Tapping keys, sipping tea, wishing I was far away, until…
Fucking Amazing Dave lopes into the office.
A ray of dirty sunshine, a forgotten tenner in the pocket of your funeral suit, an ejaculating cock drawn into the grime of a battered white Transit, a swim in the canal on a hot truant day, a grin from a fit girl with a missing tooth, a win at the Wednesday night dog track.
all these things are Fucking Amazing Dave and I love him for it.
He makes sure the coast is clear with pantomime grace, peering round, hunch-shouldered, whispery, lifting his boots in exaggerated tip toes, inadvertently leaving a blob of thick magenta ink wherever he walks.
I say, “It’s alright, Dave. I’m on my own.”
He says, “No gaffers?”
I say, “No gaffers.”
The stealth becomes confidence, a swagger and a whistle, walking around the huge office like he owns it.
“On your own up here? It’d drive me radio fuckin’ rental that would, Luci. How do you stick it?”
I shrug. “If it’s quiet, I write.”
“What do you write?”
“Nothing you’d be interested in.”
Fucking Amazing Dave shrugs too. “Fair do’s. Where do the lasses usually sit?”
I point, “Batley sits over there, Gigglebiscuit sits there, and Stacey sits right over there.”
Fucking Amazing Dave bounces down the office to Stacey’s chair.
“This one, Luci?” he shouts.
He kneels, then thrusts his face into the seat, inhaling deeply.
“MmmmfffmffmmmffffffAAAAHHHHH! An arse and fanny with the scent of wild roses, Luci!!”
Fucking Amazing Dave winks. “You know it, I know it, but don’t tell me mam!”
“Is that all you came up here for, Dave? To sniff the seats of poor, unsuspecting office workers?”
“Nah mate. I’ve come to ask favour.”
“Depends on the favour but I’ll do my best.”
“Cushty.” He reaches into his overall’s pocket and pulls out a grubby, crumpled sheet of paper. There are scribbles, daubes, smudges and stains on it. The words are almost illegible.
I say, “Erm… what’s this?”
Fucking Amazing Dave says, “It’s artwork. For some invitations. I wanted you to knock us up some invitations.”
“I can do that, Dave, but what are they for? No offense, mate, but I’m having a bit of trouble reading this.”
Fucking Amazing Dave picks up the piece of paper and studies it, squinting, tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth.
“I can see your problem, Luci. It’s got a bit… what’s the word?… soiled.”
He peels something off the paper and flicks it.
I say, “What was that?”
“Yeah, I’m no Dick Van Gogh, I‘m afraid.”
I look at him to see if he’s taking the piss, but I can never tell with Fucking Amazing Dave.
I say, “You tell me the words, Dave, leave the artwork to me. What are the invitations for?”
Fucking Amazing Dave looks proud. “They’re for me – I’m getting hitched!”
“Wow! Congratulations, Dave! What’s your lass’s name again… Paula, isn’t it? When’s the big day?”
Fucking Amazing Dave looks confused. “Paula? Nah, man, I’m not wedding her! We split up last week!”
Now I look confused. “Wait a sec. You split up with Paula last week, and now you’re getting married? That’s pretty quick work.”
“Aye. I don’t fuck about, Luci.”
Who’s the lucky lady then?”
There is a pause, as you can imagine there would be a pause. Fucking Amazing Dave grins, I blink in baffled confusion.
I say, “Wait… just let me get this straight. You’re marrying Cheeky Steve? Your best mate? Cheeky Steve who goes out with Big Sal?”
“Not any more. He’s chucked her n’all.”
“So you chucked Paula, Cheeky Steve chucked Big Sal, and you and Cheeky Steve are going to get married?”
Fucking Amazing Dave points one finger at his nose, one finger at me.
“Bingo! Give that man a Hob Nob!”
I’m trying to be tactful. I don’t do very well. “Are you fucking Cheeky Steve then?”
Fucking Amazing Dave looks horrified. “Christ no! I mean, would YOU want to fuck that daft fat cunt?”
“No. I wouldn’t, but I’m not the one marrying the daft fat cunt! You are!!”
“Well, I say marry, it’s gonna be more like one o’ those… what they called? Civil partnerships. Yeah, one o’ them.”
I’m still confused. “But… aren’t they for gay people?”
Fucking Amazing Dave laughs. “Fuck me, Luci! You’re behind the times, aren’t you? Welcome to twenty fifteen, fella! Gays can get married now! Good luck to ‘em, I say. Why the fuck should us straghties have all the misery, eh? Eh? You get me?”
“I’m not sure I do, mate.”
Fucking Amazing Dave rolls his eyes. “Okay, listen up. So gays can get wed, yeah? But where does that leave civil partnerships? All dressed up with nowhere to go! So I had this idea. Gays can get wed, straight men ‘n’ women can marry n’all, but what about straight same sex relationships? There’s fuck all for us! THAT’s where civil partnerships come in!”
