Dawn Dream 03

Dawn Dream 03

I feel glad and relaxed in the company of my new friends and in his two-door Fiat on our journeys to and from the table-tennis club, Geoff always lets me sit in the front.

On this particular day John, who always sits in the middle on the back seat, has to pick something up from his nan's house and, as I'm anxious to show courtesy in return to my new friends, I suggest that it might be easier and quicker if I nipped out from the front. Too much to ask, John argues, - 'Beyond the call, Dave' - but I insist and John says that if I give the house door a good push - it sticks - the package will be in the kitchen cutlery drawer.

Within two minutes - and no sign of George's Nan - John has his package. Everyone's happy and I'm a good sport.

A few days later we're driving home, and John needs to pick up another bundle, this time from a friend of his nan's and again I volunteer, conveniently nipping out from the passenger seat of the car. This time I meet an old woman at the door who seems frightened. I tell her with a soothing chuckle that I'm a friend of John's and, a little less worried, she hands me a package in some confusion. I return to the car with the package and Keith, whose breath smells of Miso soup, reaches over to gratefully pat me on the back.

The following week - again, routinely volunteering for John - I collect a package from a little old lady who at first seems frightened, but then is sure she's seen me on TV and smiles a confused smile. We can't work out what she's seen me in and she hands me a package for John. There are tears in the old lady's eyes.

Two weeks later I explain to my new friends that I've just found out I'm going to be doing a theatre play and might not be able to see them for a while. Everyone is happy for me but John seems just slightly less so than the others.

"Ray might not like that."

"Ray?"

"Yeah. He says you're one of the best collectors we've had."

Spontaneously my three other friends give John a sharp look, as if he shouldn't have mentioned something.


Next day when we meet in the bar at the table-tennis club, a large man with a voice my acting pals would kill for is introduced to me as Ray. Out of respect, I call him Raymond which elicits a burst of laughter from my new friends. He congratulates me on doing my theatre play but is concerned about my being able to get time off. I explain that some directors can be quite possessive when you work for them.

"Dave,' says Ray with a smile like an avuncular crocodile, 'you're too popular.'

I asked John on the way home why everyone had laughed when I'd addressed Ray as Raymond.

'Raymond isn't his name' chuckled John, confidentially, 'Ray is short for Razor.'


A day later I'm urged to collect a package from an old lady (this'll be the last one as rehearsals start on Monday) and I hop out from the front seat to greet a sweet old lady who apologises for not having a package to give me but offers instead her pension book and some loose change from her purse. I don't want to take it but she grows fearful and thrusts it into my hand frantically and slams the door.

And it seems that we're not driving home either. Instead I'm taken to a great conference centre packed with a thousand delegates. Ray greets me and ushers me to a seat of honour in the auditorium. The lights dim and I behold a screen-presentation featuring footage of me approaching a series of doorsteps and extracting large packages from petrified pensioners intercut with office shots of Ray and John opening the packages which contain £20.00 notes, £10.00 notes and sundry pieces of modest personal jewellery.

After the screening and to tumultuous applause, Ray takes to the stage and announces me as Collector of The Month.

"Dave tells me he's in the acting game', Ray concludes, 'He tells me that on Monday he starts a very popular Russian stage play called Uncle Vernon and I'm sure we all wish him every success in his artistic pursuits."

In the bar afterwards, Ray and my new friends celebrate my achieving Collector of The Month.

"You got that actor's charm, y'see?' growled Ray, affably, 'works like a dream. Oh, just out of interest, what time do you start Uncle Vincent on Monday... ?"

I tell him there's a meet and greet in Southwark at 10.30.

"That's good' says Ray, 'because we've got a little collection for you to do in Catford at nine fifteen."

Keith leaned in, radiating a confidential aura scented with Miso soup; "...and don't you worry about them theatre directors. We'll walk in with you at Southwark and talk to 'em. Just in case your Uncle Vince gets a little bit, - you know, like you said - 'possessive'... "

©David Shaw-Parker 2016