36 posts tagged “bernard”

That's it. We're all going to prison for murder. I'm going to be put in a cell with some large, butch lesbionic-type woman named "Chuck" and she's going to make me her plaything. Poor Bert. He looks like a woman half the time as it is! He won't last a second in prison!

And it's all Elle's fault.

"Great," I said, putting a hand on my jutted out hip. "Just great. You've just gone and ruined my day."

Bert frowned. "Uhhh... I think that guy's day is going a little worse... as he's dead now."

Elle just rolled her eyes. "He's not dead. See?" She propped him up against the stove and waved his hand around like some kind of ventriloquist. She even dared make a Monty Python reference, using a different voice and speaking from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not yet dead! I think I'll go for a walk!"

I glared at her. "Bugger off, Elle. That's not even funny."

Bert snickered. "...Well, it was a bit funny-"

I gave him a stern look. He stopped snickering.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, glancing from Elle to Bert. "What are we going to do?!"

Elle grinned. "Stuff him into Bernard's trash bin and call the police?"

Possibly...

"No!" I exclaimed. "That would make things worse, not better."

Elle knelt down to get a closer look at our newly-bludgeoned corpse friend. Then, without notice, she reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, a silver flask and a pack of fags. She tossed the fags at me, gave the wallet to Bert and  kept the flask for herself.

She pointed at me. "You. Go smoke. You always think better when you're calmed down." She nodded at Bert. "You go give Fran some cash, as we'll likely need to use her new car for a few minutes."

"...Well," he said, "what are you going to do with the flask?"

"Get stinking pissed." She unscrewed the cap and took a swig. She winced as the taste hit the bank of her throat. "Water!" she exclaimed. "Are you fucking kidding me?!?!" She grabbed the wallet back from Bert, grabbed a tenner, threw the wallet on the floor and stormed out. I can only assume she was heading to the pub down the street.

I was on the verge of tears. I'd never been involved in a murder before... Well, once before but I didn't feel so guilty the last time. This man was innocent, just doing his job. And Elle killed him.

...Maybe Bert and I wouldn't have to go to prison for something Elle did...?

No. She's your sister. You can't just turn her in!

Bert grabbed a fag from me, rummaged around in the cupboard for some matches and lit up. I think he thought having a fag might calm his nerves. He ended up puking into the sink.

"Bert, honey, this would not be a good time to take up smoking for the first time."

He wiped his mouth. "I believe you're right."

I lit up and blew smoke up into the air above my head. "Bert," I said. "What are we going to do?"

"We have to turn ourselves in. Or, rather, Elle," he said. "It's the only way."

Perhaps he had a point.

Ha!

Bernard thinks he can just open a restaurant/coffee shop!  It's not that easy, trust me!  I had to actually get my own chef's hat.  Okay, maybe steal is a better word.  Besides, I'm sure the restaurant next door won't miss it all that much.

Anyways, after he knifed one of the things and stormed out screaming for his bearded bitch, Bert decided to sail in with ingredients.  He dropped the paper bags on the counter and Elise, being a nosy parker, dove right in a started pulling everything out, with the usual, "What's this?" and "What's that?"

I have to admit, I was amazed.

"Where did you - how did you know what to get?" I asked Bert, slightly awed, as he stowed some things in the fridge.

"My cousin's a chef at a restaurant in Westminster and he helped me a bit," Bert shrugged.  "It's nothin' special."  He shrugged like it was nothing. 

Later, after we had argued over the menu and had a little to drink, Bert and Elise were getting ready for opening around half-four, I was in the kitchen (with my pilfered hat), trying to start making everything and fighting with my apron.  Bert suddenly appeared at kitchen door, looking a little bewildered.

"What?  What is it?" I asked, slightly annoyed.  I was still a little mad that Elise was making me wear an uniform even though no one would ever see me.  Hopefully.

"There's a - a bloke here to see you," he replied, gesturing to someone I couldn't see over his shoulder.

"Who's it then?" I asked impatiently.   Then some bloke wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a mac, carrying a briefcase swung around into the kitchen and said, "I'm the Health Inspector."

