LADY CHISORA (After Lennon and McCartney’s “LADY MADONNA”)

DERRICK CHISORA,

WORLD WAS AT YOUR FEET

AFTER YOU WORLD TITLE FIGHT 

AND BRAVE DEFEAT

NOW IT’S ALL OVER

YOU ARE ALL BUT DONE

CAUSE YOU WANTED TO SHOOT HAYE 

WITH A GUN

SUNDAY NIGHT ARRIVES WITHOUT A TITLE

AFTERNOON YOU’RE BRAWLING WITH SOMEONE

EVENING YOU’RE BEING HELD FOR QUESTIONING

HAYE’S ON THE RUN

DAVID CHISORA

HAD TO COME BACK HOME

EVEN THE SCUM MEDIA WON’T HEAR YOU MO-A-OAN!

DO-DO, DO-DEE-DO-DO, DO-DEE-DO DEE-DO!

http://image.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/2700/2700,1293233098,1/stock-photo-rear-view-of-a-young-male-bodybuilder-doing-heavy-weight-exercise-with-dumbbells-against-dark-67945969.jpg

THE GREATEST STORY NEVER TOLD

After the Chilean miners dramatic escape several Hollywood producers went down to Santiago to do a deal and bring the story back with them.  This is that story.

Miner:  We want to tell our story through the medium of film.

Big-shot Hollywood Producer:  I respect that ...And money.

Miner:  But we want genuine Chilean actors to play us to add authenticity to the production.

Big-shot Hollywood Producer:  Of course.

Six months later...

UNDERGROUND

Starring . . .                                                      

Matt Damon                                                                  

as Mario Gomez                                 

                                                                         

Woody Harrelson

as Juan Carlos Aguilar                                 

Jason Statham

as Ramon Avalos                                                                      

Shia LeBeof

as Jose Ojeda                                            

Same Difference   

as Pablo and 

Esteban Rojas                                         

And the Saturdays

as everyone else                                            

Also Starring 

Angel from Dexter

as the evil mining

company owner                                              

Eric Roberts as

Evil Communist

President 

Sebastian Pinera                                                

Sylvester Stallone

as leader of the 

noble resistance                                   

And . . .

Brad Pitt

as the Pit!                                        

Coming soon to a 

cinema near you . . .

SOMETIME NEVER!





And remember dear readers the first book FREE AT LAST: A NOVEL by MIKE LAMBERT & ZOE LAMBERT is still available on Amazon Kindle for £2.29 with my next book DEATH OF CELEBRITY: A NOVEL available in July.


all photo acknowledgements will be on later today.  Thanks you!
http://imaginarymen.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/matty-bourne.jpg
http://www.esquire.com/cm/esquire/images/E5/esq-woody-harrelson-0212-lg.jpg
http://shechive.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/eye-candy-jason-statham-14.jpg?w=499&h=657
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http://www.divercitycafe.ro/wp-content/gallery/the-saturdays-missing-you-teaser-videoclip/the-saturdays.jpg
http://s.glasgowsconcerthalls.com/eximg/EventDocuments/EventNumber-81879/square.jpg
http://www.seat42f.com/images/stories/tvshows/Dexter/dexter-season-2-promo-photo-david-zayas-angel.jpg
http://www.glamour.com/fashion/blogs/slaves-to-fashion/2011/03/24/0324sylvester-stallone-rambo_fa.jpg
http://www.friendsofcannabis.com/directory/images/stories/r/eric_roberts.jpg
http://www.hairstylesdesign.eu/wp-content/uploads/pictures/photos-of-brad-pitt-hair-1212.jpg
Also I am aware that the President is not an evil communist and the owner of the mining company is also not evil and all of this was done for the purposes of humour.   Bye!

THE EIGHTH IN A FAIRLY REGULAR SERIES OF FORGOTTEN FILMS THAT SHOULD BE REMEMBERED.

