Thursday 21 May 2015

Atonement


Atonement

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. At 56 years of age I believe it is time to review my life,
take stock, make amends. I don’t believe there is a God or an afterlife, but who can be certain of such things. So I’d like to play safe and acknowledge all my major wrongdoings from over half a century of prowling the planet earth. After I’ve drawn my final breath, if I find myself at the ultimate junction, I want to ensure I’m ushered in the direction of the arrow labelled ‘fine wine, ale and warm female flesh’ rather than the one indicating ‘fire, brimstone and a perpetual knee to the bollocks’.

So brace yourself, here goes; my confessional.

Dad, I’m sorry I lied to you when I was 9 and you asked me about my 14-year-old brother’s liking for tobacco. Adopting my most sincere facial expression – chin jutting, eyes fixed on yours – I swore that I’d never seen Tony puff on a single cigarette. Father, I sinned. Your older child was smoking like a damp log on a campfire. Forgive me. I know it’s no excuse but I had been bribed by my big brother; he’d allowed me a couple of drags if I remained silent.

Mum, I’m sorry I lied to you when I was 7. I was responsible for those giant spiders that infested our house. My behaviour at the time would today have led to a hefty prescription of Ritalin. Forgive me, for it was I who engaged in frenzied fly-murdering sprees (aiming for a minimum cull of three bulbous blue-bottles a day) and stored their pulped carcasses under a loose window tile; word most have spread through the spider community that a ready-made feast was being served daily, motivating all the dominant eight-legged creatures within a 2-mile radius to descend on our living room. And didn’t they fatten up quickly; our window ledge soon resembled a scene from Arachnophobia.    

And mum, it was not the cat’s fault that your wardrobe smelt of piss in 1977 – it’s amazing where a semi-slumbering young man will urinate after ingesting 12 pints of finest ale.

Mrs Fenwick, I wish to retract my comment to you when you returned home to break up your son’s house party 39 years ago. With the maturity of middle-age, I can now understand why you might have felt annoyed to discover muddy foot-prints on the Artexed ceiling of your recently-decorated dining room, semi-naked teenagers in your bed, not to mention the pools of vomit on the bathroom floor. You were never a ‘stuck up, snotty cow’ so please forgive me for my foul-mouthed ignorance; again, the demon drink may have distorted my mind. (Although come to think of it, you did often carry an unfortunate facial expression, as if someone was wafting a turd under your nose).    

Jean, the cougar, please accept my sincerest apologies for my failure to rise to the occasion, particularly after that delicious three-course meal you prepared for me. I was good-to-go, until I caught sight of your lady bits which, after churning out three children –one of whom, at 20 years old, was my age – seemed discoloured and misshapen, like a poorly-assembled tent flapping in the wind, and not at all like those of my female peers. Please forgive me.

Jane, the lovely young lady from Durham, you were totally right to deny me access to your inner treasures on our first date. I was 20 years old, full of anger and resentment, and treated you shoddily. And I’m sure you were far from being a ‘frigid slab of whale blubber’; please forgive me.



I think that should just about cover it. Oh wait. To the old lady I met last week in the frozen-fish aisle of the local Tesco store: it was I, not you, who was responsible for emitting the rotting-cabbage smell; it just slipped out when I bent over the refrigerators in search of battered cod. I should never have accused you. Sorry.

Well, I feel lighter already. Wine, ale and warm female flesh, here I come!  
 
 
Photo courtesy of radnatt at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

 

 

17 comments:

  1. Now say six Haily Mary's and twelve Lord's Prayers and you will be wipe clean of all sins and enter Heaven with no regrets!

    Except the cougar lady. You blew that one!

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    1. You sound like my mother, Phil - she's a devout Roman Catholic. (Apart from the cougar-lady comment, of course!)

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  2. Aren't you going to apologise for all the wanking you've done? That's supposed to be sinful in God's eyes. And I don't think a mere apology is sufficient penance for fouling your mum's wardrobe.

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    1. Masturbation is good for the soul, GB, so no apologies needed. And as for the wardrobe - did I read somewhere that urine acts a mild form of antiseptic? In which case I was just trying to cleanse my mother's clothing.

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  3. OMG the spider story! AND URINATING IN YOUR MUM'S WARDROBE!!!! Naughty boy, you are! :)

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    1. Stuff happens, Marcia, particularly when you're an unusual child!

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  4. Well, there you go. You learn something new every day. You just showed me that cats do have a use.

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  5. Funny how our viewpoint changes as we get older. I suspect I'm not far from the rocking chair on the front lawn yelling at kids to get off my lawn. I like to think my blog as my confessional, a long drawn out confessional.

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    1. Confessionals can be very therapeutic (even if delivered from a rocking chair on the lawn)

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  6. Who says you need a church for confessions! Blogging world is just fine. Now go make five Facebook posts and three Hail Tweets and you should be good to go!

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    1. Yes, Daniel, blogging can be one long confessional. And at 56, I sometimes require more than Facebook & Twitter to be good to go!

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  7. This is encouraging. No matter how far you go in life it takes immense courage to admit that you are wrong and you made mistakes. Even more so apologizing for them.

    P.s Drop by my blog sometime :) And follow back if you like it.
    Best wishes,
    Tooba.
    www.alwaysandforevertk.blogspot.com

    ReplyDelete
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    1. Thank you for dropping by. I will pursue your blog. Best wishes.

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  8. OMGGGGGGGGGGGGosh.

    ***And mum, it was not the cat’s fault that your wardrobe smelt of piss in 1977***

    you are a VERY very naughty boy.

    Also, what's your prob. with mom boobs?!!!! x

    you are

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    1. Please forgive me; I was young and knew little. And, with maturity, I've grown to relish mom boobs!

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  9. Ohhhhhhh...the things I've done! The good sisters at Saint Stanislaus told me I was due to spend 1,000 in Purgatory for my wayward ways. Purgatory, as you may or may not know, is like Heaven. Only with just Basic Cable.

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