we take our seats on the ferry
for the short trip across the Solent
watch the crew down on the main deck
hi-viz cowboys coralling the cars
with radios and gestures
until finally, they’re done
the ramp can be drawn
slamming us in together
the floor begins to shudder
and Yarmouth slides away

we settle into our seats
books
coffee
conversations

to my right is an elderly man and woman
the man slumped so low in his chair
he’s only stopped from sliding to the floor
by the bony clasp of his hands
the woman is perfectly upright, though
staring through the window
at the receding land
the lacy tumult of our wake
smiling with her mouth slightly open
as if she alone has the measure of it all
particularly the birds
the way they pitch and fall and rise again
following us across the water

a man in a rainbow tutu and purple feathers
stops with a gaggle of parakeet dancers
to wave me through to the parking lot
how has it come to this?
how have I ordered my life
that I should be visiting patients during carnival?
working not twerking
hauling out of the car
not a hooped skirt or headdress of fire
but a rucksack of medical equipment
and a medium narrow zimmer frame
I wear the frame over my shoulders
to free my hands for the rest
and it strikes me I could totally
turn my back on the building
and join the parade
and the award for best costume
goes to NHS man in the steampunk cloak
I don’t though
I make my carnival-of-real-life way
to the main entrance, where a resident holds the door for me
shaking her head as I struggle inside
‘Careful!’ she says
I waddle across the lobby to the lift
and when it arrives, reverse into it
like a sad, unwieldy creature retreating into its burrow
just as the doors are about to close
an elderly man comes in the main door
he’s as laden down as me
with two large shopping bags
and a hat like an upturned fruit basket
‘hold the lift!’ he shouts
(ironic; I’m holding everything else)
still – I manage to free a hand to press
the button, and the man
rolls towards me at a snail’s pace
where the snail has been retired more years than he worked
We surely can’t both fit in the lift
but I can’t think how to explain that to him
without sounding cruel
maybe I should come out of the lift and let him go ahead
but by this time he’s with me
packing himself into the space
with the confidence of someone
perfectly adapted for this exact thing
‘Thank you,’ he puffs. ‘Tenth, please’
I dislocate my shoulder getting that for him.
‘Thanking you.’
We both breathe the lift-baked air, and wait.
Whether the lift is always this slow
or whether it’s making a point
I don’t know. But the doors are an age to slide shut
and I can’t reach round the man to do that thing
I normally do, which is frantically tap the close button a few times
The man looks at me and smiles sadly
‘Hot, isn’t it?’ he says.
‘So hot!
‘Hottest day yet.’
‘I bet.’
‘Too hot.’
‘Phew!’
The lift doors close. After a teasing pause
(no doubt whilst the donkeys on the roof
rouse themselves sufficiently
to start pushing the wheel round)
the thing drops, shakes
then starts the slow drag upwards
‘In fact, I’ve decided it’s too hot for me,’ says the man
‘I’ve decided to go back home.’
‘Oh? Where?’
And I see him for the first time
The white hair spilling from the hat
those eyes blue as glacial chips,
that scar on his cheek
I see a longship
run aground for the last time
in the ASDA car park at the marina
police line / do not cross
dragon prow smashed through the lobby
snarling at the scattering of scratch cards on the kiosk floor
‘Yes – it’s finally got the better of me’ he sighs
‘It’s high time I went home’
‘I can understand’
‘It’s called air conditioning!’
We both laugh
‘Do you need air-conditioning in Norway?’
‘Norway? What do you mean, Norway?’
‘Is it Norway?’
‘No! I live on the tenth!’
The lift crashes to a stop.
The doors grind open.
He struggles out to Valhalla

so listen
I didn’t mean to bust your balloon like that
there are too many people
comin to the party with pins these days
and I didn’ oughta add to it
so what’d’ya say?
are you ready to jump out the window of the pin factory?
we could be – I don’t know – inflatorers or somethin’
yeah?
yeah!

I mean, jay edgar christ
call me steve naïve, but I do wanna save the goddam whale,
wyoming, the world
whatever else you got starts with a wubbleyou
I mean, purlease
have you buried your face in the papers recently?
did you take your CNN this morning?
no? well let me tell ya
as the Julie Andrews sisters once had it
let’s start at the very beginning
you can ignore all that Lord of the Onion Rings
Jesus on a Unicorn
slidin’ down a Rainbow
wavin’ the bill o’ rights bullcrack
it’s time for a little mano a mano
you gotta say goodbye
to the other furbies in the nursery
sweet pea
and take the red pill

look here
look at this
d’ya see it?
they’re razorin’ up the fleet, my friend
they’re zeroing their zip codes
everything cock-shaped
is swivelling east
this ain’t no time for no baked goods yard sale
there ain’t room on the bus
for no wet dream about Lennon
you ain’t got the luxury no more
of getting’ all Tin-Tin
over some polar bear who once looked sad
‘cos he had to douche with an oil pipe live on Twitter
Goldilocks – look at me
it’s time to eat from the big bowl now
These ain’t tears of joy
This is ninety-eight per cent patriotic moonshine
and there ain’t nothin’ better for the soul than that
I love you like a son I never wanted but grew to love anyway
but you know that
c’mon
make like the films
let’s stand together on this one
George and Lennnie
i gotta we gotta
so tell me
WHEN CAN YOU GET ME TRAILER B?