Chapter 15

It was turning into a slow kind of day. Rather than getting anything productive done, Dail had taken to wandering around the house, making pit stops at the fridge, staring at it blankly, mouth slightly agape, wondering why nothing new had appeared to take his interest since his last visit, staring blankly at the same websites over and over again, mouth slightly agape, wondering why nothing new had appeared to take his interest since his last visit…there was a formula for disappointment that was rarely deviated from on days like this.

Of course, the reason for this total lack of productivity was The Sun. It felt like it was nervously sidling up to The Earth on a sofa at a party, too scared to actually do anything except maybe ‘accidentally’ brush The Earth’s leg whilst reaching for its Bacardi Breezer. Of course, The Earth liked The Sun back, but neither could actually do anything for fear of rejection, which everyone would talk about in school the next day and it would all be rather uncomfortable and humiliating. All this closeness was doing was making The Earth very hot and bothered. So because of some stupid, metaphorical, teenage crush, Dail was feeling very listless, drained of energy and not much like he wanted to write anything, even though he’d set this entire weekend aside for solid writing (having discovered that nearly all his friends were in other cities, and the few who remained were the kind of friends who you liked perfectly well…but didn’t feel quite comfortable around enough to spend alone time with; the kind that requires your other friends to be there as a get out plan should it all go a bit arses-sideways). So far, he’d managed to conceptualise a vaguely bizarre graphic novel about a zombie Hitler who rode a cyborg velociraptor…during The Renaissance. This was later to be dismissed for fear of unsettling the more violent history buffs.

Dail knew the heat was draining him of his energy, and this annoyed him as there was very little he could realistically do about it; like hearing a burglar in your house whilst you’re in The Bath. All you can really do for the meantime is remain in The Bath and hope you still have some clothes left to change into later. Preferably some clean ones. The Sun wasn’t going to steal his pants…was it? It might do, but it would be a cruel and vindictive move should it happen, because Dail was fairly certain that, for a start, his pants wouldn’t fit The Sun, and anyway… The Sun is still hung up on The Earth, so it would be a move of heartless infidelity as well as cruel and vindictive.

Dail then pretended to be a spy for a short while. This, however, was a fairly short lived endeavour as he failed the entry exam. During the follow-up meeting, the exact reasons for his failure to become a world renowned spy (the point of which seemed like a bit of a contradiction to Dail; surely the point of a spy was being completely unknown…) were outlined in crystal clear Dolby surround.

“To be a spy you have to think outside the box.”

“But I tried!”

“You remember that form you had to fill out?”

“Yes.”

“The question that said ‘Do you want to be a spy?’”

“Yes.”

“Did you draw a tick in the ‘Yes’ box?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t. Tick outside the box.”

“Bugger.”

Having failed at international espionage, he made a desperate bid to escape the relentless heat of The Sun by having, after much careful deliberation, a cool Bath. Normally, this would have been an easy decision to make – fill Bath with cool water, read book for a while, feel refreshed. But lately, there had been ominous events going on around The Bath. Lately and, somewhat depressingly, Dail’s showerhead had become suicidal.

 

Now, Dail didn’t believe in souls, but he frequently personified objects and it was his earnest belief that his showerhead was either making a wanton attempt to end its career as deputy water dispenser to The Bath, or (and Dail believed this to be far more likely) it had a deep and severe loathing of books. With increasing regularity, when there was reading occurring in The Bath, the showerhead would somehow manage to dislodge itself and make the terrifying three foot leap into the water below; sending a monsoon of sudsy water towards whatever absorbent literature happened to be in its way. Looking at Dail’s book collection, you would be forgiven for thinking that he worked with ill-tempered dolphins and often brought his work home with him. Luckily, though, this was not the case as he had no way near the facilities required to facilitate dolphins in the home. He also didn’t work with dolphins and was therefore fairly certain that acquiring one would involve some sort of criminal aquarium based activity. Finally, Dail decided to leave the showerhead in The Bath. A bit of casual drowning wouldn’t ruin his reading the way a suicidal aqua-leap would.

An hour and a half later (a cold bath doesn’t go cold the way a hot one does) Dail had finished his book and the distinct feeling of ‘ahhhhhh-that’s-better’ had meandered its way through all the necessary veins, arteries, crannies and nooks. It was now 4 o’clock and time for food. Or rather, it would have been had there been any in the house; it almost as if a burglar had stolen all his food whilst he was in the bath… However, after a trip to the shops, all that had been bought was an ice-lolly and a new toothbrush. But this was no ordinary toothbrush. This was a fancy electric toothbrush that, by all accounts, should have been on sale in a dark windowed shop in Soho. It blurred vision and would make an entirely pleasurable gift for a female friend had the bristles been removed. Or not removed. Hygiene is very important and some people will go to great lengths to ensure it. Dail wasn’t here to judge people for improvising in a credit crunch. Just as long as they got their own toothbrush first…