So what do I have for your delight and delectation today?  Well I’ll tell you.  It’s a political masterpiece from a man whose previous political film didn’t really feature the person of the title.  It stars one of the best actors in the world and he gives an absolute powerhouse performance here in what is one of those films that when you see it you can’t help but be blown away by it’s technique and, well, epic storytelling of this incredibly able but also deeply flawed individual whose own flaws consume him.  It makes it a more uncomfortable viewing bearing in mind its historic (true like many historic films we can query where truth stops and screenwriting begins?) and that it is from our not so recent history.  From 1995 and a bum-numbing 190 mins it is not for someone who wants an hour and a half of fun, I present the case for Nixon (Never though I’d ever come out with that one!)

NIXON (1995)

Well, if ever there was a pointless task of writing a synopsis I guess this is it.  Nixon tells the story of Richard Milhouse Nixon and his rise in early politics to defeat at the hands of JFK and subsequent retiring from politics to his incredible comeback and subsequent fall from grace.  It looks as his skills as a debater, his tactical nous with foreign policy and also his absolute lack of skill with self-same foreign policy and a man whose personal hang-ups and failings caused his own ultimate downfall.  The film revolves around the central stunning performance by Anthony Hopkins who captures Nixon in all his sweaty glory and the fast-paced editing and stunning direction make this a must-see as part of, what I call, the greatest trilogy that never was.

I see this as a three film set of that period that begins with “All the Presidents men” (Based on the equally brilliant best-seller) the classic 1976 thriller which follows the path of the Washington Post journalists as they follow the money trail all the way back to the White House with the help of “Deep Throat” (brilliantly played by Hal Holbrook).  Nixon is the middle part of the trilogy looking at the wrangling, trials and tribulations of the man himself and then finally we have “Frost/Nixon” which looks at the aftermath and the legendary interview with the canny Brit broadcaster David Frost and how America finally healed itself.  

The other two films have probably garnered most of the critical acclaim; both are shorter, the earliest film has secured itself in many people’s hearts and minds and obviously “Frost/Nixon” is more recent so in a way “Nixon” has been pushed aside, AND, I’m not gonna lie to you, it is an uncomfortable viewing in some ways as it shows all the worst aspects of the man, and when watching it, when you see his finer moments you do feel like warning him to turn back, but like a Shakespearean tragedy the outcome is all too well known.  

If you do have the stomach for a hard-edge political bio then this is one of the finest you will see, and if you have about seven hours to spare and want to catch up on some riveting bits of American history brought to life by some of the finest actors around then I recommend the trilogy “All the Presidents Men”, “Nixon” and finally “Frost/Nixon” ...Just make sure you have plenty of food and  comfy chair.

Enjoy!

Ooh!  And as we are looking at three films on this one I’ve included trailers for all three.

And remember dear readers the first book FREE AT LAST: A NOVEL by MIKE LAMBERT & ZOE LAMBERT is still available on Amazon Kindle for £2.29 with my next book DEATH OF CELEBRITY: A NOVEL available in July.


Thanks for reading.




http://uk.movieposter.com/posters/archive/main/32/MPW-16171

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZBcPDePMjY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dO2LWKpeyI8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ibxs_2nDXUc

I know haven't really being doing the short short stories as I should, so tonight I'm getting back there a little with this brand new doozy.  Enjoy!


The least successful strike.

  “We’re supposed to only have a handful of pickets out there legally ...Tomorrow, we’re playing things by our rules!” said Mike, a burly man who looked about as close to a stereotypical militant as you could get.  The strike at the NHS direct contact centre was in direct response to just one event  ...The reduction of the overtime rate to just time, with the quarter going for evenings and Saturdays and the half going for Sunday and bank holidays.  This meant many people were going to be out of pocket.  The union had attempted to talk with their employers but they were not for talking, leaving staff but one option ...Strike, and the next day they were determined to make it the most successful strike they’d ever had.