"I'm quaking in my boots," I replied.  "What do you want?"  Bert disappeared as the Health Inspector skulked over to the counter and slammed his briefcase down before poping it open.

"Did you, or did you not, Miss Whyte, apply for a transition of business from novel merchant to food serving establishment?"

"Yeh, but -"

"And you did recieve a licence to serve food in your establishment?"

"Yeh, but -"

"Do not interrupt me, Miss Whyte," he replied, pointing a finger in my face.  He had a clip board and pen ready.  He looked around, scowling at the mess I had already made in my attempts to make a cake and marinate meat at the same time.

He was about to ask me something, when one of those creatures ran out from under the kitchen table, slammed into the back door, skittered around and headed into the shop, which was followed by a squeal from Elise.

"What was that, Miss Whyte?"

"Our dog?"

"I'm quite certain dogs don't have beaks, Miss Whyte."  He scribbled something down on his paper.  "Where is your culinary approval certificate, or if you have it, a degree in culinary arts?" he asked, looking around.

This can't be good.

"It's right up there," I replied, pointing at a spot on the wall.

"I don't see it," he answered, craning his neck and squinting his eyes, scanning the walls, which were splattered with blood, cake batter and melted chocolate.  And maybe there were a couple strawberries that I had thrown at one of those things.  Maybe.

"It's waaaaayyyyy up there, you see?" I asked, reaching behind him to grab a pan as quietly as I could from the sink.  "I graduated from the Culinary School of Excellence with a degree in Excellent -"

"I've never heard of that college; where is it-" THONK.  I had smacked him on the back of the head with the pan, just as he was about to turn around.

Bert and Elise came running.

"Oh my GOD, Elle!  You killed the Health Inspector!" Elise accused me. 

I so did not.

"This looks stupid," I said.
"Wot?" Elle looked at me, eyebrow raised. "What looks stupid?"
"This," I said, this time very slowly, "looks... stupid."
Elle and I looked at the crammed jumble of chairs and tables in our shop. My lovely sage green table in the middle and the ten tables and chairs that didn't match surrounding it.
"Well, it doesn't matter. It will have to do." Elle put her hands on her hips and nodded in approval. "Good. Now, what shall we cook?"
I rolled my eyes at her. "You're the damn cook. You decide." I shrugged. "Anyway, our waitress is nowhere to be seen."
"Bert is out running errands," Elle snapped. "You just never mind him."
Suddenly, the door of the shop/restaurant flew open and Bernard strolled in, a fag hanging limply from his limps. He stared around, his eyebrows pointed at an angry angle.
"Wot's all dis den?!" His head swiveled from side to side, taking in every mismatched table set. "Wot's goin' on?!"
Elle stood up straighter, pushing her chest out a little. "We're starting a restaurant."
"Wot for?!" Bernard tossed his cigarette outside, hitting some bloke on a bicycle passing by.
My eyes narrowed. "To compete with you prats and your damned coffee shop and delicious chocolate biscuits!"
Elle glared at me. "Wait. How the hell do you know about their delicious chocolate biscuits?"
I looked at the ceiling. "Uhhh..."
Bernard spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed a dagger from inside of his coat sleeve and threw it at a creature hiding in a book shelf. It screamed. Bernard just rolled his eyes.
"Damn things."
"Oh, yeah. Thanks for that, by the way!" Elle exclaimed. "They've moved over here now because of your damn delicious chocolate biscuits and several flavors of French vanilla coffee!"
I looked at her. "Wait. How-"
Elle put her hand in my face. "Shh." She glared at Bernard. "And just to prove how great our restaurant will be, we are inviting you and Manny to be our first customers..." Her face twitched with excitement. "Tonight!"
"Well, if you two tossers are making a restaurant, it must be real simple!" Bernard yelled. "So prepare yourself for even more compet... competish... " Bernard stammered. "Competetancy! 'Cause we're going to open a restaurant too! Yeah, wot do you think of that, Miss Fancy Pants?!"
He stormed out, screaming for Manny, before we could even say a word.
I just looked at Elle. "Got a receipt for those tables?"
"Why?!" she shouted back at me, stomping into the kitchen.
"They're going to have a coffee shop and a restaurant! Our business will go under!"
"Pah!"
It always worries me when Elle starts using exclamations that aren't real words.

