The Occassional Life Of Frederick Characteractor: Pt 2 - Hull

If I were to attempt to define Lawson, I'd regard him as a sardonic and slightly autistic Felix Unger to my Oscar Maddison. A constant source of both amusement and irritation. He had departed a week ago, off to Hull to see a sick relative. That's how he is, dropping everything to visit some ailing aunty or uncle at the drop of a hat. I’d only return home to dance on some one's grave to be honest, but even people I love and adore will be hard pressed to see me at their bedsides. I’ve let it be known to those I hold dear that they’ll never be forgiven if they form a vigil at my side in the final moments. I wouldn’t say I had missed him as such, his nit picking and mother hen clucking drove me wild at times, yet it was reassuring that when he was around, things stayed in balance. When he wasn’t around, chaos ruled and I merely did it’s bidding. Anyway, ever the good little housekeeper, he made me rudely aware of his return and had me up and about at the most ungodly hour imaginable. I was simply not designed to be awake at 8am, but the droning hoover and the sound of Radio 2 whacked up to eleven on the HiFi in the living room ensured that I would never get back to the sweet slumber I had become accustomed to in the past week. I pondered the situation as I pulled on two roughly similar socks that looked like they had endured the least amount of wear since they last visited the washing machine. It looked as if the back door would be my only option for escape. The state the house was in after five days of neglect and hedonism would, quite frankly, have left even the most dissolute of souls wringing their hands in horror. The withering look I’d get from the old tart if I was to attempt to go out the front door would haunt me for most of the morning and I could live without the guilt for another day at least………. I made my way to the back door, only realising too late that the escape route had been ‘alarmed’ with the biggest ruddy set of wind chimes I’d ever seen. Great big metallic fuckers that seemed to descend to the floor. They clattered and clanged endlessly over my head for what seemed like an eternity. They continued to clank away for a few seconds more before I tried to bring them under control, with little success. I only ended up making more noise. The hoover had gone off by now and the radio was down to a sensible level, so Lawson couldn’t help but hear the melee and came scuttling through to the kitchen. Lawson loved wind chimes. I loathed the bloody things, naturally, and constantly complained about him bringing home a new set to put up somewhere around the house. There are senile 90 year old women who would consider you crazy if you did that. That said, we didn’t need a burglar alarm, the last guy to attempt a break and entry job made a noise like a gang of drunken Hari Krishna's and was soon chased into the night. Still, I failed to see why we needed them dangling from the doorway of every room. I had often wondered what one would bring back as a souvenir from a place like Hull. If you were Lawson, you would bring back some windchimes of course. Then again, he could visit the moon and find a gift shop selling the fucking things………… “You’re up early” “Am I?” I replied in feigned ignorance. “I have to get to Euston for half nine, I’m supposed to meet my agent” My agent didn't see anyone before midday, and Lawson knew it. He looked at me like I was a child deceiving it's mother. Which strictly speaking, was true, but we won't get into that just now. I slunk out of the back door, feeling his sad, limpid eyes boring into me with admonishing pity. The last thing I needed or wanted. When you literally crawl home at 3am four times a week, it's a sensation that grows old very quickly........... I left the house with the notion that if I got drunk quickly enough, everything would stop being true.