Ode to my satchel

As a would-be-writer, what is more apt?
Then to have as a bag a nice leather satch?
It makes me look rather smart,
There is one problem: it smells of fart.

I wear my satchel with pride and joy,
There stands a man where once was a boy.
A brilliant vehicle for books and my phone,
But when I wear it there is always a groan.

I used to thrust my head in the sand,
I couldn’t accept it, you must understand.
But like a fox who’s wearing a thong,
I knew deep down that something was wrong.

One day, eventually, I had to give in,
Gossip heard above big city din.
I’m on a bus, behind, sit two young girls,
One with straight hair, one with curls.

“Saturday, did Sandra kiss Barry?” they ask,
My face becoming a very bored mask.
“I’m really not sure, but something stinks”
I look at my satchel and it leers and winks.

My satchel was treated in camel piss,
It makes it look great but here’s the twist:
My satch smells of arse and stinks out my room,
But I love it so much I endure the fume.

What shall I do? Shall I throw it away?
My mind says yes but my heart says nay.
I love it, I love it, I can’t let it go,
You say otherwise you’re a lifelong foe.

This is a tale of conflicted love,
The satchel was crafted by the Lord Above.
Yes, it reeks, but it looks great with my mac,
And the same cannot be said of an old rusksack.

Bernard’s Watch(ing you), Episode 4

(Episode 1, 2, 3 and linked)

They were all sat around in Karl’s huge room. “What shall we do tonight?” Charlotte asked.

“Moonies?” inquired Bernard.

“Fuck Moonies, it’s a Friday you twat” said Tia Maria. Bernard was quite upset by that response, he was just trying to fit in and he didn’t think he looked much like a female genitalia. Bernard withdrew into his shell. I am a strong, independent man he reassured himself. I am an intrepid warrior; I am like Genghis Khan. I am Genghis Khan.

“I have an idea” began Karl. Oh I bet you do, Bernard thought to himself, I bet it’s going to be really bloody good and Charlotte will want to marry you and then you’ll build a boat together called Felicity.

“I was speaking to one of my old pals who’s now at SOAS. There’s a really cool reggae bar in Brixton called Jamm, I think we should go”.

There was a general atmosphere of approval from the group. Xi ‘Jacques’ Wan, as usual, just manically nodded her head like a squirrel who has just done 8 lines of coke and drank 2 red bulls. Tia Maria looked generally nonplussed, but he always looks like that because he’s from The North. He reminded Bernard of one of the Urak Hai. Charlotte looked like she had literally had an orgasm. It was sickening. I wonder how she will respond when I eventually manage to trick her into bed with me, Bernard thought. ‘Bernard you are my big bear’ he wanted her to say. Bernard began growling softly under his breath.

It was 12am and they were in the Brixton Jamm. Bernard wasn’t sure what was going on; there were lots of people who had obviously got some sort of memo that meant they had to dress the same so as to trick everyone. What tricksters! All the girls were wearing denim shorts with an assortment of blouses. They all had their hair in buns. All the boys had the same facial expression, one of casual supremacy, and were wearing tight fitting jeans with oversized check shirts. Bernard was a wearing a suit. The others had warned him that it wasn’t one of those places, but Bernard had worn it regardless. It’s good to look smart, Bernard thought to himself rubbing his knee.

“Hey Bernard” Chalotte said to him, her beefy breath washing over him luxuriously “we’re going to have a weed, do you want some?”

Bernard most certainly did not want any. He’d heard horror tales from his mum about people who had a weed and their head had fallen off. “Yeah sure!” said Bernard, straining like an Olympian to feign enthusiasm.

They went outside, and sat on the steps of housing estate. Bernard was very nervous. An American, named Chad was with them; he was rolling the weed for them. Bernard assumed they had bought it off him. This had Karl’s handiwork written all over it. Once the man had made the weed stick, they began smoking it. “3 DP?” said Tia Maria, and they all agreed. What on earth does ‘3 DP’ stand for, Bernard thought. Bernard had a considerable amount of weed, in a vain attempt to impress Charlotte. She was too busy laughing to herself to notice. It was a strange sensation Bernard was experiencing. He felt like the whole world had slowed down, everything was very fuzzy and faintly amusing. His legs were wobbly and his head blurred. The American, Chad, looked a bit worse for wear, primarily because he had bought 2 large bags of Dorito’s, was now eating them and getting crumbs all over his fingers, chin and clothes. He was also ugly on biblical levels.

Bernard began to feel a bit queasy. The world had come to an absolute standstill, he felt like Doctor Who with total mastery of the space/time continuum. However, he could feel bile beginning to rise up in his stomach. He retched, put his head over the railings running along the sides of the steps and began to violently throw up with an admirable efficiency. Bernard was far too high to worry about Charlotte at this point, and besides, everyone throws up from time to time.  Then, a low, mournful and sonorous sound began to emanate from him. It was very loud and lasted at least 4 seconds. At first Bernard thought he had begun humming his favourite Dean Martin song, but then he realised he was actually farting very loudly. He was throwing up and farting at the same time. Now he began to worry about Charlotte. They were laughing like a group of hyenas and Bernard continued to fart loudly. He couldn’t control it. Why is this happening to me? Bernard thought. Why do the God’s forsake me so, what have I done to deserve this? He let out three more loud farts, each more mournful and sonorous than the last. The others couldn’t control themselves, Tia Maria had fallen over he was laughing so much and Charlotte had snorted. Like a pig.

In the taxi home they didn’t stop laughing. Chad was still with them, which was odd. Bernard had only one thing to console him; they didn’t know that during the chaotic combination of vomit, farting and laughing, a very sizable amount of poo had actually crept out like a reluctant mole coming up to the sunlight. At least they don’t know that, Bernard thought to himself, rubbing his knee.