High Roller

Published by: Mat on 4th Nov 2017 | View all blogs by Mat

 

High Roller

 

Latest 'blag' [US] entry, detailing/expunging(?) weekly despair.  Author seeks bookshop role circa 35k only.

 

‘Bobkin, Bobkin, come back Bobkin,’ cries the walker, and his hound gallops away [from him] toward me.

I am stood, almost a subhuman creatures, stood over a square hole in the dirt. My high viz vest shines like a night sight for the doggy.  The Autumn evening closes in, I really used to like Labradors.

‘Owrll, owrll,’ he chews at my forearm.  I squeal and tumble into my hole.  Bobkin barks from the edge.

A moment later, and somewhat out of breath, the silhouette in Wellingtons and a Barbour coat, looms over the hole.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘Bobkin has this thing for high viz, it’s the same with the postman,’ he says.

‘Thank you very much, squire,’ I don’t say, and the pair bumble away, happy in darkness.  It is their park after all, I’m only employed here for the digging of holes.

Though I’m not very good at digging holes, or at engineering, or irrigation.  I mean I might be okay in about four weeks time, but for now in week six, or seven the pressure is upon me.  The reports from my foreman to my manager detail how I ‘work hard’ but am ‘less than effective’ they might say.

So I feel sadness in this state of affairs, suffer anxiety at my inability to conquer the manly arts of nut bolt, angle grinder, the saw and shovel.

But then, and working away, the suicide of Monday passes to Thursday and by Friday I am still digging holes, here on the fringes of the country park, but today watch the happiness in the golfers’ eyes.  The men [& women], so happy, joyful for their Friday play, some have a cheroot wedged in the gob and they wack the little balls from hole to hole.  All-consuming and wonderful for them, I enjoy their pleasure but y’know out the side of the mouth only, I say, y’know, well it is ridiculous.

‘It pays your wages, so get digging,’ says Rick, the man of muscles levers digger buckets with his bare hands, overhead even.  ‘I’m half your size,’ he says.

‘Yes sir,’ I say, and know, and know it is half-past one on the Friday afternoon, only an hour, an hour on the roller for me before the great escape, the camaraderie among white van folk on the M25, my boys.

roller.jpg

image found on Youtube c/o Twentytrucks, I hope that’s okay.  Ours is a little smaller, more of a country version.

The roller is bloody scary.  I roll from my high seat on the machine, roll along valley sides at two miles an hour, each bump underneath me feels like it might be my last bump, the roller toppling like a shot rhino, but the trick is to hold your nerve and roll on.

I am rolling on.

Comments

10 Comments

  • new-bee-author
    by new-bee-author 18 days ago
    Marvellously, lustfully lovely, the images tumble shining from the page to confound our gaping incredulity. Is this part of a larger opus, or indeed, a lager opus? Wonderful stuff, matey. More power to your well-muscled typing finger! ;-)
  • Mat
    by Mat 18 days ago
    Hello NBA...thanks so much for enjoying the read, you raised my flagging spirits. Although I'm home today - awaiting call from the big boss - who might sack me, which would be kind of a relief after my 8 weeks terrorised at the hands of this 'Timbo' supervisor. I've been scurrying hither & thither, coated in mud, but quite good at digging now, shame to lose the skill...and two stone lighter.

    Oh...I just need to cram my 'shorts' together...and post in presentable manner to Salt or similar. Terrible marketing/presentation skills :/
  • new-bee-author
    by new-bee-author 18 days ago
    Cram 'em into your old sacking kit bag along with the ashes of your youth & fling them forth like the winter garment of repentance or a spurting shower of manful seed, unto the uttermost limits of civilisation (probably Daventry or somewhere like that) that ye may bask in the golden glorification that publication of those gems will doubtless engender.

    Flag not, my lovely boy! Your fanbase forms forth.
  • Dolly
    by Dolly 18 days ago
    Hi Mike. I spent a large part of my working life in construction as a bricklayer. Part of that time was spent digging holes, pushing barrow loads of concrete from one place to another, laying bricks, concrete blocks and running up and down ladders. I also got wet, did a lot of gasping for breath and sometimes drank too much, well, maybe more than sometimes! Keep rolling and digging.
  • BellaM
    by BellaM 18 days ago
    I loved your piece - keep on rolling. (That said, I now have the "Rawhide" song stuck on the brain. Thought I'd tell you, so you could, too. My pleasure.)
  • Mat
    by Mat 18 days ago
    Hi Dolly, hi Bella,

    I threw a hissy today, but big boss told me to 'get back to work,' phew, warning only. Fegging hardest job of my life :)
  • JB
    by JB 17 days ago
    Nice one Mat. I read this and your Death of Fawkes post, preferred this as eating Spag-Bol and reading about intestines just don't mix..! Serious loved the Guy Fawkes one also.

    Roll With it.!
  • new-bee-author
    by new-bee-author 16 days ago
    Hey Bella - aren't you much to young to remember 'Rawhide'?
  • BellaM
    by BellaM 16 days ago
    n-b-a "much" is a bit strong, but yes. I was thinking of the Blues Brothers version.
  • new-bee-author
    by new-bee-author 15 days ago
    Ah, I see!
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