VOICE: HAMISH RUSH
MUSIC: SAM PRICE-SALISBURY
SCRIPT : EMPIRE OF THE PLAGUE
Words: Austin Collings
Have you got a minute? I am quickly ageing.
Try and keep track – you are listening to the short tale of a submental in lockdown who loves true-crime but not true-life and has temporarily given up wanking and who seriously misses inhaling the wisdom of a morning pint after a bender.
The blurred hours were we drift painlessly between nirvana and near-terminal hangover.
Round here the bunting has never been down.
Permanent decoration. Book us a taxi to the Falklands. I want to go and see a man about a gun.
Are we all now day-release degenerates?
Remember when ambulances sounded different? They don’t sound so distant now.
Before all this, my life looked like an all-day-brekkie compartmentalised into a polystyrene take-away box. Plastic fork. Coke Zero instead of Coke Coke. It wasn’t quite right.
Where some see the glass half-full, or half-empty, I see the coffin half-full. I was born paranoid.
I thought about dressing up as a nurse – to gain some clout – to get to the front of the queue. A snide move I know. I need to take myself to the cleaners, wash my moral compass. Twenty streets away a new plague is on the make whilst my heart salivates at the prospect of football resuming. Ghost games.
I feel like I’ve taken a big step into the afterlife these past few weeks; such a last light – full of spheres and zones and distance.
A life in progress. Whatever is holding me up – thanks.
The sun is now high and lonely as I sweat and schlepp my way back. Another day done. The mattress is still there but the fox has gone.
I settle down, eat my drone-dropped KFC and watch very special guest-star Gary Barlow joined by Rachel Riley. Barlow plays piano and Riley walks you through the government-sponsored-suicide-instructions before you’ve even got the kennel cough.