Greetings and welcome

Hope all is well out there.

This week is chapter 5 of Way of the Kip. Chapter below

I was away last week so no podcast.

My latest rap EP - More 64s of Boredom is out for stream / download pretty much everywhere. Links below

Have a great weekend

Paul

BANDCAMP

SPOTIFTY

APPLE

https://music.apple.com/gb/album/more-64s-of-boreddom-ep/6772325154

QOBUZ

https://www.qobuz.com/us-en/album/more-64s-of-boreddom-paul-cree/db5vajegkhjwm

AMAZON

https://music.amazon.co.uk/albums/B0H2NL275K

YOUTUBE

CHAPTER 5 – Way of the Kip

No matter how mellow the alarm sound I selected, it’s like the blower had grown go-go-gadget arms during the night; and with every polyphonic note the phone made, it jabbed at my eardrums with brass knuckles.

Made a blind grab for the phone, grappling for the off-button; dropping the thing on the floor. Quick inhale then swung my legs out the side of the bed, felt the cold on my shins. Slowly sat up, half opened my eyes and stared at my old red football shorts; covering my thighs. The M was missing from the name. U BRO. Another breath then acknowledged the waking pain of the day. Routine, but this one hit harder. The feeling that I’d only just got to sleep five minutes before was normal; this time it came gift-wrapped with something extra that I couldn’t yet identify.

The thread had come loose along the right side of my shorts and the red colour had long since faded; reminding me when my first goldfish (Mgoldrik) slowly stopped being gold and faded out like a photograph, till he got the final flush to the hallowed burial grounds of the New Town sewage treatment.

I’d had those shorts for a good ten years. Well, ten years, don’t know if it was all that good. Ten years back was probably the last time I had a kick-about. I reckoned I could still thread a pass, tho.

The phone bleeted again. Picked it up and switched it off. Next to the blower was the tissue. Of course. I heard a chuckle over my left shoulder; my neck slowly turned towards it.

October’s Frank Lampard was grinning, while making a hand gesture, mimicking the one I would’ve made probably about three hours before. Underneath him sat that sedate sandalwood candle. Sandalwood, the scent of failure.

‘You mug. You think it’s that easy? Pull the other one, son.’

And there it was. The bow on the present. Frank was right. I’d convinced myself just one simple purchase from Tesco was going to solve all my sleep problems. Mug. Why was it always like this anytime I tried to do something to improve my life?

I’d hit sombre season; just didn’t see it coming, I should’ve. The life-cycle of idea, obsession, rushed execution, disappointment, embarrassment, guilt and finally numbness was complete. It was ever thus. Perfected this little routine sometime back in school. A sigh this time. I slowly stood up, closed my eyes, breathed again, opened my eyes; then cracked on to the bathroom.

The walk to Streatham Hill station was slow. I tried to rationalise the whole candle caper; it’s not like I’d done something super-shameful, yet I felt similar to how I would, had I downed six post-work pints on an empty tummy, said some stupid stuff about society then spewed on the train back and woke up in West Norwood. Like the week before. So why was I feeling so low?

Despite the multiple signs and announcements about no bikes in rush-hour, some plank wearing a tool-belt was trying to get on the train with a mountain-bike and arguing with a couple of commuters. It was a packed-platform and the 7:15 was already rammed when it rolled in. I don’t think the geezer was English. Probably Polish but then what did I know; I was probably just a bigot, lacking sleep.

Bike-man gave up eventually and reluctantly battled his way to the back of the platform, muttering some harsh syllables in a language I didn’t understand. A few commuters grumbled then chins went back to sternums, eyes to papers, ears to headphones and no more was said.

Standing room only on the train. I was shunted down to that no-mans land between two seat-backs with nothing to hold onto; just the sandwich of two bods to wobble between. Couldn’t even get my ipod out. Probably a good thing, I would’ve almost certainly drawn for the tear-jerkers.

Once I’d fallen out the train at Victoria and swiped my ticket; I liven-ed up a bit on the bop down Victoria Street. My mind was preparing potential small-talk scenarios about what I did last night. Needed to deflect any genuine curiosity beyond the basics. Nothing much; just a bit of Sky Sports News; what did you do? That was the best I could come up with.

Did the regular eyes-right to Westminster Cathedral and thought of Nan taking me and my sister in there when we were nippers. Much to her disappointment, we’d slipped to the lowest tier of membership in the Catholic club. First Easter got dropped, then even Christmas, now it was attend-mass-only-by-invite; weddings and funerals. The basic package. Still, I always acknowledged its presence on the daily graft-march to purgatory. I liked that it was there. It quietly maintained its magnificence on a suffocatingly dull street full of civil-serving concrete office blocks.

