.”

“No guarantees. No idea about housing, or costs,” Roger sighs, “and if we go to Australia we’ll be saying goodbye to everything we’ve ever known here.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Country of our birth. Maybe Ena Sharples, Len Fairclough, and Stan Ogden of Coronation Street. Ronnie Barker, Dave Allen?”

Sue takes a sip of wine. “What else, seriously?”

“We may never see any more re-runs of Steptoe & Son. I’ll miss the rasping and manipulative voice of Wilfred Bramble and the comic antics of Harry H. Corbett.”

“We’ll also be leaving a country of strange names. Prisons like Wormwood Scrubs, Strangeways, and Parkhurst. In the county of Sussex there’s Devil’s Dyke,” Sue adds with a smile. “Does any of that matter? It’s like complaining about potholes when they’re among the few things left that are still being made here.”

“And in London I never did find out why Tooting Bec was so called, and will we or the children miss being able to ride the tube trains or the double decker buses?” Roger adds, “Or the donkeys on the beach?”

“Well you don’t ride them now, and anyway why should you miss a bus?” Sue pauses. “Are we going Down Under or not?” she asks firmly.

Roger sighs. “Yes. I suppose so, okay.”

“You mean it?” Sue brightens.

“Yes, a bit of roast kookaburra, or some nicely fried platypus will be a change from sausages and sardines.”

“What’s a platt-ie-pus?”

“I don’t know, not even sure how to spell it.”

“What about roasted kangaroo?” Sue asks.

“Might taste alright.”

“Are you sure we’d go? Even without a job and no money?”

“We’re broke here. I’m supposing we’ve got little or nothing to lose.”

Everything that has happened to them to date, the untimely death of Sue’s dad at only 58, the premature death of Roger’s mum aged only 38, and their financial hardships working at the behest of family, has finally led them to this juncture.

“Okay.” Sue replies, drawing out the word. “Yes, then we’ll go,” and with that she takes Roger’s face in her hands and gives him a kiss that nearly sets his clothes on fire. Roger finds his baser instincts creeping firmly into place.

“If we do go Down Under,” Roger muses, “will the missionary position be upside down?”

“Trust you to bring sex into it.”

“Now might be a good time to sing God Save the Queen.”

Instead, in low tones so as not to wake their babies, they butcher Waltzing Matilda.

“Are you happy about all this, Roger?” Sue asks between humming and softly singing.

“I will be, if it works.”