Eastbourne Wednesday.

 

"You're a bleedin' coward," Old Reg said for the thousandth time, referring to the fact I didn't open the head shaped bag yesterday instead gave it to an eager, grinning Mrs Brannigan.

"So what shall we do today?" I asked.

"Well I'm meetin' the old bird I got together with last night," Old Reg said, his leering face making me shiver. "Then we're goin' to see Rush."

"Oh," I said a little crestfallen.

"I knew James Hunt, we had some bleedin' laughs over the  years."

"Perhaps you're in it," I said a little too peevishly. "Played by George Clooney."

With that Old Reg farted loudly leaving the room smelling like an abattoir in a power cut.

I decided to look in the charity shops, of which there are plenty in Eastbourne. I like to see what videos people get rid of. Who knows, as unlikely as it may seem, there might be one we haven't got in the Abandoned Video Shop. As I wandered the sparsely populated High Street, I caught sight of  something in the shadows; it was the weird white faced kid, he was skulking a little behind me. When I stopped, so did he. It felt like that bit in Jurassic Park when Bob Peck says " We're being hunted." I felt icy sweat rolling down my back as I went from charity shop to charity shop. And he was always just in the corner of my eye; I could almost feel his nasty breath and snake eyes creeping over my skin. A mad panic engulfed me and I ran right into a hording advertising Rush. Next thing I knew I woke up in hospital with Old Reg standing over me saying: "Well you sodded up my bleedin' day." I wasn't really enjoying this holiday.

To Be Continued...

The Owner