Byker Books

 

 

It was an uphill task. Through Saltwell Park on his way to the QE hospital. There was still time to change his mind. He lingered by the lake. Jewish girls in long black skirts and flat shoes strode purposefully past him. Childminders dragged their sullen charges towards the playground. A fat man with a hairy chest was busy inflating his bouncy castle.

Maybe he should just walk once round the lake and head home. No there'd be hell to pay.

He could feel the self pity welling up inside so he decided to discipline his mind. He remembered the task he had for the creative writing class.

'Describe autumn without using any colour words,' Ms Hunnicut had insisted.

It was a brilliant October day and the colours vibrated: magnificent magentas, pulsating purples, orangutan oranges, yelping yellows, scintillating scarlets, the gargantuan gaggle of greens - the words surged into his mind like irresistible spermatozoa. No matter. They had to go. No colours allowed! A creative colour bar.

'I want to know what autumn feels like not what it looks like,' Ms Hunnicut had added. Then she banned adjectives and alliteration. 'Adjectives are the last refuge of a lazy writer,' she declared.

Adjectives stemmed, colours smothered. It was like having to wear a linguistic condom... He remembered his appointment and trudged through Low Fell and up the steepening hill.

In the disinfected corridor, where cleaners were busy squirting blue powder into the gaps around the skirting boards, he waited his turn. He could see himself in a mirror, white theatre gown tied with ribbons at the back, silly little blue plastic cap, his legs crossed protectively.

Hospital people in a bewildering variety of uniforms strode past looking as if they knew what they were doing. He wondered if he knew what he was doing. Of course he'd agreed to having the snip for Julie's sake. The poor lass had been through such a traumatic experience. You couldn't expect her to try again. Anyway, doctor's orders. Still, at twenty one it seemed a bit drastic to be well, shooting blanks. And, God forbid, what would happen if Julie had an accident? Or if she just changed her mind about him or vice versa? Loads of his mates...

'Hi there! Terry isn't it? Felling Comp, right?'

In front of him, dressed in green hospital gear, appeared Griselda. Griselda Hawkins, the most beautiful girl in Gateshead. Oh how he'd lusted after her when they were in the same form right through Felling Comp. Griselda, always out of his reach, never noticing his looks of longing, never sensing his inner desperation. Impervious. Always cool, always comfortable with the lads, never lost for words. Whereas he...

'Cat got yer tongue has it?'

Oh wondrous vision! Gorgeous Griselda, here talking to him! He knew he had to respond but... what words was he allowed to use? He couldn't employ an adjective, colours were out of the question and cliches definitely taboo. No! Think straight Terry!

'Oh hello. It's you.' Pathetic!

'Well it was the last time I looked in the mirror. What you been doing with yerself then?' He dared not tell her.

'Oh I'm into computers, like.'

'Must be uncomfortable for yer. And you got yourself married eh? Dark horse. I would never have thought... You were always one of the quiet ones, in the background. Julie Sporran eh? I wouldn't have had her down as the marrying type mind. Not straight away anyway. And now yer here eh? For the chop. Bit drastic!'

 

Drastic? It was a bloody tragedy.

'Do you work here then?'

'Aye. Student nurse. You might well look surprised. Surprised meself I did. I was too flighty at school, but I changed me ways when I got into a crappy job at ASDA.'

'You in a... relationship then?'

'Nothing serious. Plenty time for that after I'm qualified.'

Griselda up for grabs and he was about to cut himself out of the running.

'So what you studying now then?'

'I told you, nursing.'

'No I mean this afternoon.'

'Oh, well... you I suppose. We're doing vasectomies and the surgeon told me to come and put you at your ease so you won't be embarrassed when he does the business.' She raised her eyebrows and grinned. 'I'll be observin' you.'

On his way back home, Terry hobbled through the park. He had to find out what autumn felt like. For his writing class. The weather had clouded over and the colours had tarnished. How did that make him feel? He paused awkwardly and looked about him. Gardeners were out pruning vigorously, chopping off unwanted seed heads, pruning branches, felling a tall elm tree. What would Ms Hunnicut say about using symbols he wondered. He tried to move on but the pain grabbed him by the testicles. What did autumn feel like? It felt as if he'd just been hit in the bollocks by a Steve Harmison bouncer. That was autumn in a nutshell!

He was startled by the ringing of a bicycle bell. Griselda rode past with a cheerful wave. 'Nice one Terry,' she shouted and spurted up a shower of fallen leaves as she sped off towards Bensham.