500 words a day

551 words 28th july 2009

Galbraith thought it was a bit of a dry affair, and a little square too frankly. I mean, where are the girls, where is the hooch and what on earth is the point of those weird absurd representations of the 70’s that the hosts were wearing n a most uncomfortable and ostentatious fashion.


He thought it was pretty damn awful when he’d arrived a couple of hours ago but it had got worse, starting with the arrival of that old fart from his old school, Sir Digby Hefter, who immediately advanced to the centre of the room and proceeded to hold forth on all manner of boring and irritating subjects in such a loud voice that no matter how much he tried to drown him out and pretend he didn’t exist, much like he used to in school assembly, the bastard’s  rolling grumbling garrulous tones pierced his defences and grated and harried and worried away at him so that it was actually easier to turn and listen to him than try not to. Then it was really just a matter of nodding and hoping to Christ that the old fart would forget his lines and leave the room in a shamed rush as the continued onset of the dementia that Galbraith hoped was rather far along, became apparent to the whole room. Of course this didn’t happen and he clearly wasn’t demented at all but had an astonishing and stultifying memory for the most infinitesimal and mind numbingly small and insignificant detail, which he appeared to find it his solemn duty to recount to the all and sundry at the top of his ruddy voice!


         So that took care of the first hideous hour and a half. The next 30 minutes or so was different in one sense, there was no one to listen to or insist on his attention, nor was there anyone in the least bit interesting, stimulating or demonstrating even a hint of a possibility that they may be able to talk to him or even listen to him and respond in a way that kept him awake or stopped him pondering on the variety of ways that he could get out of this hideous situation. Most of them were quite extreme and included diving from the window to the courtyard several stories below, kicking the gas pipe off the wall then locking them all in their and throwing  a lighted match through the door as he left. Taking one of the African spears proudly displayed around the walls along with the specimens of animals heads, and slowly skewering each and everyone in the room taking his time to get round to the last few stragglers just to see how they reacted, whether or not anyone fought back or anyone actually really did shit themselves as he approached to kill them. These thoughts had free roam in the empty void of social ineptitude which had now reigned this disgusting kingdom for 42 and half minutes. Soon, he though I must act, either to end the silence, end the painful discomfort of the company and their imbecilic incapability to engage him in any kind of conversation, or just leave and put up with the fact that he’d be blackballed from the club for failing to fulfil this cruel forfeit.














** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **





Steve Wybourn





** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **