In a retrospective mood, I was leafing through some old writing and came across some drabbles, a drabble being a short story of fifty words or less. I was rather impressed by the following:-
REHABILITATION OF THE DALEKS
It's not on; that Doctor finally defeating the Daleks and sending them all back through time to do Community Service.
There's two moved in on our landing. 'Just you watch!' I said to Sheila, my everloving. 'They'll be coming in all hours, reeking of Duckhams, forever sliding down the stairs, scraping the paint with their nodules.'
I was right.
Sheila won't go out these days. The council offered to send one in as a home help; get her over her phobia. But we won't have it.
Not that we're racist or anything... but... well... you know.. They're different, aren't they?
I used to write a lot about Coronation Street, but I confess to having gone off it of late. It’s become something of a self-parody these days, as if it’s a soap that has become self-aware, and is making ironic jokes about itself.
I’m still compelled to watch Ken and Diedre though, who are acting out some endless Samuel Beckett piece about the imprisoning power of ennui.
Lately Ken has attempted to escape into the arms of Stephanie Beacham, a kind of ageing siren, luring Ken onto her barge with coffee, poached egg on toast and shelves full of Carol Ann Duffy collections.
Ken represents the frustrated intellectual, forever staring into space whilst banging the earpiece of his spectacles on his teeth. He hesitantly suggests to Diedre that they watch a documentary about the heretical Cathars of medieval France, but Diedre would rather watch ‘Celebrity Barmcake Wrestling’ or ‘Manchester’s Stupidest Criminals’.
Ken was recently given the option to sail off with Steph in ‘Utopia’ (yes, that’s what her narrowboat was called) and was all set to go, having packed his worldly goods in a case and left a note for Diedre, but, the pull of Beckett-esque ennui was too strong and he stood on the bridge, holding his case, as Steph sailed off to Harrogate, or whatever passes for Valhallah in the Corrie world. (In Eastenders it’s Leicester).
There is still no sign of God. One would be tempted to think he didn’t exist at all.