Up ahead I saw Pete going through the glass doors into the office, clutching a copy of the Sun and a Greggs paper bag; most likely containing two steak-bakes. From distance, I could tell he was whistling a tune.

Quick breath, through the doors then fist-bumped Sammy on security then straight into the lift. Thankfully no one from my floor was in there. Doors open and into the open-plan, strip-lit-sweat-pit. Quick breath then ran the gauntlet, arrowing straight to my desk hoping not to catch any eyes of conversation.

‘How was your sleep Reece, did you have sweet dreams?’

Shaz caught me off guard. Almost stopped. Out of some politeness, I turned my torso; it hurt.

‘Erm, yea, it was alright, you?’

‘You know she’s taken don’t you?’

‘Who’s taken?’

‘Bianca’

‘Eh?’

When she said Bianca, she lifted the A and N then pushed down on the C and the A, kissed her teeth and turned back to her desk and her bowl of muesli. It was a shame Shaz was fit because I really disliked her. Clearly the feeling was mutual; certainly, on the dis-liking. She also had a boyfriend, Trey, who looked like he could handle himself, like Dan. Hero.

The last thing I needed now was an office-rumour about me fancying Bianca. Like Shaz, she was also quite attractive just less acerbic and a lot more dim. Why was she telling Shaz about my sleep problems? That was a liberty.

Managed to get through the morning mostly without incident. Priah came and inspected my screen once or twice; but despite being sleep-deprived I was managing to hold my focus and processed a bunch of claims.

About 11 o clock, Priah sent an email round saying Monique from Essential Skills was coming in for part two of the bias training. I raised an eyebrow at this, as I wasn’t aware there was a part 2 and I was beginning to question wether this was an Essential Skill. I was about to compose a witty response to Diane, making sure it wasn’t to Priah this time but then clocked my name wasn’t on the list of attendees. Pete wasn’t on there either. I’d must’ve missed the bit where it said Ladies Night? What the flip was this? A day at the races? Either that or some oiled-up alpha was coming in dressed as a fireman to swing it about, while they all screamed and giggled. Maybe it was Dan and Trey. I could only conclude that birds had more bias to flush out than geezers, and if Shaz’s snidey little remark was anything to go by, my theory was correct.

Came back from lunch and Saw Monique from Essential Skills in the meeting room, setting up the power point. Once the Spice Girls had filed into the glass menagerie I took it as an opportunity and go make a cup of tea.

Pete came into the kitchen, whistling. He had another greasy bag from Greggs containing two sausage rolls.

‘Surprised you’re not in there, mate.’ He said.

‘What, girls-club?’

‘Girls and gays, ‘aint figured which you one you are yet, son’

‘Gay? Who’s gay in there?

‘Pretty sure I saw Keith go in just now.’

‘Boring Keith’s in the training?!’

Sure enough, I stuck my head out, looked across the office floor and in amongst the well-maintained ladies barnets was Boring Keith, with his little glasses, big belly and tiny mouth; holding his pen, tiny little grin on his boat.

‘I didn’t know Kieth was gay? I didn’t think he was capable of human relationships.’

‘What’s the problem, Reecy? You enquiring?’ He chuckled at this, while he got a plate out of the cupboard.

‘Couldn’t care less if he’s gay. He’s still a geezer but he’s in there and we aint.’

‘Dunno why you’re getting stroppy about it Reecey-Boy. You think too much, that’s your problem.’

‘Yea maybe, just think it’s a bit of a double standard.’

‘Moan about it all you like, mate. I’m taking advantage. Got an appointment in trap-2, gonna take my time on this one; had a big ruby last night. Then, I’m gonna sit and do my fantasy team and knock off early. I cleared a load of work this morning so when Priah gets out, I’ll go here look, I was banging-out claims left, right and centre while you lot was in there. That’s how you play it, son.’

Off he went, whistling again, clutching his Gregs bag and a plate, then stopped and turned back round.

‘Oh yea. Friday afters. The George. Be there. Don’t be gay.’

And off he went again. I envied him; I don’t think he was phased by anything. I looked back across to the glass-menagerie. Monique was pointing at a slide, looking very solemn, though I couldn’t tell who was sat where, I could see all eyes were on the screen. It was pure Girl Power. And Kieth.

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