I went down for my now
occasional rather than regular swim this morning and was unsurprised to see a
drunken Dane collapsed poolside. He was sprawled half on and half off one of
the sun lounges and was surrounded by cans of beer and an empty bottle of
Smirnoff Vodka.
I had risen early as my body
clock has been destroyed by a whirlwind trip to Pakistan where I think I spent
as much time in the air as I did on the ground. The time that I unwillingly lost
crossing three time zones was returned to me on the flight back to Singapore - but
my body does not seem to have received it yet.
I am somewhat battered.
I was unsure whether it was
my psychotic neighbour Jens who was collapsed next to the pool or if it was his
equally mad identical twin brother Dag. I poked the Dane gently with my left
foot to make sure that he was still alive and was relieved to see one
blood-shot eye open.
“Are you Jens or Dag?” I
enquired.
I received only a groan in
reply.
“Hvad hedder du?” I demanded
– and I poked him again.
I have been learning a little
Danish from the crazy twins. It is useful for communicating with them sometimes
and I enjoy making the guttural noises that are required in speaking the
language
“I am Jens Skeepy” the Dane
moaned.
“Have you defecated in the pool Jens?”
“Wheesky” was his response.
“Yes sure Jens. I
always carry whiskey down to the pool for my swim. It is seven o’clock in the
morning you Danish fucker.”
“Modderfokker” was
his weak reply.
The blood shot eye then closed.
I put my towel on a sun lounge that was the furthest from the
drunken Dane as I did not want it to be soiled by his rancid breath or a sudden
stream of projectile vomit. I then did a perimeter walk of the pool carefully
checking the water for ponies. A pony is a poo. It is a term that some of the
English use and I have explained its origins in previous articles that I have
written so I will not repeat myself here.
Suffice to say that I like the term and I have adopted it as my own.
The dirty Dane Jens has been guilty of doing a pony in the
pool before – or at least he remains the primary suspect. I was a witness to
the discovery of the pony in the pool and a part of the subsequent police
investigation – but again I have written of this abhorrent act before in an
article I appropriately titled ‘The Floater” – so I shall not recant the horror
of the incident.
I have no desire to re-live the moment.
When I was satisfied that the pool was pony free I put on my
swimming goggles and floundered my way up and down the pool thirty six times. I
would like to say that I glided through the water with powerful strokes doing
impressive tumble turns at the end of each lap – but that would be deceitful. I
was once a reasonable swimmer but age and flubber is mine enemy – and the best
I can manage is a pitiful & ponderous paddling.
Pathetic I know - but at least I am trying.
Jens had not moved during my swim and whilst I was toweling
myself dry I wandered over to his prostrate body and I again poked him with my
foot.
This time I used my right foot.
I appear to have suddenly had a preponderance of word's beginning with the letter 'P'.
I don't know why.
I appear to have suddenly had a preponderance of word's beginning with the letter 'P'.
I don't know why.
My poke extracted another moan from the Dane and he rolled
onto his back on the sun lounge and I could hear it creak under the weight of
the man. Jens is a very big unit. He is well over six feet six inches tall when
he is standing and he is unhealthily overweight.
I cringed a little at the sight of his hairy distended belly
that was now exposed through a stained and mostly unbuttoned shirt - and I was
further disgusted when he reached to his groin and gave it a vigorous scratch.
He is a most repulsive man.
I was about to voice my repugnance to Jens when I felt hot
breath on my neck and I was startled by a dulcet voice.
“Good Morning Mr.
Peter”
“For fuck sake Mr. Tan how
do you do that?”
“Do what Mr. Peter?”
“Appear from nowhere”
Mr. Tan is the Manager of the Building complex in which I
live and he does this all the time. He just appears. I rarely see him coming.
Mr. Tan ignored my question – as he often does – and replied:
“Is everything alright
Mr. Peter?’
“I think so Mr. Tan.
Our good friend Jens has been on another all night bender”
“A bender Mr. Peter?”
“A bender Mr. Tan”
The origin of the term ‘bender’ is English and it is strange
and obscure – like the English themselves. The phrase ‘he
has been on a bender’ can be traced back to the middle of the nineteenth
century when a coin called the sixpence was referred to as a ‘bender’. It was
thus named because it was made of silver and could be easily be bent. In those
days sixpence bought a lot of booze – and drinking sixpence worth of beer guaranteed
a severe state of drunkenness. A quite common sign that was posted out the
front of many taverns of the era was “Drunk for a penny, dead drunk for
tuppence, clean straw for nothing”
I am not sure whether the ‘clean straw’ bit of the sign
referred to a soft place where drunk patrons could have a bit of a lie down or
it was an absorbent material for their vomit.
Nor do I particularly care.
I explained all of this to Mr. Tan and he nodded with
interest but his face was impassive and his emotions are often difficult to
read.
“Shall I call the
security guards to remove Mr. Jens Mr. Peter?”
“Nah just let him lie
there and sleep it off” I replied.
Even though I am very fond of the two Rajs, the security
guards of the complex in which I reside - I did not want to deal with their
incessant saluting at this time of the morning.
It drives me mad.
The conversation between Mr. Tan and myself must have roused
the drunken Dane and he moaned and groaned again and then he dragged his great
bulk into a sitting position. Mr. Tan took two dainty steps backwards when this
happened. He is quite afraid of the Danish lunatic. To my great revulsion Jens
then let loose with one almighty fart.
“You are a disgusting
pig Jens” I said.
“Ja ja skeepy modderfokker”
Jens grinned at me.
Then he leered at Mr. Tan
“Good morning Mr. Jens”
Mr. Tan said nervously.
“Jeg elsker dig” the
Building Manager added.
Jens looked alarmed and I had to stifle a chuckle.
A couple of weeks ago I told Mr. Tan that he should remember
the Danish phrase “Jeg elsker dig” and say it to Jens whenever he saw him. I
told Mr. Tan that it was a polite Danish greeting that would possibly stop the
aggressive snarls of “modderfokker” that Jens tended to utter at everyone - but
it was a bit of a fib.
“Jeg elsker dig” is Danish for “I love you”.
The big Dane made as if to rise and the look of alarm of his
face had been replaced by one of anger.
I don’t think that Jens is used to being told that he is
loved and he does not know how to properly react to it.
“Steady on you big
Danish fucker” I said.
I held my hand up as I said this to both reassure Mr. Tan and
in an endeavour to keep the big Dane in a passive seated position.
“Don’t be concerned Mr.
Tan – Jens is a harmless dipsomaniac”
I turned to explain to the little fellow that a dipsomaniac
is a person who has an uncontrollable urge for
alcohol but he had disappeared as suddenly and as mysteriously as he had
appeared.
He is most definitely a man of shadows is Mr. Tan. His
ability to appear and then disappear is thaumaturgic.
I have thrown the words ‘dipsomaniac’ and ‘thaumaturgic’ in
for the more articulate readers – of which I suspect there are few. I have
provided the definition of ‘dipsomaniac’ and I take some small amount of perverse
pleasure knowing that some people will now be clicking onto their online dictionaries
to look up the meaning of ‘thaumaturgic’. There is very little joy in my life
nowadays.
I take it when I can.
I then once again told Jens that he was a disgusting drunken
pig and suggested that he should retreat back to his apartment before the two Rajs came to get him.
Jens is as afraid of the two
Rajs as Mr. Tan is of him - and he once more looked a bit panicked.
I grabbed my towel and left the pool area and as I departed I
gave the Dane a cheeky “Jeg elsker dig”.
“Modderfokker” he
smirked back at me.
Then he farted again.
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