"Bern", as Bernard is now apparently called, stormed out of Whyte Books and I threw myself upon Elle's cluttered desk, nearly sending a pencil up my backside. But anyway. My move was meant to be dramatic but ended up looking more klutzy.

"We should offer coffee and snacks and tables and sofas that you, too!" I exclaimed. "Otherwise, we'll never be able to compete with Black Books!" I stared at her, impatiently waiting her answer.

"You're daft," Elle said, her usual blank expression more blank than usual. "Coffee and books is a fad!"

I was so put off, I actually stomped my foot down... and it landed on a small creature. I winced. The invasion of creatures that lived over at Black Books had started migrating across the street to our shop.

I grimaced. "That's the second one I've stomped dramatically on today."

"I killed four in the kitchen about half an hour ago," Elle added. "They're getting bigger and more lively. Probably feeding on snacks and coffee at Black Books or something."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Yes. You're right. Delicious coffee and delicious snacks." I pointed out the window. "And look! Their shop is full of customers!!"

Elle stared at me. "And why would be want our shop full of customers?? I don't even like it when you're around, let alone people I don't know."

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. "This is a great opportunity, Elle. More customers means more-"

"Noise."
"No."
"Talking in the shop."
"Well, yes. But that's not what I was going to say-"
"...Unusual smells?"
"No! More customers means more profit!" I was evolving into an Italian, talking excitedly using my hands a lot. "More profits equals more stuff we can buy!"

Elle sat back in her chair, drinking her Fizzy Good. "We have everything we need. Food. Clothing. Free booze from the cellar of the pub next door. What more do we need?"

I thought for a second. "...More booze?"

Elle's mouth twisted in thought. "That's a good point." She looked out the window again. "Look! All the customers are leaving! Bernard must've said something appalling or they were frightened off by that overgrown hobbit friend of yours!! Ha! Not so posh now, are we Black Books!!"

I glanced at her. She really had gone quite mad. "It's lunch."

Suddenly, Elle's face lit up like I'd never seen it light up before. It was weird.

Bert’s gone crying off to his mum, or something, while Elise went trouncing off, most likely to entice and tease Manny, while I’m stuck in the bleeding shop, nursing, yet again, another hangover.

Elise was curious as to what was going on over at Black Books; people seem to be swarming over there like…like things that swarm.  I told Elise I had no interest in whatever mad scheme Bernard and the Bearded Blunder were up to.

I was sitting at my desk, trying to make a Fizzy-Good, when I heard someone whisper in front of me.

“Excuse me?”

“What?! What do you want?” I asked, looking up to see some girl standing in front of me, clutching a book about that really crap 60’s band, the Beatles.  She looked like the type who would enjoy that rubbish.  Her purse had badges and pins on it, saying “Vote environment!” and “Bring back the Beatles!”  Americans, honestly.

 “How much is this?” the girl asked.  I threw my arms up in defence; every time she opened her mouth a flash of blinding light shot out, endangering my already slightly precarious vision.

“Stop! Stop talking!” I yelled, waving my arms.  I reached down blindly, felt for the desk drawer and pulled out my sunglasses.  As I put them on, I replied, “Why do want to buy that?  It’s crap.”

“I-I like the Beatles?” she replied, this time the flashes of light reflected off the sunglasses and no into my eyes.  Braces.  What kind of orthodontic sadist thinks these things up?

“Of course you do,” I replied dryly, “all Americans like really crap bands.”  I grabbed the book from her and thumbed through it.

“Actually, I’m Canadian,” she replied, trying to open her mouth as little as possible, finally cluing in that her mouth was causing my mincers great pain. 

I stopped. 

