What's going on here then?
Boomed an accusing voice from over my garden fence.
I gasped and squinted up, sweat blinding my beautiful eyes.
The Jim, my neighbour, loomed over the fence. His old face, cracked and wrinkled like a dried-out love sock, scowling in accusation at me.
I'm building a fucking deck.
I said, somewhat defensively waving an arm at the wreckage of wood and broken shit that surrounded me.
Aye, that's not what I am asking and well you know it!
The Jim bellowed indignantly.
I put down The Big Fucking Hammer that I had been wielding and straightened up, pushing a hand into the small of my back and making a masculine weeping noise.
What are you asking then?
I was puzzled.
It seemed perfectly clear that I was in the middle of a grand project. I mean it was obvious. I was surrounded by half sawn pieces of wood and various tools, not to forget also The Big Fucking Hammer.
Maybe he thought I was Thor and I had turned my hand to Carpentry?
Fucking Kate Bush, that's what I am talking about? You gone all... you know...
The Jim made a motion with his hands that could only have been a mime of a man being fisted whilst wearing a dress.
What the fuck?!
I snapped my head around appalled at what The Jim was saying. Kate Bush!?!
Behind me was my radio. An old and battered thing I had found in the garage. When I had started work on my deck I had felt oddly compelled at a molecular level to get the Radio out, tune to a local radio station and turn the volume up really loudly.
I realised that while I had been sawing and humming along to the music that somehow a Kate Bush song had sneakily started playing.
That one that went Wooh oh oh ooooooh oooooooooh.
I know, it could be any one of them
I felt a deep blush bloom on my cheeks as if I had been caught playing cricket.
Hahaha, it's just the radio. I was so busy working I had no idea what was playing!
I exclaimed brightly as if The Jim at that moment with his big bushy grey beard and piercing dark eyes didn't look exactly like God, weighing me up and finding me wanting.
Aye, well. So what are you doing down there?
He nodded inquisitively at the hole I had just stuck a post in.
Building a deck, you know, putting the supporting posts in?
I picked up The Big Fucking Hammer and hit the post enthusiastically. It wobbled resentfully in response.
The Jim narrowed his eyes.
Digging holes, listening to Kate Bush? I don't know son. I don't like the sound of this.
The Jim stuck a hand on my fence and leapt over it in one majestic bound as if he wasn't sixty million years old.
He marched over to my radio which was still belching out Kate Bush and stabbed a sausage finger at it.
Kate Bush cut out to be replaced by Mark Knopfler yodelling about faggots and MTV.
The Jim brushed imaginary dust from his hands and looked over at my hole and wobbly post
Where's your concrete?
He said, glancing around.
Huh?
I quivered with the righteous man-fear that I had been caught being double un-manly by not having concrete for whatever reason men have concrete.
You will need concrete in your hole.
He stated ominously.
Erm, I don't have any concrete.
I blurted out as if being waterboarded with decaying foreskins.
The Jim set his hands on his hips and surveyed the workings around me incredulously.
No concrete? Fuck me, lad, do you want me to give you a hand with all this? I've built many a deck. I don't mind, I'm retired, I've got fuck all else to do.
He picked at the edge of a raggedly sawn post sticking out of the ground at a forlorn angle.
I snorted, lowering my head so that I could ram him with my fearsome horns.
What was he implying? That my work so far was a fucking mess? That I couldn't build a deck for toffee? That I was some kind of middle class, accidental Kate Bush listening popinjay that was playing at deck building?!
Maybe The Jim needed to have a few words with The Big Fucking Hammer?
Eh, yes please. I would love your help.
I squeaked.
Alright then, I will go and pick up some concrete and be back in a minute. Don't let me come back and catch you listening to Kate Bush though!
We both laughed. He with joyous neighbourly spirit and me with murder in my heart.
I watched The Jim go off to fetch his so-called concrete.
Can we smash him, o' great one?
Whispered The Big Fucking Hammer.
My fingers tightened around her haft.
Not yet, my pretty... Not yet.