Unprofessional Mourners - Flash fiction

She would ache more than any other there at the grave. But none present might acknowledge that. Since she was eternally tagged the mistress rather than the love of his life. The scarlet woman who broke up a family, yet it was perennially he who would not accede to her pleas to marry her once he had left the marital home. So today she was not even an official mourner. Only his own family, despite them to all intents disowning him, adopting his ex-wife as if their blood kin and treating him as the imported in-law. 

Hence she had brought a gaggle of grandchildren from her own spent marriage. Her children refused to support her illicit love, taking the side of her lame duck husband in some misguided sentiment of keeping the family intact. But their progeny were of an age to remain blithely unaware or unconcerned with relationship politics and with just a few material inducements had been importuned to accompany her so she would not have to stand in isolation at the graveside. A human shield to protect her from all the daggers inevitably being cast at her. Even his family would give pause before making a scene in front of die kinder. They abided by received notions of the right way of behaving, which was why the two of them had been held beyond the pale. Thus they could never concede that passion could out-trump miserable convention.

She marched her juvenile cortege to take up their place on the cemetery grounds. There was a clear divide, an unbridgeable Red Sea, ironic echo of the two sides of wedding guests in a church, bride or groom. Why did he have to go and leave her? To expose her like this? She huddled closer to her kiddie entourage. As the coffin was lowered on its ropes, her emotions were such that she wanted to push past them and jump in after it. His family’s emotions were such that they wanted to push her in and heap the soil over. 

And when the ceremony was over and he had disappeared from sight for good, they trooped back towards the car. The kids whipped out their phones and plugged themselves back into the world, after obediently heeding the presiding priest’s enjoining all phones to be switched off for the duration. As their attention was arrested by their tiny screens, one by one they fell away in pace, until their aegis had melted away entirely. The family formed into attack formation and lay siege to her before she could reach the sanctuary of her car. She should have coughed up more funds and hired some professional mourners.

Compulsory Consumer Choices Ceaseless Even Unto Death - Friday Flash

He hadn’t been shopping in a store like this for years. The last time must have been when he and his wife bought a king-sized double bed. As newly-weds they had ensured to try every mattress available, lying down and making out on each one. All in the name of test driving the springs. When his bride to be donned that Learner plate for her Hen night, she had already been thoroughly road tested. But their bed was one-sided now. He got lost in its voluminosity. The only place in this satellite system world where it was still possible to become lost. That is until they invented a GPS of the emotions. They probably already had, but presumably there wasn’t much call for it in this hurly-burly world. People were perpetually on the move and had no time to ascertain how others were disposed. 

She must have undertaken her own version of this shopping trip without him knowing. When it was still voluntary perhaps. She had opted for being dumped at sea and becoming fish food. A second mode of human transport sending her into the beyond after she had died in a multiple pile up on the motorway the size of a back alley. However the immersion in a flotation tank which he had just undertaken, had only made him throw up. He had never been terribly comfortable in water. And with this experience, he had certainly not fulfilled the brochure’s promise of losing all sense of his bodily boundaries and just gently flowing with the pacific swell. Nor had they introduced any fish to pluck at his flesh. But then the brochures never advertise that do they? 

So he wasn’t likely to be buried alongside his beloved. Even though a GPS could probably muster the location of her remains. These days humans were tagged like biological specimens in the wild. Now that they had no actual creatures left to tail after reclaiming their habitats for tarmac, leaving a mountain of tracking tags going spare. It wasn’t clear to him if the push for cars led to the upsurge in GPS devices, or the other way around. He was tagged of course, under the shoulder. But there would be no one interested in picking up his path now. 

The heft of this actually felt okay. None too weighty. He couldn’t sense the touch of the wood against any part of him. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe the wood was coated with some mild neural numbing agent. A bit of a cheat to encourage sales. Somehow he was possessed of the perception of a ton of earth on top of him, but he wasn’t experiencing it pressing down on him directly. The wood must be bearing the brunt. He could smell it though. Redolent in his nostrils, clammy, like potato skins. But he knew that he must have that inverted, tubers smell that way because they spend their whole growth in the earth. What did any of this matter anyway? He was only afforded his senses because this was a dry run.

Since he wouldn’t be able to feel the sides of the coffin’s wood when he was gone. Soil would possess no smell for his corpse to inhale. He wouldn’t be imagining he could feel the weight of anything by that point. And the contrivance of an ambient temperature, controlled by the store for the recumbent comfort of customers, would be irrelevant whether it was purchased for eternity, or not an add-on feature purchased for greater outlay. Besides, everyone knew this was a con trick. There were no cemeteries any longer. Devoured like the rest of the land beneath the ever hungry demand for roads. The human delusion of rushing around somehow forestalling the abrupt cessation brought by death. A coffin purchase could only entail a cremation, though he wondered how the authorities advised their authorised death service dealers to allow the customer to sample an incineration.

