My local pub is The Pillar of Cloud. It’s a tefillin-tied house, part of the Good Shepherd Neame estate. Step inside and you’ll find the usual mix of shufflers and immortals. All are well behaved, that is to say they are nebbishy, insecure and neurotic. And that’s just the bouncers. By well behaved I also mean, well. . . you never heard tell of a Jewish alcoholic, did you?
Still, the landlord, Moshe Pitt, is strict but fair. For example, licensing hours are very relaxed from the crack o’Saturday night right through to those late Friday afternoon sundowners. Moshe says there’s only going to be one call for Last Orders - just listen out for the Last Trumpet.
So there I was with the bar propping me up, putting the heavens to rights, when I noticed a forlorn earthgirl, alone and palely loitering without intent. At my age, you learn to recognise that look on their faces. If it isn’t the physical pain of early-onset sciatica then it’s emotional anguish. Or constipation.
I gave Moshe the nod and he was over with two glasses and a bottle of five star Ambrosia faster than you can say ‘Nebuchadnezzar’s no Nimby’.
Nebuchadnezzar - the only word that Melvyn Bragg is able to pronounce better than you can.
“I’m Destiny,” I said, pushing a glass towards her. “You look glum, what’s up?”
“Oh. . . the usual.”
“Man trouble?”
She nodded. Her name was Kathryn. For all I know, it still is.
“Hey Moshe! Pour the woman four fingers of Roy!”
She looked at me suspiciously. “Is that one of those tawdry cocktails like a Slippery Nipple?”
“No dear, it’s Ambrosia. It confers ageless immortality on she who drinks it. Want some?”
She wanted some.
“It’s my boyfriend,” she said.
It always is.
“He never talks to me. Just says he’s tired all the time and then turns back to the TV. I wouldn’t mind, only it’s usually Channel 5 and that’s particularly bad for my self-esteem.”
“When Channel 5 is giving you self-esteem issues then it’s time to ring some changes. What’s the problem?”
“We’re growing apart,” she sighed. “Or rather I’m growing and he’s shrinking. The speed at which the gap is opening up between us is making me dizzier than when the hovercraft leaves Dover. I tell myself that I love him, but what I really mean is that I’m afraid of being alone forever with nothing but a hundred cats and a kitchen drawer full of expired discount coupons and service station sachets of goo.”
She paused and then with a look of quiet horror whispered “I’ve already got quite a few of those.”
“The problem is all inside your head,” I said to her. “The answer is easy if you take it logically. I’d like to help you in your struggle to be free. There must be - ”
She looked up at me like a kitten eyeing a can opener.
“Look - why don’t you move out?” I asked and started to sing a half-remembered tune from the Book of Psalms.
“Just slip out the gate, Kate; Don’t mean to be plain, Jane; Just run from the mess, Jess and get yourself free. Don’t need to be mean, Jean; don’t get in a tizz, Liz; just skip to the loo, Sue - and get yourself free. Don’t linger or wait, Kate; Don’t tell him ‘We’re through’, Pru; just head for the car lot, Charlotte - and set yourself free. Uh-huh, there must be fifty ways to leave your lover. Just hop on the plane, Jayne. . .”
“Enough!! You know all about mid-70s soft rock, Destiny, but you don’t understand my plight. I’m through with love.”
She sniffed back a tear and continued,
“I can’t move out. You see, I’ve got furniture.” She made it sound like a terminal diagnosis.
“Tell me Kathryn, do you have much in common? Is he interested in what’s between your ears or what’s between your oven mitts?”
“Oh Destiny, when we first met, we seemed to get on, so having something in common didn’t seem that important.”
“Well has he got a good job? What are his prospects?”
“He works for the transport department of the local council, polishing cats eyes to help reduce road traffic accidents and meet government targets. Oh, I know it’s not what every girl dreams of but - ”
“Perhaps he could retrain? Upskill? Re-purpose himself? A man barely alive. Kathryn, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world’s first bionic boyfriend. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster. . .” my voice trailed off.
She looked doubtful. Rightly so she sensed my own doubt.
“If only. He places no value on education. He thinks the Open University is one where you don’t have to pay to have a quick look round the quad.”
“Ah, I see - a Lawrentian. Well, is he sexy, like a jungle cat? Does he move with the ease and grace of a panther?”
She gave me a look that women only ever give to other women.
“Actually, he moves with the ease and grace of a hamster. I used to think it was quite sweet, but now I’m Googling vet numbers. Help me, Destiny!”
She took a deep and urgent draught of her Ambrosia. “Mmm, heavenly.” I beckoned to Moshe to bring the bottle back.
“Talk to me about the furniture.”
“Well there’s a wardrobe, an ottoman, two blanket boxes and a night table. But my main worry is that I’ve got one of those big, tall, heavy classic designer fridges. If I left, how would he cool his cans of Weightrose Lager?”
“Listen to me, Kate. You have to stop thinking about him and start looking after yourself. I want you to be like that fridge.”
“Huh?”