  “Tomorrow I want you to talk to every person that who attempts to get into the building and dissuade them from going in,” Mike continued to the assembled picketers.  They had all gathered in one of the function rooms at the Pig and Cement mixer public house (every-one wondered how the pub got its name but nobody dare ask the landlord, ex-SAS soldier, one-eyed Jim!  ...Or where he got his nickname from considering he had two eyes!)  “There are meant to be three hundred people in that building, the last strike we had there twenty people went in, time before that fifteen ...Let’s make it zero tomorrow!”

  They all cheered, raised their glasses and celebrated their own success, before it had even happened.

The Strike

  The snow started at two a.m that morning like there was a giant dumper truck slowly ebbing out its enormous load over the north-east of England.  The picketers drove in with caution and fear, worrying that some arsehole coming the other way or even behind them could wind-up killing or maiming them.  Somehow everyone made it to the car park below the building and trudged through the first couple of inches to take station outside the building to deter the few scabs that were likely to ignore the proposed strike action.  After ten minutes they got their first customer of the day.

  “BROTHER!” said Mike.  “YOU DON’T WANT TO DO THIS TODAY!” 

  “You can’t stop me, I’m going into work!” said the man wearing a ridiculously thin coat and a flat-cap which offered little protection against the furious snowstorm.

  “PLEASE!” Mike pressed further.  “STAND WITH US BROTHER!”

  “Fuck off!” said the man angrily attempting to barge past him.  He was just about to head inside the building when a mousy woman with a brown scarf so far up her head she resembled a mole peering out from the ground piped up.

  “Think about it, work’s the last place you want to get stuck at today!”

  The man stopped in his tracks on the steps and looked at the full clouds overhead that showed no signs of being empty any time soon.

  “Yeah.  Yeah you’re right there,” said the man.  “See you tomorrow.”

  And off he went.  Mike’s smile seemed like it stretch his face out to Cheshire cat proportions as he hugged Joyce.

  “Well done, Joyce,” he beamed enthusiastically.  “Well done!”

  “Erm, inappropriate behaviour pamphlet?” said Joyce coyly.

  “Oh, er ...Yes, of course,” said Mike, embarrassed.  “Well done, sister!”

  As the snow fell the battle for hearts and minds became easier to win with only seven people being able to get through the super thick deluge that clouded the view from only thirty metres.  The stolid picketers held their ground with their placards and thick boots, and today, extremely winning argument.  The wind and snow that slashed at their faces trying to break the blood vessels beneath the skin did little to shake the strikers resolve.  By the time ten a.m had come and gone and the snow had grown to past seven inches they were confident that the strike had triumphed, with zero people in the office the twenty five picketers had achieved their greatest ever success.

  “I’D JUST LIKE TO SAY THAT THE SUCCESS WE HAVE ACHIEVED WITH A ZERO NUMBER TURN-OUT IN THE OFFICE IS A SUCCESS THAT IS DUE TO YOUR HARD-WORK AND DILIGENCE ...WELL DONE!” said Mike through a mega-phone to the twenty-five picketers who had dared to make the trip out.  “NOW LET’S GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

  The strikers pulled their feet out of the drifts, helping each other through the snow as if they were navigating a muddy field, such had become its thickness, turning the five minute walk down to the car park into a ten minute battle, not without a few slips and chuckles on the way.  By the time they made it into their cars they were all grateful for the warmth and the feeling of Safety.  Mike had arrived first and had stationed himself nearest the exit, militant he might have been, staying longer then was absolutely necessary he was not.  He turned his Saab up the ramp and made it only a few metres before the wheels began to get stuck against the couple of feet of the cold stuff that had stationed itself on the garage ramp.

  “Come on, come one!” said Mike to the car, like that would help.  For a moment the car lurched forward another metre as if responding to Mike’s coaxing before sliding back down into the garage.  Mike got out and looked at the drift wondering whether he should let some other vehicle go first or they should immediately try and dig their way out.

  “Do you want me to go first?” said Graham, a man in his early forties in a Nissan Qashqai.