He reckoned that the ever more frequent motorway pile-ups, which had led the government to demand pre-planning with regards to body disposal, were also prompted by the car manufacturers. After all, the GPS devices should have been able to forestall most of the crashes shouldn’t they? But he couldn’t figure out how if the numbers of drivers were reduce by crash culls, how that could enable them to sell more vehicles. But what good did any of this speculation do him? He’d had the same car for a couple of decades now, so he was not a target customer dead or alive. He’d taken his wife’s wreck to a chop shop where they’d merged it with another chassis. Just so he could stay close to her. Inhale her dying breath every single day. 

Next on the menu was an air funeral. He had always liked buzzards and vultures at the zoo. Maybe there might be some spiritual communion to be had here. At least they wouldn’t try and hide the incontestable fact of your flesh being devoured by creatures with this one. He was shown into a gallery with a glass screen as a carcass of some poor animal was wheeled into the room beyond the glass. All he could see was his wife’s broken body there on the trolley. He was sick again. 

Welcome to London! Ten Capital Tunes

Since the London Olympics are on I thought I'd welcome you to the city of my birth and residence with some tunes landmarking various parts of it. There are plenty of songs with "London"or "Cockney" in the title and many others referencing it in the lyrics, but I haven't included them. There's an extensive list of them on Wikipedia if you're interested.

1) The Kinks - "Waterloo Sunset"
The Kinks were THE quintessential London band, beloved of the Mods who when theyw eren't fighting with Rockers at British seaside resorts, made pilgrimages to the boutiques of Soho and Chelsea to buy their sharp Italian clothes. This song is a beautiful love song to London, one of the few as it turns out when you consider the rest of my list...


2) Elvis Costello - "(I Don't Want To Go To) Chelsea"
And can you blame this man from Liverpool? Chelsea, home to the London smart set, but also the home where punk rock broke out from (Malcolm McClaren's and Vivienne Westwood's shop "Sex" was on the Kings Road in Chelsea and where the fledgling Sex Pistols hung out). This was from when Elvis Costello's punk phase. Pity it didn't last really.


3) The Clash - "(White Man In) Hammersmith Palais"
The Clash wrote many songs about their West London origins and of course the call to action song that was "Guns Of Brixton". West London was original home of London's Caribbean community and punk and the Clash in particular sought to fuse reggae with punk and this is one of their homages to the symbiosis. "They think it's funny turning rebellion into money". Quite! The Hammersmith Palais was probably the venue where I saw more live gigs than any other in London. I have many happy memories of the place.


4) The Ruts - "West One"
The bright lights of London dissected as no other. Ruts singer Malcolm Owen died young from a heroin overdose, but here Henry Rollins from California pays tribute with the original members of the Ruts. It's a bit of a rough live sound, so track down the original studio version. For a so called punk band, it's really rather beautiful.


5) Carter USM - "Twenty Four Minuted To Tulse Hill"
Post-war, the UK has always looked towards American films and music. Here South Londoners Carter USM nod in the direction of Americana but reclaim it proudly for London with a dose of healthy dark London humour.


6) Eddy Grant - "Electric Avenue"
Electric Avenue is in Brixton. From a time when all things reggae ruled the world, joining hands across the ocean between Jamaica and London. A little wistful thinking? It wasn't back at the time...


7) The Jam - "Carnaby Street"
Ah there's nothing quite like nostalgia and bemoaning the decline of things. Here The Jam, who went on to have about ten number 1 songs in the national pop charts, bemoan the commercialisation of Mod Central's shopping street. I recently, ie in 2012, saw a flotilla of Mods in parkas on their lambretta bikes. Seems its the tribe that just keeps coming back. Like I said, nostalgic... I did actiually like The Jam a lot, "A-Bomb In Wardour Street" is a much better song, but I was feeling fickle today.

8) Stiff Little Fingers - "Piccadilly Circus"
Four boys who grew up with the Troubles in Northern Ireland have the cheek to complain about violence in Piccadilly Circus in London? Actually they were a great band, but this maybe isn't one of their better songs.


9) The Pogues - "Rainy Night In Soho"
If frontman Shane MacGowan didn't have such a gruff delivery and more of a potential pin up, the Pogues would have been the natural successors to The Kinks. That they weren't is why I like them. This is still a beautiful song even without the normal edge in Pogues' songs.


10) Sham 69 - "Hersham Boys"
Um... er...
I never called them "The London Cowboys"...




Bonus Track in run off grooves:
Burial - "South London Boroughs"
There are those that say dubstep IS the sound of London today. Brooding, lurking in the shadows and the spaces. I'll let you make your own mind up, but this is South London the artist is referring to here!