“You need to fill your heart with icy, frigid air. Got it? Lock your heart and keep your feelings there. Just for a while.”
She looked doubtful.
“And then?”
“And then I’ll come around with a couple of archangels I know. One will sit on his chest while he’s asleep and the other will shift all your gear in the twinkling of an eye. You can stay at my place as I’ll be away. Got a couple of business meetings in the land of the Philistines but my cats still need to be fed.”
She was starting to cheer up. She smiled and somewhere a magnolia tree blossomed.
“Destiny?”
“Yes, Kathryn?”
“What about you and. . .well a smart, kind, hard-working, moral and beautiful woman like yourself must surely have a fella. Or is it - ”
“- Complicated? Yeah, you could say that. He’s an older man. Much older. . .”
“God!”
“Indeed. Me and God, God and me - it’ll never work out. Don’t get me wrong Kathryn, I could go for Him in a big way. If only He wouldn’t play so hard to get. I think it’s all those unending hymns of praise he’s gotten addicted to morning, noon and night. He’s constantly receiving friend requests - these days they come digitally via HymnBook.com - or HimBook as he calls it. Sometimes He can be so distant. It’s like He doesn’t know I exist. That’s the problem with being The Creator, He’s so self-centred.”
“A typical Only Child then?”
“Got it in one! Only He didn’t invent just one imaginary friend. Oh no, He invented billions of the buggers. You’re one. So am I. If Channel 5 is affecting your self esteem then just you try coping with the knowledge that you are a figment of someone else’s imagination. Just as well He’s an insomniac. He’s imagining us talking, right now. Scary, huh? Sometimes, just to piss Him off, I hum that John Lennon song to myself. Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try. . . At first I thought I was being funny, but now I realise He just has a very highly developed sense of self-parody.”
“Destiny, are you really an angel.”
“Of course I am. I’m not just any old gorgeous blonde, y’know. Look, I’ll prove it to you.”
I carefully tipped my glass over onto the bar top until a little pool of Ambrosia had formed.
“When the surface is quite still, look closely and you’ll see me on a date with God.”
She looked at me in disbelief.
“Oh all right, it wasn’t a date. I wanted it to be, of course. Who wouldn’t adore Him? But He just thinks we’re good friends. Which we are. Anyway, I was very light on my feet in those days. Angels don’t actually need wings to fly, y’know. That’s just a fancy of you over-literal shufflers.”
“And you and Him? It didn’t er work out?”
“I may be an angel but I’m no domestic goddess. In His mansion there are many rooms. The housekeeping alone is - well you’ve simple no idea.”
She looked at me imploringly, “I think I’m losing my mind.”
“It went that-a-way,” I said, pointing towards the door. “Don’t worry, it’ll be back. Adieu.”
Still, the landlord, Moshe Pitt, is strict but fair. For example, licensing hours are very relaxed from the crack o’Saturday night right through to those late Friday afternoon sundowners. Moshe says there’s only going to be one call for Last Orders - just listen out for the Last Trumpet.
So there I was with the bar propping me up, putting the heavens to rights, when I noticed a forlorn earthgirl, alone and palely loitering without intent. At my age, you learn to recognise that look on their faces. If it isn’t the physical pain of early-onset sciatica then it’s emotional anguish. Or constipation.
I gave Moshe the nod and he was over with two glasses and a bottle of five star Ambrosia faster than you can say ‘Nebuchadnezzar’s no Nimby’.
Nebuchadnezzar - the only word that Melvyn Bragg is able to pronounce better than you can.
“I’m Destiny,” I said, pushing a glass towards her. “You look glum, what’s up?”
“Oh. . . the usual.”
“Man trouble?”
She nodded. Her name was Kathryn. For all I know, it still is.
“Hey Moshe! Pour the woman four fingers of Roy!”
She looked at me suspiciously. “Is that one of those tawdry cocktails like a Slippery Nipple?”
“No dear, it’s Ambrosia. It confers ageless immortality on she who drinks it. Want some?”
She wanted some.
“It’s my boyfriend,” she said.
It always is.
“He never talks to me. Just says he’s tired all the time and then turns back to the TV. I wouldn’t mind, only it’s usually Channel 5 and that’s particularly bad for my self-esteem.”
“When Channel 5 is giving you self-esteem issues then it’s time to ring some changes. What’s the problem?”
“We’re growing apart,” she sighed. “Or rather I’m growing and he’s shrinking. The speed at which the gap is opening up between us is making me dizzier than when the hovercraft leaves Dover. I tell myself that I love him, but what I really mean is that I’m afraid of being alone forever with nothing but a hundred cats and a kitchen drawer full of expired discount coupons and service station sachets of goo.”
She paused and then with a look of quiet horror whispered “I’ve already got quite a few of those.”
“The problem is all inside your head,” I said to her. “The answer is easy if you take it logically. I’d like to help you in your struggle to be free. There must be - ”
She looked up at me like a kitten eyeing a can opener.
“Look - why don’t you move out?” I asked and started to sing a half-remembered tune from the Book of Psalms.