Canadian?  Don’t they all live in igloos or something?

I blinked.  “Ahh…5 quid.”  As she dug her money out, I tried to make small talk.  “So how long does it actually take to make an igloo?”  She narrowed her eyes at me as she handed over the money.  “Must really be a pain, having to use dog sleds and all to get from place to place, yeh?”

“I’m not from Alaska,” she snorted, taking the book from my outstretched hand, and turning away.  So is Alaska now part of Canada?  I thought it belonged to the Soviets.  

As soon as the Canadian left, I was back to being bored out of my skull.  No one was in the shop.  And I mean no one. 

So, naturally, curiosity got the better of me.

I grabbed Bert’s opera glasses off the desk and went over to squat by the front windows, next to the door.  I putting them up to my face, I realized I could see a whole lot better, especially after I took the sunglasses off.  My head stopped hurting too.

Anyroad, that doesn’t matter.  What I saw mattered and it bothered me greatly.  There were people, lots of people, in Bernard’s shop, sitting around, reading books, drinking from mugs and milling about.  Manny was also standing in a box, talking to Elise, but that just furthers my point about Manny being completely mad.  And about Elise leading him on.

I was just about to get up and go over myself, when the door opened, hit my arse and sent me sprawling onto the floor.

“What ar’you doin’?” grumbled a voice I instantly knew.  Pushing myself off the floor, I straightened up, so see Bernard, wearing a label that said “Bern” on his lapel, surrounded by a couple gold star stickers, like the ones children get for doing something good, like fetching the paper, or not peeing on the carpet.

“I was looking for something,” I replied, dusting myself off.  He watched me before reaching out and grabbing the opera glasses from my hand.

“What’s dis then?” he asked, looking the glasses over.

“Opera glasses,” I replied, trying to take them from him.  He put them up to his eyes and said, “What were you using d’em for?”

“Going to the opera?” I replied, hoping he’d just drop the subject. 

“I didn’t t’ink you were so high class,” he replied, spinning around to look out the window.  “What opera?  Black Books, featuring a genius and a beard?” He threw the glasses to me.

“Actually that’s a soap,” I replied coolly.  He frowned and was about to say some nasty retort, when Elise popped through the door, exclaiming, “Elle!  I’ve got an idea – oh!  What are you doing here?”

Bernard scowled at Elise.  Then in a high pitched voice, he replied, “I t’ought I’d come over for a book and a cup of coffee.”  And he added a ridiculous giggle before pushing Elise aside and shuffling out the door.

I looked at Elise, raising an eyebrow, I asked, “What was that all about?”

Ten cent whore. Ten cent whore!
What a prick. I've only ever shagged someone for money one time in college... Well, when I stayed with my friend who went to college. I never actually went... I needed money for a cab and this guy I met on campus offered me a hundred quid for a go in his car.
It seemed so weird though... He seemed a bit old to be a college student. Apparently the college professor look is in with students too.
Wait...

Anyway, I'm so glad that Bert is not the father of my child... because now I hate the sodding trannie. Can't believe his entire act was spent making fun of Elle and I. (And he did my model walk all wrong.) Elle gave him a good beating with the broom the next morning but I'm still angry with him anyway.

Something's going on over at Black Books. While Elle was sleeping at her desk his afternoon, I popped over there for a few minutes- the place, I tell you, was packed! There were customers sitting at tables, drinking coffee and eating snacks while reading their books. Classical music was playing from somewhere. Bernard had a name tag ("Bern", it said) on his lapel- and did not looked pleased, per usual. Somebody was literally being eaten by a bright green sofa nearby. Manny, looking proud as a peach, was standing at a podium, his chest hair in full view. It was a bit gross, to be honest.

A short girl in a denim jacket was standing by the door, reading a thick book about Henry VIII. She smiled as me when I came in and went back to her book. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"You're in my way," I said. Why is a 12-year-old in a book shop and not in school anyway?
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said in an American accent.
"Pfft," I said. "Americans."
"Actually I'm Canadian," she said in a mousy little voice. "I'm from Nova Scotia."
I just blinked at her. "I don't care." Actually, I don't even know where that is...

