David Harper was asleep. Or, at least he was until the radio alarm clock on the cheap MFI sideboard exploded into life. The Beatles, a Day in the Life. Well at least it wasn’t Good Morning.
Dave woke up; fell out of bed. Dragged a comb across his head. Found his way downstairs and drank a cup, and looking up he noticed he was late. He made the bus in seconds flat. Found his way upstairs and had a smoke. Somebody spoke and he went into a dream….*
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..
“David! WAKE UP!”
David hadn’t woken up. He was having a lovely, yet nonsensical dream. Dancing with Yoko Ono whilst clocking into a factory. Roger Waters might have been there, dressed formally in a top hat and monocle. Hello sir.
One of his eyes was squashed closed, snugly nestled against the starchy pillow. He opened the other a crack and saw the drab reality. Yoko Ono wasn’t there and he wasn’t at work. Just clothes, a chair, cheap furniture and an old poster of Suzi Quatro. Still apparently looking sexy. These new pills really knock him out of the habit of reality. Groggily, he attempted to brave raising himself up onto his hands. His head rushed and he collapsed face down into the pillow.
“DAVID! WILL YOU GET UP! YOU’LL BE LATE!”
His mother wasn’t going to shut up. With an effort that he defied Superman to better, he got himself sat up and dragged his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m awake!”, he tried to say but his dry mouth made it come out garbled and cracked.
“DON’T YOU USE THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE WITH ME!”
David made a deadpan face. Although, he would have if his facial muscles had caught up and instead, he looked more like a strangled otter. He stood up falteringly and his left knee caught the bedside table. The cheap plywood splintering, leaving a lovely piece of substandard cardboard-y thing sticking out of his knee cap.
It was at this point he realised he was wearing a two-tone, the trim in beige, the body a deep chocolate brown; pair of much washed much loved Y-fronts.
Good morning David.
The Angry Farmer 