Part 24 (2/2)

'Brian Jackson on flute!'

'Again . . .'

And there it is again - '. . . Brian Jackson on flute for ya'.

'That's amazing, I've never heard that before.'

That's because you never listen to the compilation tapes I make you, you philistine b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' and he crawls back to the futon, flops on his back, and we listen to the song for a minute or so, and I decide I quite like jazz after all, or soul or funk or whatever this is, and resolve to explore the world of black music more fully in the future.

'So's Alice the one you fancy then?' says Spencer, eventually.

'I don't fancy her, Spence, I love her . . .'

'You love her . . .'

'I looooove her . . .'

'You loooooove her . . .'

228.

'I absolutely, completely, totally love her, with all my heart 'I thought you loved Janet Parks, you fickle tart . . .'

'Janet Parks is a cow compared to Alice Harbinson. ”Not Janet Parks but Alice do I love/Who shalt compare a raven to a dove?”'

'Wha.s.sat then?'

'Midsummer Night's Dream, act two, scene three.'

'Jackson, you pillock. So will I meet her then, this Alice?'

'Maybe. There's a party tomorrow night if you're still around.'

'Want me to put a word in for you, mate?'

'No point, mate. Like I said, she's a G.o.ddess. What about you, though?'

'Not me, mate. You know me, I'm a robot.'

'You must love someone . . .'

'Only you, mate, only you . . .'

'Yeah, well I love you too, mate, but that's not s.e.xual, romantic love is it?'

'Oh, yeah, definitely s.e.xual. What d'you think I've come all this way for? It's because I want you. Give us a kiss, big boy,' and Spencer jumps on me and sits on my chest, making wet, smacking noises, and I try to push him off, and it turns into a scuffle . . .

'Come on Bri, give in, you know you want to . . .'

'Get off!'

'Kiss me, my love! . . .'

'Spencer! That hurts! . . .'

'Don't fight it, my darling . . .'

'Get off me! You're sat on my keys, you bender . . .'

And then there's a knock on the door, and Marcus stands blinking in the doorway, mole-eyed behind lop-sided aviator specs, in his ruby-red towelling dressing gown; 'Brian, it's two-fifteen, is there any chance of you turning the music off?'

229.

'Sorry, Marcus!' I say, and crawl across the floor towards the stereo.

'Heeeeelloooo, Marcus,'' says Spencer.

'h.e.l.lo,' mumbles Marcus, pus.h.i.+ng his specs up his nose.

'Marcus's a lovely name, Marcus . . .'

This's my best mate Spencer, Marcus!' I say, slipping on all the S's.

'Just keep it down, will you?'

'Okay, Marcus, nice to meet you Marcus . . .' and, once he's closed the door '. . . bye, Marcus, you monly known?

ANSWER The peace pipe.

At about four-thirty in the morning I throw up.

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