I walked over to Manny's podium. His proud smile faltered a little bit when I approached. I guess he was still a bit upset over the him-being-in-love-with-me-but-me-not-feeling-that-way-in-the-least thing that happened ages ago.
Honestly. People need to grow up.

"What is going on here?" I asked.
"We're improving the shop," Manny exclaimed. "Competing with the big chain stores."
Bernard strolled over, his hands in his pockets. "This whole ting is crap, Manny. It's a waste of time."
Manny crossed his arms over his (ape-like) chest. "We've tripled our weekly profits in just one day. This is good for business!"
"Profits shmofits," Bernard said. He looked at me. "And what are you doing in here?!"
"I thought I'd come over," I glanced at Manny, "for a book... and a cup of coffee."
Manny beamed at this.
"You work at a book shop. Why would you come here for a book? That's-that's dumb!" Bernard seemed really irritated by this.
"Your shop has an ambience that Whyte Books doesn't have." I smiled cutely up at him.
Bernard snarled at me and stormed out of the store. I looked back at Manny.
"The shop looks nice, Manny." I batted my eyelashes at him. "Good work."
His entire face went red.

So after having an encounter with the anti-homo priest, my attention returned to the stage, as a roar of howling laughter thundered in the club. 

I looked at centre stage to see Bert, looking more confident, cocking his hips and strutting around on the stage like a model (or whatever way Elise had taught him how to).  He was going on about his sexuality.  I groaned, thinking he was about to go into some Eddie Izzard “Executive Transvestite” spiel.

“Unlike what a lot of people think,” Bert was saying, “there’s plenty of us who really rate the opposite sex, that’s why we dress like ‘em!”  He twirled, making the skirt of his dress billow out.  “But I’ll tell you this: birds don’t find it very appealing to being hit on by blokes in skirts!”  The audience roared.  Elise was hiding behind her glass again.

“Whadd’ya doin’?” I asked, slightly annoyed.  She looked like a complete twat when she did that.

“Hidin’,” she replied, hiccupping, “so’s they don’t know we’re with him.”  I rolled my eyes, and turning back towards the stage to watch more.

“This may come as a shocker, but I live with 2 birds,” Bert began again, receiving quite a few whistles from the crowd.  I frowned.  “I know, right?  Twins, even!”  The male audience began hooting, as I sunk into my chair, hoping it would swallow me whole.

“Oh god,” Elise whispered next to me.

“So these twins also share some-sort of partnership of a shop, yeah?  They don’t agree on anythin’.  I’ll you about them: one of them’s quite a riot. Quite a laugh most of the time, but she is a bit of tart, she is. Easier than a 10 cent whore!”  Whistling and shouting erupted from the audience while Bert started grinning.  I looked at Elise, who had gone white in the face.

“An’ the other one!  Drinks and smokes like it’s going out of style!  I’ve even seen her smoke at least 4 fags at a time!  And speaking of fags, in the American sense, she’s even dated one! A bloke, that is,” he grinned. The crowd ooo-ed, and I sunk even lower in my chair.  He didn’t really need to bring that up.  “She gets quite violent when she’s pissed, too.  Throws things and the lot…” It just kept getting worse.

Not for Bert, of course.  He just rambled on about us.  It provided some sick form of humour for the audience.  He rambled on about New Year’s, which I have no recollection of, so I’m pretty sure he made the whole fecking thing up. 

I was getting fed up with listening to him, especially when he started on Bernard.  I got up, grabbed Elise by the arm (as she was still a bit shocked) and marched her out of the club. 

Elise managed to break the heel of her shoe off on the way home, so she forced self upon me and insisted that I help her hobble home.  So I did.

After we got home, we passed out.  I fell asleep with my head on a pile of books at my desk and Elise barely made it to the shop couch.

