Happy New Year - story to cheer you up

A quick story to hopefully cheer up those suffering, like me, from the Christmas/holiday blues. If you like this story, there's more available under 'Dean Scurlock' at Amazon e-book kindle store.

 

John Macilroy and the Dog That Came In From the Cold

(Or ‘Tinkerer, Time-Traveller, Solderer, Berk’)

At 31 years, John Macilroy was a constant nuisance to his Nana Macilroy, or Betty as she is known to her friends at the Bingo. His persistent attempts to convert items in her house into vehicles or contraptions that, in her opinion, have no use to man nor beast, often left her feeling so insanely angry that she often felt that her pickle was about to roll off its plate.

For a while now, John was not to be seen in his usual slouched position on the sofa, watching The Nick like a slack jawed acolyte. Nana Macilroy was beginning to worry that he’d lose all sense of the PC/WPC romance storyline if he wasn’t careful.

‘John!’ she would holler at the locked garage door. ‘The Nick’s on. You’ll miss it!’

‘I’m busy!’ he would yell in retort.

‘But the WPC reveals she’s already married tonight!’

‘I couldn’t give a damn woman. I’m busy!’ Bang, clatter and various manly DIY type sounds followed. He even provided a masculine hack and spit for good measure.

Nana Macilroy, or Betty to her friends, uttered such a foul curse under her breath that it would have shocked a Liverpool docker to their core.

 

John Macilroy considered himself an inventor. A genius even. However, he was a bit hampered in his endeavours by the fact that he lacked tact and in terms of considering the consequences on others of his inventions, he was, in the words of Betty J. Macilroy, a bit of a git.

John had seen some slushy family film about a talking dog and its interaction with the family, eventually resolving whatever issues the family may have had. He was inspired. If only I could enable Nana’s dog, Ethel, to speak. There’s no end to the insightful analysis we could derive from Ethel. He set to work.

 

His only other obsession was Mandy, local coffee shop ‘barista’, ‘Mand’s’ to those daring to be her friends. Yes, some people would describe her as harsh, unfriendly, bitterly cruel and generally passive-aggressive to all who met her, but John could only see a living example of a cartoon Princess. He saw past the swearing, chain-smoking, and chronic alcoholic and saw the delicate flower inside.

To his ultimate joy she had finally agreed to come to the cinema with him. She said she would be delighted to step out with him. At least, John chose to believe that’s what she said as it was little more than an acquiescent grunt, followed by a dry hacking cough and a spit.

My angel.

 

Over the next few days Nana Macilroy, when noticing the gradual disappearance of hairdryer, kettle, toaster and portable TV, would utter a number of curses and oaths, not always under her breath (one such expletive uttered at the top of her voice near an open window caused a passing 7yr old girl to cry).

John experimented with voice, accent, timbre, even language. Ethel, a nervous animal that suffered from protruding teeth, was locked into a head brace that aimed to straighten them.  She was a bit distrustful of the electrical wires that John was welding to the frame. However, a crushed Valium in the marrowbone jelly soon chilled her out.

Finally the device was complete. John attached the battery to nervous Ethel’s collar, and went out to meet Mandy at the cinema. If he was late she might get...tetchy. His grandmother would be at the bingo all afternoon with her cronies, and would she get a surprise when she got home, he excitedly mused. I’ll bring Mandy back to share in my triumph. I shall be adored, he thought.

 

(The film was a horror, some eighteen rated rot about rusty, dripping torture chambers terrorising good-looking twenty-something’s playing teenagers on a camping trip. It was Mandy’s choice. John just stared devotedly at her round countenance, delighting in the way her face contorted in grunting laughter as the stereo screams filled the cinema.)

 

As they sat in his living room, Mandy with her double Chicken doner kebab, John holding her spare kebab for afters, he thought about how happy his life was right now. He would ask Ethel how long they should be engaged for. Ethel would probably advise patience, celibacy and a general exploration of each other’s souls. Such a wise dog.

She was sleeping now, in front of the fire.

There was the sound of the front door opening and closing. Ethel jumped up and started shouting in a strong Russian accent, ‘Stranger! Stranger!’, whilst hurtling towards the corridor and an unsuspecting Nana.

‘Food! Food! Now! Give it to me! I want it!’ You give it to me now!’ John had never heard his Nana scream before, really scream. He heard it now and it was not a sound he wished for the delicate ears of Mandy, who was now sucking barbeque sauce off her multi-ringed fingers.

‘Nana, will you kindly desist madam?! That is no way to be carrying on!’

Nana Macilroy stood terrified, backed against the wall, pointing an accusing finger in John’s direction, demanding to know what he had done. Ethel was now busily occupied in dragging her backside along the carpet, chanting in a thick, Russian brogue, ‘itch, itch, better, better, ah, better!’

John went into the dining room with Ethel and attempted conversation.

‘Ethel. Ethel!’

‘Git! Nana’s little Git!’ Ethel replied.

‘Ethel, concentrate. I need your advice. Should I marry Mandy in the spring or at Christmas?’

‘He’ll never get married. He’ll never move out. Little Git! Little Git!’

‘I see. I’m disappointed in you Ethel. I expected better things of you, m’girl.’ He detached the wires and battery from Ethel, the hyper Russian-accented dog.

From the living room he heard the familiar shrill, accusatory shout of Nana. ‘You’ve got Barbeque sauce all over my three piece suite, you clumsy...’.

‘I’ve got to go, and I’ve got to go now!’ shouted John bravely.   

 

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