  “Aye, better had,” said Mike.  Figuring the Qashqai should be able to crush that snow and  carve a path through the snow for everyone else to emerge through.  The Qashqai made it further than Mike, getting a good four and a half metres up the ramp before the effect on the compacted snow finally made an impact and cause it to skid back into the garage.

  As the Qashqai finally came to a stop the assorted picketers realised the enormity of the situation.  

  “What are we gonna do, Mike?” one of his colleagues asked.  

  “I don’t know,” he said.  They could not just drive away from their work and as the drifts showed no signs of abating it made their options extremely limited.

  “We need to get warm,” said Joyce.  “I say we get a cup of tea inside.”

  “NO!” said Mike, firmly.  “We are not going to go inside!”

  “We need to get warm, Mike,” Joyce replied.  Mike was about to respond when he looked around at his colleagues all of which where shivering and stomping their feet.  Mike wanted to argue the case but Joyce was right.  They were freezing down here and the Buckstars brew machine that they had installed would shake that chill off in no time.

  “Upstairs it is then.  We’ll get a brew, wait out the snowstorm then go,” Mike responded, his voice containing just the right amount of authority.

  They headed upstairs and gathered round the Buckstars coffee machine and started to fill up on the premium coffee at quality prices.  Although they started off small and grew large it didn’t take long for Buckstars to realise they could make even more money putting a machine in offices all around the country.  They slurped down the mocha’s, hot chocolate’s, cappuccino’s, freyalcimo’s, compelissimo’s and tea’s with hungry relish, the throats savouring the heat, the fingers warming on the cups.  As they leant against their desks the twenty-five picketers could see the message boards flash up the waiting numbers ...210, 211, 213, 225 ...All the time increasing, but they didn’t have to worry about that they were on strike.  So what if the phones were making that electronic bird sound, it wasn’t a concern to them, employers should have listened.

  “Lot of people with problems today,” said Tim, a former bond trader who wound-up taking a forty per cent pay cut in this job when the world turned bad.

  “It’s not our issue today,” replied Mike.  “We have to stand together we have to help each other.”

  “Mmmm,” Tim replied, his eyes never straying from the numbers board.

  “Snow’s probably not helping either,” said Stan, a former scaffolder with a voice that sounded like he should be narrating Big Brother.  Working at the NHS direct helpline was one of those jobs that gave you that rarest of pleasures, the pleasure of saving a life.  If you worked on this helpline then you KNEW how that felt, there were no exceptions, everyone there had experienced that joy.  Today they knew that the numbers would probably be even higher than usual.  

  “Brothers and sisters, I know what you’re thinking but remember why we are on strike today,” Mike pleaded.  “We’re doing this to help each other.”

  “Helping each other is what we do,” Stan replied ...Before putting his headset on and switching his phone to on.  “NHS direct, Stan speaking how can I help?”

  “STAN, NO!” said Mike, attempting to run over to him, but due to his size and girth it was more comical than threatening.  He had barely got near Stan when he heard ...

  “NHS Direct, Joyce speaking, how can I help?”

  “NO, JOYCE, PLEASE!” said Mike, but the next voice piped up even before Mike had finished speaking.

  “NHS Direct, Tim speaking, how can I help?”

  By now they were all flicking on headsets and speaking to the needy who did not know or understand what was happening to them?  Mike could hear the calls as the numbers waiting tipped beneath the two hundred mark.

  “How long have you been struggling to breathe?”

  “What colour is the rash?”

  “How long have you had the bruise for?”

  “What colour is the phlegm?”

  “Can you bend it?”

  “Is there a burning sensation?” 

  Mike could hear the words and phrases he had become so familiar with and he knew how every one of them needed their help, needed potentially life-saving help and even at the least just needed re-assurance.  He scrunched up his face, bit his lip ...And sat down and placed his headset on.

  “NHS Direct, you’re speaking to Mike, how can I help?”

