El Boludo Y La Mañana

Saturday Mornings

Waking up, your alarm clock goes at 8.22. The time you usually have to get up. Except today you don’t have to get up because it’s a Saturday.  The alarm clock, your phone is in your trousers at the end of your bed.  It goes off for quite some time and you consider the benefits of stopping it because it really is very annoying.  Eventually you decide to get up and as you move towards your trousers it stops.  Thank fuck.  You go back to sleep for 4 happy minutes before it goes again.  This time though, you are on to it and  stop it immediately. Slumping,  you fall to sleep again on the wrong side of your bed.  Unfortunately however, you have forgotten to turn off your emergency alarm which goes off 15 minutes later.  It wakes you up again and you stop it again but now the people digging up the street by your house have begun banging. You consider the possibility that they might be there solely for your displeasure and then dismiss it rightly as paranoia.   You are very tired, but you smell your pillow, or it could be your hands and it’s rancid and you can’t fall back to sleep.   Suddenly you are aware that poisonous treacle is seeping through your skin and your dirty bedclothes are wet with human bin juice.

The banging continues for a length of time, until you concede defeat and reach for your cigarettes that are in the pocket of your trousers which you are now using as a pillow.

Why are they menthol?

You fucking hate menthol but they are better than no cigarettes being in your trouser pocket and so you smoke 2 and tap the ash into a ornamental pot that came with the room.  The effort of aiming your ash in the ornamental pot eventually becomes to much and so you ash on the floor instead. You don’t know when you fall asleep again but you are woken up unpleasantly

Who’s that?

Your girlfriend interrupts your sleep more crudely than a dustman ever could


Who’s that – There?

Who’s what where?

Your girlfriend always asks stupid questions, maybe its not a stupid question, I hope it is a stupid question, it probably isn’t a stupid question.

Please be quiet I feel like shit

I don’t’ care if you feel like fucking Gary fucking Glitter – who the fuck is she?

Why did I give her a fucking key

You look up and see your girlfriend staring at a point behind you.  You look around and see greasy curly hair sticking out of large mound of duvet.  Oh fuck.

Err – you try to think, you didn’t – its impossible, who the fuck is that, you went to the pub you talked about football with that old friend you don’t like any more. He said something about the foreign ownership of football clubs being the beginning of some kind of end, he’s an idiot and British owners are equally barren of morals, but that’s not important now.  Shit, is that Sasha? please don’t be Sasha, shit it is Sasha. She fucking hates Sasha. Please be wearing a clothes Sasha.

A gutteral groan comes from the duvet mound. Your girlfriend removes the sheet.

It’s worse than Sasha it’s a naked Jim.

Why are you naked Jim?

I’m not naked

I can see your cock Jim you’re naked… she turns on me – you said it was just a phase. I immediately regret my liberal facebook profile declaring my interest in men and women.

I’m not naked I’ve got my socks on Jim retorts

I’ve got to hand it to Jim; he has a lot of chutzpah

I know what you’re thinking and your wrong, I’d never fuck anyone with my socks on.

I took this opportunity to give my defence;

And I’m not gay.

You can shut the fuck up. I shut the fuck up while she thinks and Jim reclines. After a few moments she says

Jim you’ve won him a reprieve, let’s have breakfast; I’ve bought some nectarines and 2 croissants.

Yes – I sigh a breath of relief; a croissant is exactly what I need right now

Sebastian you are not having any of the fucking croissants.


Dedicated to no one.


About Paul David Beaumont

Occasional journalist, part-time socialist & full time International Relations PhD student. Available for hire - but never in the morning. Academia page: https://umb.academia.edu/PaulBeaumont
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to El Boludo Y La Mañana

  1. James says:

    Funny & well-written. Like a slovenly Kafka.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s