4
Times don't last, tough people do
MACHO MAN RANDY SAVAGE
'Cock-a-doodle-do, chief. Up and at it.'
I opened up my eyelids and almost managed to focus on the ceiling. Almost.
'Come on, chief, it's a glorious day. What shall we do first, breakfast at Tiffany's, or hit the big surf on Bondi?'
'Get out of my head, you little shit.'
'Come on now, chief, that's no way to speak to your Holy Guardian.'
'Demonic tormentor, more like.' I re-opened my eyelids the merest crack and squinted bitterly at the ceiling. It was the same ceiling, the same padded ceiling, that I'd been waking up to for almost three months now.
'I have to get out of here,' I told Barry. 'I have to. I do.'
'I know, chief. I'm on your side, after all. But if you want to get out of here you're gonna have to sharpen up your interview technique.'
'Yeah, right. But what can I do? If I lie, he says I'm 'њin denial'ќ, and if I tell the truth, he thinks I'm a stone bonker.'
'Difficult times for you, chief.'
'Thanks for your warm support.'
'That's what I'm here for.'
'Huh!' I flexed my aching limbs as best I could in the straitjacket. I sorely needed the toilet. 'Couldn't you put a word in for me with the doctor's Holy Guardian?' I asked Barry.
'Vic the Spud? Wish I could, chief, but it's against the rules. Have you thought any more about my suggestion as to how we might get you out of here?'
'Now which particular suggestion would that be? The slimming-right-down-until-I-can-squeeze-through-the-bars suggestion? The digging-my-way-out-with-a-hypodermic-needle suggestion? The gluing-pillow-feathers-together-to-build-a-pair-of-wings suggestion? The-'
'I was thinking more of my persuading-someone-in-authority-from-the-outside-world-to-sign-your-release-form suggestion, actually, chief.'
'Ah, this would be the suggestion-you've-never-suggested-before suggestion.'
'I've suggested it loads of times, chief. It's just that you never listen.'
'I hang on your every God-given word, Barry. Should I fax the Pope, do you think? Do you have his private number?'
'I was thinking more of your Uncle Brian, chief. He's something secret in the government, isn't he?'
'He was going to be my second choice, naturally.'
'Naturally, chief. So when it's your turn to use the telephone in the recreation room again, perhaps you might give him a bell, rather than Sexy Sandra's Spanking Hot Line.'
The door of my padded cell swung open and male nurse Cecil loomed largely.
'Good morning, dreamboat,' he said. 'And who are we today?'
'Shouldn't it be how are we?'
'No, who. Are we Carlos the Chaos Cockroach, or Lazlo Woodbine the Private Eye, or Barking Barry the Talking Sprout, or-'
'Just plain old Mr Rankin today,' I said. 'And I'd like to use the toilet, have my breakfast and then make a telephone call, if that's all right with you.'
'A bit early in the day for Sexy Sandra, isn't it?'
'It's never too early for- What? You bastard! You listen in on my phone calls!'
'Hospital policy. You'd be surprised how many patients try to persuade someone in authority from the outside world to come in and sign their release forms.'
'Better pass on breakfast if you're gonna squeeze through those bars then, chief.'
Male nurse Cecil released me from the straitjacket and marched me off up the hospital corridor. I had a poo, which I rather enjoyed, and a cold hose down in the showers, which I didn't. And then I was allowed to dry and dress myself before being marched off to breakfast.
I took a regulation steel tray and queued for my tucker.
What do you want?' asked the big fat ugly-looking son-of-a-bitch behind the counter, when my turn came at last.
'Lightly poached quail's eggs, olive bread with honey topping. Kedgeree and black coffee. I'll try the Colombian roast today, if I may.'
The big fat ugly one ladled a helping of cold porridge onto a chipped enamel plate and thrust it in my direction. 'Twat,' he said. I fished a spoon from the counter bucket and took my breakfast to a vacant table.
As I sat, manfully munching, it occurred to me that there had never ever been a Golden Age of Loonies.
Every other walk of life had enjoyed its golden age. Racketeers spoke of the Twenties, big band leaders the Thirties, fighter pilots the Forties, Rock 'n' Rollers the Fifties, hippies the Sixties, someone-or-others the Seventies and yuppies the Eighties. But there had never been a good time to be a banged-up basket case. From manacles and cold water baths to electric shock treatment and experimental surgery, the going had always been grim, grim, grim.
'Anyone sitting here?' An inmate indicated the vacant chair next to me. In the outside world such a question would be easy to answer. But not here.
'You tell me,' I said.
'No, it's vacant.'
'Splendid.'
The inmate sat himself down. He was your standard issue inmate. Young, thin, pinched-faced, glassy-eyed, greasy-haired, pimply, bad-breathed, evil-smelling- 'Hey, let up,' said the inmate. 'I've got' a lovely smile.' He showed me his lovely smile.
Black-toothed, yellow-tongued- 'Give it a rest.'
'Sorry,' I said. 'I was only thinking out loud.'
'You want to watch that, they'll put you in the nut house.'
'Ha ha ha,' I said, as I hadn't lost my sense of humour.
'I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humour,' said the inmate, tucking into his porridge. 'I'm Dan, by the way.'
'Pleased to meet you, Dan.'
'No, it's Dan-by-the-way,' said Dan by the way. 'I'm only Dan to my friends.'
'And do you have many of those?'
'Well, none, actually.'
'Then don't let me spoil a perfect record.'
'Oh, what the heck, you can call me Dan, if you like.'
'Cheers, Dan.'
'No, I said Dan-if-you-like. Are you taking the piss, or what?'
'I'm just trying to eat my breakfast.'
'Yeah, well, let's have no trouble then.'
'Fine.' I picked what appeared to be a toenail from my teeth and cast it aside.