  The next day Mike was stood at the brew machine waiting for his Buckstars Prelimucco to fill to completion (the weather had lessened off over night!) when his thoughts were interrupted by Jonathan, a skinny beanpole of a man who was as friendly as he was lazy, the kind of colleague that everyone get’s on with yet resents at the same time.

  “Hey, Mikey!” said Jonathan with that annoying smile of his.  “How went the strike?”

  “Fine,” said Mike, not acknowledging the deliberately awkward wording of his question?

  “How many people came in then?” Jonathan pressed. 

  “I’m not sure,” Mike lied.  “About ...twenty ...ish, or something.”

  “Twenty?  Wow!  That’s quite a lot!” continued Jonathan.

  “I SAID ISH!” shouted Mike.  “...OR SOMETHING!  LEAVE ME ALONE!”

  Mike wandered off with his Prelimucco, leaving a bad taste in his mouth and quizzical expression on Jonathan’s face.

Fin.

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Not quite sure where this one came from but I think my Facebook post pretty much covers it.

The sleeper

  My name is Paul Harrison

  I’m a creature of habit.  You should know that about me.  I get up at 6.45 every morning.  No snooze button.  What’s the point of purposely disturbing your sleep when you can get more going straight through?  I put on my dressing gown, have breakfast, brush my teeth, get dressed drive to work (at Lester, Lester, Grout & Lester, the accountants), actually do some work, have dinner while keeping up-to-date with all the changes in the high-flying world of accountancy, work some more, come home have dinner watch my television shows (or TV if you prefer!) shower, cover myself in baby oil, masturbate, shower again, get my jammies on and am asleep by 10:10, usually.

  That’s my routine.

  Nothing disturbs it.

  Ever.

  I like that.

10:21.

  I open my eyes.  My boss (Grout jnr) is slumped at his desk.  A neat round bullet hole sits Squarely in the middle of his forehead.  It seems to be in direct contrast to the gigantic fragmented hole in the blinds and window behind which are matted with everything that contained Mr Grout junior’s consciousness.  The blood, assorted brain matter and skull fragments which are currently coating the blinds behind my former boss resemble a gory children’s collage.  In life he was an awful man, a bully and a sweaty liability who had three out-of-court settlements for sexual harassment on his CV, but, as we’re supposed to say nice things only about the dead I suppose I should say something pleasant myself and obey the convention ...He always had a perfectly trimmed moustache.  

  There are screams from behind me.  I hear them as if far off.  Must have been the noise of the shot.  Yes, I definitely have some ringing in my ears.  As I move my head to shake off the noise I catch a glimpse of my hands.  The gun rests neatly in them.  There’s a small amount of blood there as well.  How the hell did that get there?  The screaming is getting louder now.  I turn to face it and try to calm everyone down but they merely duck down and scream some more.  Oh, of course, the gun.  I drop it to the floor and head out of the office walking past Mr Grout senior and one of the Lester’s, in my current state I couldn’t tell you which one.  I need to get my head together and work out what happened?  

  As I walk down the central aisle to the elevators people try and speak to me.  I see their mouths move but it’s a far-off noise like the screams.  I press the button and wait for it to come, and wait and try to figure out what happened and wait and try and figure ...and wait ..and try ...and wait ...

12:35

  I open my eyes and immediately wish I hadn’t.  I’m outside my work building now.  London may have the Gherkin and of course it gets all the headlines, but here we have the pepper, a three sectioned whole that’s a bit of midget at 20 storeys.  Designed with a slant as a supposed deterrent to suicides, that’s the idea anyway, I think for many of my colleagues inside they see the building as more of a reason to actually commit suicide, but I digress.  Due to the curved nature of the building it means that the usual lowered boxes method of cleaning windows is undoable.  Therefore they have these bars, while I say a bar, it’s four-bar horizontal that you can walk on, three lots of them, this is what the window-cleaners click their harnesses to.  It’s also what I’m holding on, like my life depends.  

