Page 55 - Exile-ebook

54 AN EXILE OF THE MIND STANDING IN FOR THE BEATLES 55

Standing in for the Beatles

Coffin packed and ready to go. Insignia of the Magnificis Twit.
David’s body parts. The extraordinary year of 64. Hello Beatles
and hello John Cleese. Life is a vintage car.

ords of irreverent black humour were being tapped out
Won a typewriter down the road from where I worked. A
portrayal of the townsfolk sordid and macabre was being written
in this small community. They were not at all amused by this fictive
dark side unkindly exposed. The reclusive alcoholic, Ronald Hugh
Morrieson, wrote four novels until a drinking binge cut short his
sad life. He was later plucked from obscurity when his novels were
adapted for the cinema. The home of this gifted writer was later
demolished to make way for a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet.
As Morrieson’s words flowed darkly, mine trickled to a halt. My
career as a reporter, tenuous at best, teetered and my typewriter
collected dust. I didn’t have the gift of the gab to create a story
over a pint from a stranger in the pub, or extract news of criminal
intrigue from the local policeman. I was sideways promoted to
the desk as a sub-editor when it was obvious a scoop was not
forthcoming. The youngest sub-editor in the land and not even a
mention of it in the media. My great accomplishment as a sub was
to give the heading ‘NOT YETI’ to a story about elusive snowmen
in the Himalayas. That wasn’t mentioned either.
The township hit the High Street for late night shopping on
Fridays and I would strut this length of pavement several times
to make sure I was noticed. A tap on the shoulder and I turned
to see a devastatingly radiant blonde. This blue-eyed beauty

Leading the university Capping Procession in Jennyvieve.