I woke up when the shop bell jingled its little jingle of hatred.  Bert had strolled into the shop, smoking a cigar, acting like he owned the place.  That’s when I grabbed the broom (seeing as it was the only thing around my desk that I could use to inflict serious pain with) and jumped up to hit him right in the smug face with it.

“Oy! Ow!” Bert cried out, throwing his arms up in defence. “Back off!”

“Bit violent, am I?” I snarled at him, hitting him over the head with the broom.  “How’s this for violence, you nine-sided tranny!”

“Stop, stop!”

Elise was driving me absolutely mental with her moaning and complaining.

I hurtled out of the shop the second she looked away from the stacks where I was shoving in left-over copies of Tempocalypse.  I dodged several elderly women and practically jumped through Bernard’s door.

“’Ere now, what’s all this?” some bloke demanded, turning round in a chair that was placed in front of a blackboard, which Manny and Bernard where standing on either side of.

They completely caught me off guard.

“Oh!  Didn’t know you were still…ahhh…,” I started.  I was trying to figure out what Manny and Bernard where mouthing at me.  They kept waggling their hands at the door while the lardy bloke waited for an answer.  He turned back around and Bernard and Manny pretended to be gazing at their nails.

“’Oo’s she, then?” the lardy bloke asked.  Manny and Bernard were lost for words.

“Ah, oh , no one,” I replied, trying to be casual, figuring that the lardy bloke must be the ex-con they were teaching to read. 

He was giving me the once over. 

“Right!  She’s no one!” Bernard exclaimed.  Manny started miming a throat slitting at me while the lardy one had his back turned on them.

“What’s she doing here?  Does she know…?” the bloke asked, slightly menacingly.

“I know nothing, nothing at all,” I replied.  “Bernard?  One minute of your precious time?”  Bernard practically skipped across the room to the door, pushing me out with him, shutting the door behind him.

“Excellent, good plan.  We’ll get a taxi and go to…to…wherever people who are running away go!” he exclaimed.

“Running away?”

“Yes!  Manny doesn’t need t’umbs!  I do!  And…and…,” Bernard was frantic.

“Ahh…I was just wondering if you wanted to go to that thing tonight,” I said.  Bernard frowned.

“I t’ought…he has to be able to read or he’ll be chewing on my ear at parties!” Bernard moaned.

“So that’s a no?”

“Yes!  I mean…no, it’s a no!”  He ran his hand through his hair.  “I’m going to die in the next 24 hours and all you care about are singing trannies.”

“Why doesn’t Manny just call his mate, Gus, then?”  Bernard was about to answer when the ex-con stuck his head out the door and asked, “Are you gonna be much longer?”

“No, no!  Just saying…goodbye…?” Bernard answered, panicking.  He grabbed my forearm and turned me towards the street.

“She’s not your ladyfriend, then?” Danny the con asked.

“No, no, just some bird that lives across the street.  Right?” Bernard hissed at me.  I nodded and smiled stupidly at Danny.

And then Danny made this really odd sound.  Slightly high-pitched and insane.  He was laughing.  Or giggling, I couldn’t tell the difference.

Bernard pushed me off towards my shop, which I ran to without looking back.  I slammed the door behind and bolted it, then ran to bolt the other door and to lock the windows.

“What’s gotten into you?” Elise demanded.  “We have to go in a few minutes.”

So we headed out into the cold night.  After it took Elise an hour to tart up for the occasion.

A tranny was already telling some very lame jokes and singing, by the time we got there and slid into a booth in the back.

It took ages for Bert to come on.

While we were waiting, Elise downed several shots of tequila while scanning the crowd.

“Ohmygod,” she gasped.

“Wot?”

“There’s Father Chris, from SAA!” she practically shouted in my ear as she manoeuvred me in front of her.

All I saw was some lardy bloke in a dark suit waddle towards as just as the MC announced Bert’s name.

Bert is being such a git.

So I fired him.

And then re-hired him after Elise failed to show up to work after spending time with her real boyfriend, Leo. 

I swear, every time we go to our tennis lessons, Bert attempts to maim Leo in some sort of fashion.  And he’s stopped wearing his frock to tennis.  He practically tries to knock Leo out with the ball when we play doubles. 

