And resolutely they resisted and reiterated their mantra until suddenly after about an hour my Da said, when my mother was upstairs in the bathroom, oh alright, go on then, have another slice if you must. My brother lost no time and a second slice of trifle was in his stomach before anyone could change the channel or my mother could come back in to the room.
But my brother, Gerald, got sick, Fred, he did, and ended up on the sofa in a hot sweat and fever surrounded by my entire family trying to nurse him back to health. To no avail. Eventually, he let out a massive scream and his stomach started to rumble and rattle like a quiescent volcano getting ready to belch. A long snake-like creature with huge teeth, like in Ridley Scott’s film, Alien, then burst out of his stomach and savaged my mother’s face, before going on to savage my father’s face as well. That’s what you’re talking about Fred, isn’t it?
What the hell, Scoopy? he said, still fumbling around with his phone no sign of the first door creaking let alone opening. I said, that second slice of trifle, that’s technology isn’t it? That’s Michael Jackson. Woo! I’m bad. Just like you said. Woo! I’m bad. That’s our jobs that we’re going to lose and see go up in smoke.
He looked up at me with a smile. You think you want a second slice of trifle but oh my God when you get it -Ahrrr! Whoosh. Your mother and father get brutally savaged in the face when an alien bursts out of your stomach. Technology is trifle. That’s it Scoopy, you’ve named my tune in one. And I know you’re taking the piss but you’ve still named it in one. Well done. You really understand me you do. Watch this now. He fingered something on his phone and the door trickled open. Bingo! He winked at me. It’s the second slice of trifle wot done it, Scoopy. Eh? Or was it the saw-toothed stomach-lizard? Wink again.
We walked through the now wide open door and in to another corridor with another locked door expecting us at the end. He said, fancy some cheese to sustain us on our questing way? My sister, Wendy, made it herself. A nice cheese-maker. She doesn’t need an alarm clock to get up in the morning any more, Scoopy. At 4.30 a.m. like magic she’s up and at them – and out striding in the dark towards work. The Bread Factory. I’m convinced her boss has already wired her head up. That her left arm and left brain have been replaced with robotic ones. Very life-like but botty nonetheless. She’s never sick. The ones and zeros in her head are able to monitor any damage in her body and repair it with nanobots instantaneously. We ate some cheese.
She was a dancer, Fred, wasn’t she? Yeah Scoopy, but she hasn’t danced since she started working at The Bread Factory. Which proves my point, consummately.