  The metal bars are hard to hold onto and as my legs flail in the air I can recognise without sight that I am about fifteen storeys up.  I hold on tight to the bars ledge and wonder how the hell I got here from my late boss’ office.  A few feet away a man is trying to help me by holding an outstretched hand.  I reach mine up so he can pull me back inside.  The wind up here even on a sunny day is noticeable even if you’re indoors.  Why was I out on the ledge in the first place?  

  He’s reaching over, his face a picture of fear as he holds onto the window frame with his left hand and stretches out with his right.  I wrap my right arm round all the bars and grip hard, stretching out as far as my left will let me.  I’m about a foot away.  I thrust myself up so my body rests on the bars and I get a further six inches nearer.  Stretching further I get two more inches and then another inch.  The bar makes a yawl and a squeak that is never good and the bar that holds one side of the bars sends me dropping about twenty feet.  I close my eyes and wonder if I’ll be able to get inside, in where it’s safe ...Back inside ...In where it’s ...back.

16:30

  I open my eyes.  I’m at the bank.  The counters and general ambience tell me that immediately.  The various people looking down on the ground in tears is not a good sign today though.  There is no-one behind the counter they’re all in front of it.  The other worrying thing are the five people with bombs attached to them.  They are also in tears.  As I look in my hand I can see why?  I’m holding a hand-trigger device.  If I let go the pressure will trigger the bombs going off.  What have I done now?  Today I’ve killed a man, nearly got another killed and now am holding five people hostage.  What kind of bastard have I become in the space of one day?  I was a creature of habit and yet look at me now.  What the hell has happened to me?  The only question I’m left with as people tremble at the sight of me is can I live with it a moment longer?  And the answer is no.  I look out of the glass doors and can see police cars waiting outside, presumably for me.  I head for the door and there are a number of screams.  Why are they trying to stop me from giving myself up?  I hear footfalls of someone running behind me.  I’m not trying to flee the scene merely stop the monster in his tracks that has taken over this suit I wear.  I break into a sprint to the door and head out into the glorious sunshine.  Whoever was behind me has stopped in their tracks and is screaming at me.  I open my arms and wait for the bullets to fly and save me from the evil that courses through my ever fibre at the moment ...

  “Hello, Paul,” said the Doctor.

  Paul opened his eyes.  He wasn’t dead.  He was in hospital.  There was a policeman at the door.  No doubt he’d been arrested by now.  He looked down at his wrists and was surprised to see that no handcuffs were attaching him to the bed.  Paul pushed himself up, even more confused than he had been all day.  

  “Where am I?” he asked.  Although the answer seemed obvious he wasn’t taking any chances.

  “You’re at Saint Grimshaw’s Royal hospital,” replied the Doctor.  “I expect you’re feeling quite confused about everything that’s happened today.”

  “Just a little,” said Paul.  as the buzzing in his head was hurting his eyes and grating against his throat.

  “I’m not surprised.  You are quite the unique individual.  It’s not everyday that one discovers a new disorder,” the Doctor smiled as he flicked over the details.  “At least that’s what we think it is.  Just need to run through a few questions first.”

  “A new disorder?” asked Paul.  The buzzing in his head was growing almost incessant now .

  “Yes, seemingly,” said the Doctor, consulting his chart, the smile still not leaving his face.  “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure,” Paul continued, clasping his forehead.

  “Is your job quite boring?” asked the Doctor.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say boring...” replied Paul.

  “Good, good, good,” said the Doctor.  “Would you say that you could do your job without really much effort?”

  “Well, I do put some effort to erm...” Paul replied.

  “Right, right, right,” the Doctor went on, while making further notes on his chart.  “And finally would you say your life is quite routine?”

  “Yes,” replied Paul.  “Definitely.”

  “Splendid, splendid, splendid,” said the Doctor.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” asked Paul as the buzzing was now so bad he wanted to send a toilet brush into his ears.

  “I take it today has seemed like an episodic nightmare for you?” said the Doctor, finally putting his notes down.