Men.  Honestly.

The heat wave seemed like it would never end.  I was going boy-crazy the entire time.  Customers kept coming in looking for something to take on holiday with them and I had to get rid of 200 copies of “Tempocalypse” that Bert ordered.  I kept trying to flirt with all the men who came in, but then they’d look over at the shop couch and see Bert there, snoring away.

“Get UP!” I yelled at him one day, trying to pull him off the couch.

“Whhhhhyyyyyy?” he whined.

“Men think you’re my boyfriend!” I exclaimed.  Then the stupid idiot started grinning.  So I slapped him.  “Go get me a lolly from down the street!”  That got him out.  He complained, but he went.

Then the hottest day of the heat wave came on.

I was trying to sleep.  Even though it was night, it was still around 87 degrees.  Manny was off eating a car or something, Fran had told me, due to his “Dave’s Syndrome.”   Like I said, it was still bloody well hot.  I was tossing and turning all night, trying to stay cool.  I even tried lying under my bed, but the dust bunnies tried to attack me, so I had to get out pronto.

Around half two in the morning, something starting bouncing off my window.  I opened it, only to get hit on the forehead with a chocolate floret.

“OY! Wot’s the big idea?!” I yelled down at the street.  And then I saw him standing down in the middle of the street, with an accordion attached to him.  Smiling like the drunken fool he was.  I sighed.  “Bernard, wot you doin’?” I called down to him.

“I’ve come to serenade you!” he yelled, stretching the accordion, making it wheeze.  “You’re my summer girl!  Just – just listen!”

And then he sang some really crap song that I couldn’t quite understand.  When he was done, he yelled, “Just throw your head back and laugh!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my summer girl!  You’re supposed to laugh and dance around springs and bathe in waterfalls…!  And eat the custard pie with a fork, because that’s what auntie Nibbs did when she wasn’t eating cream!”

“I don’t get it!”

“You’re not supposed to!  My autumn girl needs to be the smart one, not you!  You just need to frolic around Carnaby Street barefoot, swinging sunflowers and singing!”

“You’re daft!” I yelled, getting ready to shut the window.

“No, no! Wait!  I’ve got another song for you!” he shouted frantically.

I spent the rest of the morning listening to songs that he made up about summer and cows, until he passed out on the sidewalk around 6 o’clock.

A few weeks after the heat wave, Fran was telling her about the job that Manny got her with his connections. (Surprising, I know, that Manny has connections.)  She told us about this bloke who plays with his trouser snake appendums at work.  In public.  Bert made a comment about it, and I got him.  I caught the twat playing with his last week.  Blokes must have some kind of obsession with them; I mean you don’t catch birds standing around on the Underground platforms, playing with their boobs.

I guess Manny and Bernard have taken up a new hobby: teaching ex-con’s how to read.  Bernard’s been wailing about his thumbs for the last 12 hours.  They gave us a copy of this book the thug they’re teaching.

“‘I kept Harry’s left thumb as a keepsake, attaching it to my keychain.  I suck on it at night sometimes, thinking of what a great pal Harry was, or used to be,’” I read out loud, as Bernard sat curled up on Auntie Madge’s couch.  Bert was gagging in the background.  “This is really sick.  He’s mental,” I commented, turning the book over to read the back cover.

“I know!  Teaching him letters!  Letters!” Bernard exclaimed.  He held his hands out in front of his face, flexing his thumbs.  “I like my thumbs!  They turn door knobs and…do other t’ings!”

Since I fired Bert again, he went and got himself another job, which was actually his “Big Secret” from the beginning of the New Year.  He auditioned at some crap comedy club and got a job there, working on the weekends.  He made Elise and I go check it out last week with him.

We spent most of the time hiding in a corner booth, trying not to attract too much attention to ourselves while Bert sat on the edge of his seat, completely engulfed in what was going on onstage.  Elise and I were afraid of attracting the attentions of some of the dirty old men there.