Fucking Amazing Dave does his signature blown-your-mind mime, a slow motion explosive noise with his cheeks puffed out, hands slowly flying away from his head, eyes as wide, slightly crossed.
I say, “But why would two straight blokes want to marry each other? Help me out here!”
Fucking Amazing Dave shakes his head. “Fuck me, Luci, you’re a thick cunt some times. Right, listen up. What’s the best thing about two gay blokes living together in relationship, all blessed in the eyes of God ‘n’ that?”
“Er… the bum sex?”
“No! In the eyes of God? Nah, they’ll be turned to stone or chucked in Hell or some such, I dunno, but no, not bum sex! What it is, the best thing about two blokes livin’ together, they have to primo incomes! It’s sad, in this day an’ age, but the fact is blokes earn most. Sad, but true. So you get two blokes livin’ together, an’ you go look at their house, Luci. It’s a nice big detached! There’s matchin’ GTIs on the drive! You wanna see those gay blokes’ telly – it’s, like, a sixty inch plasma or somethin’! Yeah, the way I see it, them gay blokes have a pretty sweet setup. But what’s the biggest threat to that sweet setup?”
I say, “You tell me because I’ve no idea about anything anymore.”
“The bum sex! Or more specifically, bum sex with other gay blokes! So what do those gay blokes do? They get wed, promising to bum only each other, till death do us part ‘n’ that. That’s what makes sure they detached house, the GTIs, the plasma, all the primo gear, it’s all safe! Well, I want a piece o’ that action. If I were to wed Paula an’ Cheeky Steve were to wed Big Sal then before we knew what were ‘appenin’ both lasses would be squeezin’ out pups left right an’ fuckin’ center an’ they’d quit work to sit on their arses watching Jeremy Kyle all day avery fuckin’ day while I’m ‘ere bustin’ my knackers to feed her and the screamin’ brood o’ snot nosed monsters and I wouldn’t have no detached house, no GTI on the drive an’ no fuckin’ sixty inch pissin’ plasma!”
Fucking Amazing Dave shakes his head, resolute. “Nah, mate. I’m not havin’ that. I’m no mug. I’m gonna marry Cheeky Steve an’ we’ll stop all that nonsense from day one.”
I say, “But..but…”
“What about fuckin’? Yeah, I knew we’d come to that. Right, listen to this. What me an’ Cheeky do is this. We promise to be faithful, yeah? No pissin’ off with no lasses, yeah? We get the big house, the telly, the cars. We get two o’ those Lazee Boy chairs, kick back, watch Top Gear, life’s rosey! We get a cleaner in to sort all our shit out, wash our pants an’ clean the bog, y’know? All the nosh gets delivered by Tesco, no problem. We live how blokes were meant to live! But there’s an added sweetener.”
Fucking Amazing Dave winks. “You remember Big Sal’s got a cousin? Big Julie?”
“No, but go on.”
“Well, my mate Taxi Phil were down a knockin’ shop over Dewsbury way a month or two ago, doin’ a drop off for some business blokes on a jolly, so he’s feelin’ a bit fizzy an’ the takin’s were good that night so he figures ‘why not?’ so he goes in too an’ who does he see but Fat Julie all togged up in sussies an’ suspenders! She’s only a prozzy, in’t she? He couldn’t resist, an he pays for a go on her, an he says she were FUCKIN’ AMAZIN’!! So I go round to her house an’ ‘ave a quiet word, an’ so she’s agreed to come round me an’ Cheeky Steve’s new detached ‘ouse every month for a blow out fuckathon on a special rate! Sorted!”
Fucking Amazing Dave is giving me the look that says ‘what could possibly go wrong I’ve thought of everything’.
I say, “What if you meet someone, Dave? What if Steve meets someone? What if… what if you fall in love?”
Fucking Amazing Dave closes his eyes, clasps his grubby hands to his filthy overalls, spins gently around. “If I fall in love… well… I’ll fall in love! I’ll have a wonderful affair, all flowers an’ romantic dinners an’ sneaky fucks in the Travelodge near the airport. It’ll be like that song, Me ‘n’ Missus Jones, won’t it? We know we gotta be careful, but that’ll add spice!”
“And what if your husband Cheeky Steve finds out?”
Fucking Amazing Dave frowns. “Don’t call ‘im that. It’s weird. Anyway, if he finds out we have a big row, don’t we? Like a proper married couple! We shout, smash stuff, have a proper barney. But he’ll remind me of the house, of the GTIs, of that sweet sixty inch plasma! He’ll remind me that she’ll go squeezin’ out pups and quit work an’ sit on her arse watchin’ Jeremy Kyle while I work like a dog! So I’ll finish that beautiful affair, Luci, an’ it’ll break ‘er poor, sweet ‘eart, but we both will know it weren’t meant to be.”
Fucking Amazing Dave is swaying, lost in the dreamy fantasy. I’m mildly horrified. The worse thing is, I don’t have any answers.
“You’ve thought of everything, Dave. OK. What do you want it to say?”