  “Yes,” said Paul.  “I don’t know what’s been going on?  I seem to wake up in these nightmare moments that don’t seem make any sense.  At the bank when I came to and saw the trigger I just, I just don’t know how I got there?”

  “All seem chaotic and disjointed?” asked the Doctor.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “There is a reason for that,” said the Doctor.  “You seem to be suffering from inverted narcolepsy.”

  “Inverted narcolepsy?” asked Paul.

  “Yes,” replied the Doctor.  “It would appear that the routine of your life has created a situation where you’ve been wandering through your day-to-day activities in a largely unconscious state, said routine creating little reason for your conscious self to ever ...Wake-up as it were.  Today during these truly horrifying moments your conscious self has woken up in order to protect you.”

  “But what was I doing at these moments today?”

  “Nothing,” said the Doctor.

  “Nothing?” asked Paul.

  “Nothing.”

  “But my boss,” said Paul.

  “Your boss was about to be arrested for embezzlement,” the Doctor continued.  “He pulled a gun and was going to kill you.  Upon seeing his father and another partner outside he knew the game was up and so turned the gun on himself.  After he shot himself the kick-back from the blast threw the gun to you and you caught it.”

  “Oh,” said Paul as his brain throbbed from what, he still wasn’t sure.  “And the window ledge?”

  “Ah, well there was a man on the ledge trying to kill himself,” the Doctor explained.  “In your unconscious state you didn’t recognise the danger and so went out to bring him back in, slipped and that’s when you woke-up again ...as it were.  The man who was trying to help you was the one who you tried to save.  When the bars broke the people at a lower window pulled you in, when the danger was over you lapsed back into your unconscious state.”

  “And the bank?”

  “It was being robbed, you walked passed the police ring oblivious and when you went in knocked the device out of one of the robbers hands and then picked it up.  It had a five second trigger and the robbers realised that if you dropped it with all the explosives they had packed on the hostages then the explosion would’ve taken them with it.”

  “So why does my head hurt now then?” Paul asked.

  “We’ve given you some anti-psychotics that should allow your conscious mind to take over again,” the Doctor began.  “It may cause some discomfort and you’ll need to take about eight or nine a day, but that should cure the inverted narcolepsy and allow your consciousness to re-assert itself.”

  “And what if I don’t want that?” said Paul.

  “Excuse me,” said the Doctor.

  “What if I don’t want it cured?” Paul asked again.

  “Why would you not want it cured?” asked the Doctor.

  “Doc, it hurts.  I’m a creature of habit.  I don’t need to know what is happening.  Most of the time I don’t care to really think about what I do.  And if this pain in my head is the price I pay, then to be honest ...I’ll stick with my unconscious self doing everything with the occasional moment of clarity when needed,” Paul replied.

  “You serious?” asked the Doctor, not really believing what he was hearing.

  “Deadly,” Paul responded.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” the Doctor said.  “Well the medication you’ve been given should wear off in about two hours and then you’ll be back to normal, if that is what you wish?”

  “It is,” said Paul with a smile.

  “Very well,” said the Doctor before holding his hand out.  “Good luck then, Mister Harrison.”

  Paul shook the Doctor’s hand vigorously.

  “You too.”

  In a few short hours Paul knew that he’d be back to his usual unconscious self and clarity and awareness would slip away and routine and normality would be restored.

20:41

  I open my eyes.  The woman behind the counter is jumping upside down excitedly.  The woman next to me is smiling joyfully.  The lottery machine is ringing with the number eight hundred and fifty thousand flashing on it.

  After the day I’ve had I’m not gonna worry.  It’s probably not even my ticket.

Fin.


For those new to the blog please feel free to check out the previous posts, short stories, forgotten film assessments and various other things.  Also I would like to point out that my first book FREE AT LAST: A NOVEL by MIKE LAMBERT & ZOE LAMBERT is still available on Amazon Kindle for £2.09.

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