Tuesday, June 23, 2009

one bluster, two pomples and me

so here’s what happened. i stepped out of café goa for a smoke the friday before last. the evening was muggy but the moon was out, the beer was chilled, and the cigarette, as always, was bliss. i should have been presenting the findings of the great indian toilet investigation to my boss just then, but here i was having a fine evening with friends instead. things couldn’t have gotten any better.

except they did. i heard them beating out their deep base rhythm into the night, before they blazed out of the alley up to me – the two most monstrously glorious, custom designed enfield cruisers i’ve ever seen. i believe one of the blokes riding them was almost as hot as his machine. that’s what they told me later. but right then i was spontaneously combusting with love for the two eye poppingly, heart stoppingly, brain sizzlingly STUNNING objects ‘d art in front of me. i didn’t have the time to fritter away on mere men.

i walked around them…once…and then again…and again…and again. and i ended up sort of floating to the black beauty…a mean looking number with an evil little wasp seat for one, slung low, very low. it glistened back at me like hard black candy in the moonshine. i could hear the beatles singing to me in the breeze like they always do when love hits me like a ton of bricks. love…love…love, they crooned as i casually swung my right leg over that little black seat, just to see if it fit…which it did. i was in heaven.

i don’t think i even realized that my right knee was on a slow grill on the silencer at first. it must have been quite a few minutes before my nerve endings got their message through to my brain. mission abort, they said, mission A.B.O.R.T. abort! i remember telling them to shut up and piss off. i remember asking for just one minute more of the good old heady feeling. and then all too soon the butterflies turned to hot coals in my belly and my right knee screamed blue murder back at me - GET OFF, YOU SILLY BITCH!

i got off then and hobbled around a bit. i hopped around on one leg, had another cigarette and ogled at the bikes some more. they were monstrously beautiful, like i said. they had me mesmerized.

by the time i headed home that night, the skin on the inside of my right knee had gone from mahogany to ash white and the pain was wailing like a banshee inside my head. i got through the night by emptying out my freezer and packing my agony in ice cubes, instant defrost patties and 250gms of frozen peas.

the next morning it was deep olive green. it pulsed back at me in time to my heartbeat. very much like the enfield that caused it, come to think of it. i told myself it lent a nice curvature to the shape of my leg. i lied flat out about the sheer misery of it all. i had no time for this shit because the first cut of the great indian toilet investigations had to be shared.

that’s when my hormones – which can always be trusted to let me down – went loco. my hair drooped in dank depression and two pomples glared balefully back at me in the mirror. hey ya, ugggggggly! they said.

the burn evolved to a blister and then a bluster by day two, and the pomples shook hands with it. now we’ve REALLY got this party going, they said. we’ve been living together the last one week, all four of us. i must admit it’s been an unhappy alliance, though the bluster and pomples seem to be in high spirits.

this morning i finally dragged myself to the doc because the bluster’s been leaking goop down my leg the last two days. he told me to lie on my belly and calmly proceeded to wreck havoc on the back of my knee while gently tsking about all the cat hair. then he bandaged it tight, told me to come see him again the day after and informed me that i must be insane to be driving around with the blimp from hell eating into my knee.

there’s macho and there’s stupid, you know, he said. which, as it turns out, is exactly what the bluster and the pomples have been sniggering at me...$#%$%@@!!!


image credit: this work of art is by the world's greatest doodle artist, david shrigley. i am even more mental about him than the enfields. you might like to view some more of his work at www.davidshrigley.com

ps: and you absolutely must have a look at the enfields that got me into all this trouble on agent green glass’ post about that evening!

6 comments:

Sangfroid said...

Mean machines! Those kind of mods ensure that the real make is hard to guess. Wonder if they actually are REs.

Were you then able to present the Great Indian Toilet ... in time ?

So you're a biker chick too. Nice :-)

Wishes for a speedy recovery!! Mind you I'm not questioning your macho instincts :-P

Anonymous said...

your mr shrigley is totally way out!(or 'totally door bahaar' as a friend used to say!). what a gem - cracked in all the right places! thanks for the intro.

Kokonad said...

Ah... wishes for a quick recovery! But yeah, surely the bikes have taken "hotness" to a different level! Talk of people being in a trance!
Now heading over to AGG's blog to see what the pus is all about.

Qi said...

Bikes! *drools*

But seriously? EW! Your descriptions of the thing! EWW!

Hope it's all sorted now :)

mentalie said...

sangfroid: thank you for the wishes! and i wish i was a biker chick...i should buy that RX100 before i'm past my prime...
anonymous: i am delighted you like david shrigley...just keep your paws off him or else... ;p
kokonad: thank you too...that msg must have been pun to type out!
Qi: i keep wavering between Oww and Eww myself. the leg is still grotesque, but am sure it'll stay on, heh. ps: why aren't you writing???

agent green glass said...

hey pomple mama. heard it's pretty bad. a bike wound is like a battle scar...after a drink, it always makes a good story, specially the pus filled bits. and who told you one of the guys was hot. I think you saw the Voice through pain rimmed eyes and thought he was one of the guys. I saw the two, they needed the bikes dude, really needed them!

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