Confessions from a Luxury Liner. Timothy Lea

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СКАЧАТЬ you’re ready, maestro.’ Greasebonce turns to Ted Bennett – him of ‘Ted Bennett and the Bennettmen’ – and Ted stops picking his nose with his baton and wipes it under his armpit – his baton, not his hooter. Everybody is cheering and shouting and I wish I could feel the adrenalin running through my blood – come to that, I wish I could feel my blood running through anything. ‘Ready, steady, dance!’

      ‘Right,’ says Natalie, very firm and determined. ‘Keep cool. Left foot back. One, two, three. One, two, BANG!

      I have only stood on my own balloon, haven’t I? A roar of laughter goes up and something inside me snaps. A Lea can only take so much. If these herberts want to take the piss then I will give them something they can really get their teeth into. Fed up with trying to dance, I grab Natalie and charge towards the other couple who are gliding towards us like they are on roller skates. I see the bloke’s eyes widen in terror but it is too late for him to take defensive action. He is locked into a complicated spin turn and at my mercy. I am not quite certain what I intend to do with the lovely creature in my arms but, as so often happens with me, fate takes the decision. I get my feet wrapped round the balloon string and pitch forward so that I throw Natalie on the floor. There are two bangs almost simultaneously and a roar from the crowd. When I prize my hooter off the boards it is to find that both the opposition balloons have been burst and that ours is still intact. The other couple are hopping mad and Greasebonce is clearly undecided what to do. Fortunately, Sid makes an opportune appearance.

      ‘Great dancing, Timmy,’ he says. ‘That last stem Christie was really something. You’ll soon be on to parallels.’

      ‘Dancing!’ says the beaten finalist in a voice that sounds as if someone has opened an umbrella down his throat. ‘He can’t dance a step! He threw his partner at us.’

      ‘That’s his ballet training,’ says Sid. ‘You reveal your ignorance when you talk like that. The Russians have been after him for years.’

      ‘Rubbish!’ says the bloke.

      ‘Careful, Dame Margot!’ says Sid. ‘If you don’t learn to be a good loser my boot will be doing a double reverse spin turn up your khyber!’

      ‘That’s nice!’ says the bloke. ‘That’s very nice.’

      ‘I was afraid you’d think so,’ says Sid. ‘Tell me, are those white streaks in your hair natural or do you keep pigeons?’

      ‘I don’t know quite what to do,’ says Greasebonce.

      ‘I’d declare him the winner,’ says Sid, pointing at me. ‘It would be nasty if violence broke out and the hall was wrecked. I happened to be here the last time there was a spot of bother and I remember how unpleasant it was. It took months to get the place operational again – and, talking about operations, I’m trying to remember how many stitches the MC had—’

      ‘The winners, ladies and gentlemen! Let’s give them a big hand.’ Greasebonce snatches up my mitt like he is scared it might blow away and raises it aloft with Natalie’s. There is a roar from the crowd and a louder roar from the bloke we were dancing against. Sid has just stood on his instep.

      ‘Here, blow your nose on this,’ says my brother-in-law, wrenching the silk rose from his partner’s dress so that her knockers bounce out like they have been rung up on a till.

      ‘Ooh, how wonderful!’ squeals Natalie. She clings to my arm and only breaks away long enough to hug Gloria. Sid catches my eye and winks. ‘Nice going, Timmo,’ he says. ‘We’ll be in like Flynn after this lot.’

      ‘But when are we going to talk to them about getting on a boat?’ I say.

      ‘There’s plenty of time for that,’ says Sid. ‘The night is young. Go and collect your prize.’

      Natalie is thrilled out of her teeny mind because she cops a wicker basket full of picnic stuff and I am not exactly choked to receive a blooming great bottle of champagne. We even get our photograph taken by a bloke from the Sentinel. It is practically film-star treatment by SW12 standards.

      ‘Ooh, I can’t wait to get it home and look at it properly,’ coos Natalie, hugging her basket. ‘The knives have got bone handles.’

      ‘Fabulous,’ breathes Sid. ‘We’ll be able to christen the beakers with Timmy’s champagne.’

      ‘Oh yeah,’ says Natalie, looking at Gloria.

      ‘Yes,’ says Gloria. They look at each other like their minds are keeping pace with Sid’s and I have the feeling that we may be on the verge of a nooky feast. Certainly both birds seem to be much more attuned to my magnetism since I revealed my terpsichorean talent (it’s all right, you can’t get arrested for it).

      ‘Is it all right if we go to your place?’ says Gloria.

      ‘Yes,’ says Natalie. ‘I’ve got enough Nescafé.’

      ‘Nescafé?’ says Sid. ‘You just give us the goblets.’

      ‘I beg your pardon!’ says Natalie, coming on like Mary Whitehouse finding that someone has dropped the bog paper down the Karsi.

      ‘I said, give us the goblets,’ says Sid. ‘Honestly, girls, you do jump to conclusions.’

      ‘You live alone, do you?’ I say as I snuggle down with Natalie in the back of Sid’s Rover.

      ‘I do when my husband is away,’ says the lovely creature.

      ‘Is he at sea, as well?’ I ask.

      ‘Completely,’ she says.

      ‘You must get very lonely,’ I say, giving her arm a squeeze and nuzzling her barnet – it is like a pan scourer with all that lacquer on it.

      ‘I do,’ she says. ‘Especially at nights. It’s not sex.’

      ‘No, of course not,’ I say hurriedly – I mean, I would never think of that, would I?

      ‘It’s the companionship. Somebody to talk over the events of the day with.’

      ‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘I know just how you feel.’

      This is not strictly true but I am working on it. I run my hand up Natalie’s arm, lightly dust my digits over her bristols – almost accidentally, like I did not know they were there – and then descend for a warm, friendly squeeze of the hand. She smiles up at me and I kiss her on the end of the nose. Tender stuff, I am certain you will agree and not far removed from the love interest in a Walt Disney movie. Still, there are more ways of skinning a cat than by leaving a dead mouse at the bottom of your spin drier, and a lot of storms start with a small ripple running across the surface of still water – watch the old movies on the telly if you don’t believe me.

      ‘You’re different to what I thought you were,’ says Natalie. ‘Underneath, you’re shy, aren’t you?’

      It is always favourite to agree with this kind of statement because it allows the bird to plot her own downfall. They all have this fantasy about introducing a shy, inexperienced boy to the delights of sex – even if they have never found them themselves – and you can discover yourself immersed in a lot of grumble and grunt if you let them have their way.

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