Just a little something.

anonymous April 29, 2014
14 Comments

Considered mentally negligible by those who know me well, yet a dangerous intellectual by those with just a passing acquaintance my life may have lacked, perhaps, the sublimer emotions which raised man to the level of the gods but it was undeniably an extremely happy one. I had never experienced the thrill of ambition fulfilled, but, on the other hand, I had never known the agony of ambition frustrated. Therefore, I am possibly as contented a human being as a human being can be in this century of alarms and excursions.

All that was to change of course with my introduction to Roberta Wellbeloved. It was Edgar “Stilton” Cheesewright who brought about that introduction when he and I were attending a gathering of the ‘Human Purity League’. No sooner had I set eyes on Roberta when emotion, similar to molten lava, coursed through my being and oozed from the souls of my feet. Her beauty paralysed my vocal chords and reduced the content of my brain to cauliflower. She rivalled something more at home in a stained glass window. Love claimed me for it’s own and swept o’er me like nettlerash.

It seemed that Roberta was similarly impressed for over the ensuing months we became inseperable and I grew convinced that I had found the soulmate, with who’m, I would tread life’s primrose path. We are all aware that true loves journey is rarely smooth and that that primrose’s path is not without snags yet how unprepared are we when they confront us?…………………………….I shall continue this if it is of interest to anyone.

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anonymous

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    1. Unknown Member April 30, 2014

      The snag on that primrose path to happiness I mentioned came in the shape of Roberta’s father the Reverend Cyril wellbeloved. Cyril’s strict Presbyterian origins caused him to believe that all happiness was uppermost on all Bacchanalian menu’s and the thought of his daughter dining from the trough of sin caused Cyril to feel that while one moment he had been picking daisy’s along the railway line the next he had been struck in the back by the downline express. I added further to Cyril’s anguish when at our first interview he asked how I would support a wife. I didn’t hesitate and replied that depending upon whose wife it was and provided that proper introductions had been made I had found that a little gentle pressure beneath the elbow while assisting them to cross the street usually fitted the bill. Cyril gazed at me and his gaze registered the despair of a Reverend who had discovered Erastianism in his parish. I realized then that my wooing of the fair Roberta had something of the dark inevitability of a Greek tragedy about it…………………More if you can stand it.

  7. Unknown Member May 2, 2014

    It was but a few days later over dinner at ‘The Crushed Pansy’ (The restaurant with a soul) that I enquired of Roberta the cause of her fathers obvious dislike of me. I have always found that ladies have a greater understanding of humanities foibles for it seems that from the age of eleven, or thereabouts, females acquire a poise and ability to unravel mysteries which a man, if he is lucky, only manages to achieve somewhere in his late seventies.

    “Well” began Roberta “Father claims he wouldn’t trust you as far as he could spit and he is a poor spitter lacking both distance and control. He further added that he considered you the sand in civilizations spinach”.

    I seethed with a cowards rage that dared to burn but did not dare to blaze. To say I felt much as Tolstoy’s Russian peasant when after putting in a hard days work strangling his father, beating his wife and dropping the baby into the city reservoir turns to the cupboard only to find the vodka bottle empty. My soul bubbled within me like a Welsh Rarebit at the height of it’s frenzy……..Of course I hid my feelings and wore the mask. “But Roberta” I bleated, “Being a man of the cloth surely your father values a kind heart and simple faith beyond coronets and Norman blood for we live in a time of enlightenment, the age of reason and the advent of modernism….. the Victorian tendency to choose wealth before honest worth has been cast aside and now ’tis honest worth that holds sway, furthemore, would your father be the ogre with the fiery sword that forbids our entry into Eden………….There isn’t much more.

  11. Unknown Member May 4, 2014

    Tell you what……..Imaginations are like opinions, we all have one. Couple that with the belief that there is a book in all of us then can I suggest that each of you writes a final chapter. We can end it how we wish. It can be the happy ending reserved for fairy tales or the heavy ‘going’ of that Greek tragedy I mentioned. It’s all in fun and may help to pass an unoccupied half hour.

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