I think Bert’s so keen to go there because of one of the bar girls.  It’s great he’s got a job, but he doesn’t need to drag us along.  Which he is.  Tomorrow night. 

Elise is panicking because Leo has to go away for the weekend to Edinburgh to play.  And Tom is having a “slumber party” that she’s not invited to, ever since she snubbed him by mentioning Leo.  And Bernard and Manny are due to be thumbless that day, so I’m out of an escape route.

Bert’s so very excited about it.  He’s having a nervy b trying to figure out what he’ll where tomorrow night.  He has too much to choose from, but whores will have their trinkets, I suppose.

The heat.

Oh bloody hell, the heat.

 Bert has decided that “we” need to get “in shape,” which translates into, Bert gained some weight this winter and doesn’t fit into most of his frocks anymore.  So he’s gone and signed us up for tennis lessons.  In the middle of a sodding heat wave.  But the most humiliating part of it (apart from the fact that Elise and I already know how to play tennis) is that he bought us matching tennis frocks.

To top it off, the thing under the sink has stolen my racket.  The rotten bugger.

So, knowing that Bernard kept an assortment of junk in his garden, I headed over to Black Books while Elise and Bert were getting ready to go for our first lesson.

As I bounded into his shop (I was feeling oddly excited), Bernard was sitting at his desk, watching all the customers of the feminine sort intently.  Manny was standing in front of the large thermometer, muttering to himself.

“Bernard,” I called from the door, before plunging into the sea of customers.  He looked up at the sound of his name.  His eyes narrowed when I got to his desk.  “Can I borrow your tennis racket?”

“What’s dat?  What is dat t’ing you’re wearing?” he demanded.  I frowned and put my hands on my hips.  He sounded angry.  What’s his problem now?

“It’s tennis frock, if you must know.”

“Why are you wearing it?  You’re not allowed!” he said, trying to cover his eyes.  “Mustn’t stare, mustn’t stare,” he muttered to himself.

“It’s not that bad!” I replied.  I thought the frock was a little annoying, but I was pretty sure that it didn’t look horrendous on me. 

With his eyes still covered, Bernard asked, “What do you need a tennis racket for?”

“I’m making spaghetti,” I replied.  He uncovered his eyes and stared at me.  I rolled my eyes.  “Can I borrow it or not?”

“No.  I don’t have one,” he answered, opening the nearest book and holding it up in front of his face.  I reached out and pulled the book down. His eyes looked really weird.  Not like, hangover-weird, or Bernard-weird, but genuinely weird.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“No – yes, I’m fine!” he exclaimed, pulling the book out of my hand and holding it up in front of his face.  I was about to say something when Manny grabbed my shoulder and practically shouted in my face, “Is it suppose to go up to 88 today?!  What if it hits 88 today?”

“You’ll be fine, Manny,” I said, prying his sweaty fingers off my shoulder.  I fished four pounds out of my pocket and handed it to him.  “Go buy some ice cream, it’ll cool you down.”

“Yes, cool.  Cool, brrrrrr,” Manny said to himself, as he headed out back. 

Bernard still had the book in front of his face, peeking around every couple of seconds, as I decided it was a good time to leave.

“Bye, Bernard,” I called as I headed to the door.

“Yes!  Good!  Go play your tennis with your fancy tranny man!” he shouted from behind the book.   Shaking my head, I left the shop and headed back over to where Bert and Elise were hiding in the shadows, trying to stay out of the sun.

“Ready?” Bert asked, excitedly. 

Let’s be honest, if Venus Williams was a man in a frock, that’s what Bert looked like.  He was even wearing a wig.  I don’t mind his cross-dressing tendencies, but this was just kind of odd.

After taking the Underground to our destination, we met our tennis instructor, Leo, the Tennis God.  Elise was practically tripping over herself to make him notice her.  She even forced her own racket upon me when he offered to go get me one.

I swear the heat is making everyone potty.  I’ve been watching men like I’m Elise, or something worse.  They’re driving me insane; the way they smell, the way they smile… stop brain, stop!