“Just slip out the gate, Kate; Don’t mean to be plain, Jane; Just run from the mess, Jess and get yourself free. Don’t need to be mean, Jean; don’t get in a tizz, Liz; just skip to the loo, Sue - and get yourself free. Don’t linger or wait, Kate; Don’t tell him ‘We’re through’, Pru; just head for the car lot, Charlotte - and set yourself free. Uh-huh, there must be fifty ways to leave your lover. Just hop on the plane, Jayne. . .”
“Enough!! You know all about mid-70s soft rock, Destiny, but you don’t understand my plight. I’m through with love.”
She sniffed back a tear and continued,
“I can’t move out. You see, I’ve got furniture.” She made it sound like a terminal diagnosis.
“Tell me Kathryn, do you have much in common? Is he interested in what’s between your ears or what’s between your oven mitts?”
“Oh Destiny, when we first met, we seemed to get on, so having something in common didn’t seem that important.”
“Well has he got a good job? What are his prospects?”
“He works for the transport department of the local council, polishing cats eyes to help reduce road traffic accidents and meet government targets. Oh, I know it’s not what every girl dreams of but - ”
“Perhaps he could retrain? Upskill? Re-purpose himself? A man barely alive. Kathryn, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world’s first bionic boyfriend. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster. . .” my voice trailed off.
She looked doubtful. Rightly so she sensed my own doubt.
“If only. He places no value on education. He thinks the Open University is one where you don’t have to pay to have a quick look round the quad.”
“Ah, I see - a Lawrentian. Well, is he sexy, like a jungle cat? Does he move with the ease and grace of a panther?”
She gave me a look that women only ever give to other women.
“Actually, he moves with the ease and grace of a hamster. I used to think it was quite sweet, but now I’m Googling vet numbers. Help me, Destiny!”
She took a deep and urgent draught of her Ambrosia. “Mmm, heavenly.” I beckoned to Moshe to bring the bottle back.
“Talk to me about the furniture.”
“Well there’s a wardrobe, an ottoman, two blanket boxes and a night table. But my main worry is that I’ve got one of those big, tall, heavy classic designer fridges. If I left, how would he cool his cans of Weightrose Lager?”
“Listen to me, Kate. You have to stop thinking about him and start looking after yourself. I want you to be like that fridge.”
“Huh?”
“You need to fill your heart with icy, frigid air. Got it? Lock your heart and keep your feelings there. Just for a while.”
She looked doubtful.
“And then?”
“And then I’ll come around with a couple of archangels I know. One will sit on his chest while he’s asleep and the other will shift all your gear in the twinkling of an eye. You can stay at my place as I’ll be away. Got a couple of business meetings in the land of the Philistines but my cats still need to be fed.”
She was starting to cheer up. She smiled and somewhere a magnolia tree blossomed.
“Destiny?”
“Yes, Kathryn?”
“What about you and. . .well a smart, kind, hard-working, moral and beautiful woman like yourself must surely have a fella. Or is it - ”
“- Complicated? Yeah, you could say that. He’s an older man. Much older. . .”
“God!”
“Indeed. Me and God, God and me - it’ll never work out. Don’t get me wrong Kathryn, I could go for Him in a big way. If only He wouldn’t play so hard to get. I think it’s all those unending hymns of praise he’s gotten addicted to morning, noon and night. He’s constantly receiving friend requests - these days they come digitally via HymnBook.com - or HimBook as he calls it. Sometimes He can be so distant. It’s like He doesn’t know I exist. That’s the problem with being The Creator, He’s so self-centred.”
“A typical Only Child then?”
“Got it in one! Only He didn’t invent just one imaginary friend. Oh no, He invented billions of the buggers. You’re one. So am I. If Channel 5 is affecting your self esteem then just you try coping with the knowledge that you are a figment of someone else’s imagination. Just as well He’s an insomniac. He’s imagining us talking, right now. Scary, huh? Sometimes, just to piss Him off, I hum that John Lennon song to myself. Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try. . . At first I thought I was being funny, but now I realise He just has a very highly developed sense of self-parody.”
“Destiny, are you really an angel.”
“Of course I am. I’m not just any old gorgeous blonde, y’know. Look, I’ll prove it to you.”
I carefully tipped my glass over onto the bar top until a little pool of Ambrosia had formed.
“When the surface is quite still, look closely and you’ll see me on a date with God.”
She looked at me in disbelief.
“Oh all right, it wasn’t a date. I wanted it to be, of course. Who wouldn’t adore Him? But He just thinks we’re good friends. Which we are. Anyway, I was very light on my feet in those days. Angels don’t actually need wings to fly, y’know. That’s just a fancy of you over-literal shufflers.”
“And you and Him? It didn’t er work out?”
“I may be an angel but I’m no domestic goddess. In His mansion there are many rooms. The housekeeping alone is - well you’ve simple no idea.”
She looked at me imploringly, “I think I’m losing my mind.”
“It went that-a-way,” I said, pointing towards the door. “Don’t worry, it’ll be back. Adieu.”
