Companions at the table of life.

Thomas Leathan-drum

Let me narrate exactly how it happened.  Perhaps even once read... the reader will still not comprehend.  So if I am to tell this story, I must begin at the beginning; and how is it possible to begin at the beginning, without a thought towards the end.

At any table we can find people from all walks of life and gender; be they strangers or friends. Together talking or reading, or just listening.   Many with a common interest… others content only to pass judgement… if an eye is cast their direction.   Congregated.   Those here gathered from many a back-ground and social standing—no closer lot would be found, in many a room of any Grand Hotel, or in any free city of the world.      Had a stranger appeared un-invited—they would not recognise many from the variety of disguises—cotton dresses, cotton shirts, tailored trousers, woollen coats and tartan jackets.    They might have been all strangers on a journey... each bound for a separate destination.   Yet now sit within specking distance of each other... taking turns in expressing their own thoughts and opinions—some talking without listening—some engrossed deep in heavy fog or in light mist (thick only enough to divide them from each other's thoughts and options), the educated (among them) in isolation... poring over a paper, absorbed in reading, while listening to every word spoken (near or far) or leaned forward to gather their share of peanuts and chips (placed just that far out of reach); drawn to playing cards or billiards; some conspired against by those requiring silence~silence like that of a late evening walk along a public railway—or along a white sandy beach... counting the incoming waves; there alone, maybe disturb only by the clatter of the rain upon ones hat.    Company can be found when least expected and from a place outside a comfort level of companionship.       Thus conversation—at what ever level of intelligence can provide stimulus to an empty mind—on a lazy afternoon; where lubricating a reluctant participator... requiring beverage to loosen a hesitant tongue.      While sitting at a table opposite one other, or several... and knowing all, or only having had their company yesterday; and when one spoke, the expression taking to their face—the listeners imagine doors once closed to memories, being opened—in no particular order... endeavouring not to repeat words of another conversations completed, once spoken in similar situations.   Common interests encourage conversations between those with parallel passions and  enduring convictions towards all subjects earthly and spiritually—of politics, religion, love and fashion, of sportsmen and women, plus the caring of children, of food, of employment; such as bricklayers, lawyers, festival organisers, car salesman, insurance brokers, governments and politicians... doctors and truck drivers; some talk of architecture—Tutor, Georgian, Victorian, Edwardian or contemporary; others of education, law and order... robberies , murders, and yes the environment and finances... nor lets us not stereotype or generalise those who rise to such discussions; lets us tolerate and try to except those holding opposite options and beliefs—yet not allow them to persuade the votable among us to bend to their lopsided views.  As for me.  My name is not important... nor any long description of myself.     I am here (invited to swell numbers—as how most of my party invites accrue these days).  I've been friends with Balfour Jones (friends since primary school).   Having kept in touch throughout our progress to manhood—through work, relationships and broken marriages (Balfour—now on his third)... as for me; one was enough.     To continue.    Only to say... here as an observer, I find myself engrossed and captured within one's own thoughts—sitting occupied with those there... they; either listening or involved; transitioning between many narratives—true or false; reluctant; yet free to add or correct, towards any or all that's said by others, or to hold back, from saying what is important to them and of their own understanding of any, or all, of the topics discussed.    My entrance.   I arrive at 56 Maple Drive.    The numbers on the letter box were of stainless steel and about 50mm in height.  The sun had since departed some hours back.   The street lights now control both colours and shades of the trees and of the houses... the grass had been freshly cut, providing that new grass smell... the side door to house 56 is open (as was the host's custom).    The hall is lit by a night light (found in many homes with little children... although no little children lived in this house).   I make my way to the bathroom (second door on the left).    The door is open.         The clock with a white circular glassed face, supported by a brass pedestal—shares the time...  I have approximately an-hour-an-a-half to bathe.     As was the host's custom fresh towels and alike were laid out on a side table, along with a glass of chilled beverage.    I ran the water, testing it for warmth—removed my clothes—once at a comfortable temperature. I stepped in.  (humming to myself)

****

I watched as Jacqueline rubbed some sort of oil on her long beautiful legs—possibly a skin lotion of sorts... she is a woman who applied many such remedies... I study her, as she did at the green plastic bottle—containing the oil.

'What.' She said, snappishly to me.   I said.   'Nothing... just it's _______.'    'What of it?' She followed up with.     'Nothing.' I said again, moving over to smack her ____.

****

As I've said Balfour Jones and I have been best of friends since primary school... keeping in touch throughout our progress from puberty to maturity and through love and broken marriages (Balfour—now on his third wife)... as for me; one wife was enough... just as she thought one husband was one too many.    Anyway.   After my soaking, once having dried and dressed myself—I ventured towards the living room.     A CD of Barbara Streisand was playing in the back ground; a larva light was changing colours—from orange to green to blue—each sliding up down up down... Ginger (the cat) was sprawled untidily across the long piled rectangular cashmere rug.     Several of the guests had already arrived, and others were just arriving.      I was met by B______, glass in hand and a cigar in his mouth...  unlit.   'Thanks for coming.' He said.     'Thanks for the invite.' Was my reply.     'Help yourself to a drink.' He said.  'I will.' Was my reply.    'You know who's-who.'  He said.    'Of cause.’ I reply.  

 ****

 Edward Strange. Standing by the window had the delicate ear of Sammantha Stapp.   She a regular... having come to these dinners since; I don't know?  Since Christ was born... with experience she had mastered the act of listening but not hearing… talking but saying nothing while holding a cigarette (unlit)—for she had given up smoking.

Greta Bridge. Sitting cross legged stoking the cat... a loyal friend of Balfour's second wife (complicated I know) although recently... a little bit on the defensive; having unwittingly expressed her feelings (at the last dinner) towards Balfour.   

There on a bar-stood at the breakfast bar sat Jason Garner; the banker who had over seen the sale of Balfour's first house (after the divorce) and his second house (after the divorce) and maybe soon the next).   I can tell you Jason is a high flyer with ambitions (and a very proud banker of the year). Those who know him admirer his determination to succeed.    Nothing will separate or stand between him and his dreams.  No stone will he leave sunny slide up... no obstacle will be too large or too great for him to demolish, and control... we all know the type.

Lockwood Pluck was slowly making his way towards the drinks trolley.    It was L _____ who had purchased Balfour's first house and now is husband to Balfour's second wife.    Ah! How strange is life? I thought to myself.    I could never see the attraction.    However love moves in funny ways.       Once I remember, I found her attractive... almost trapped in her cobweb of lust.     I'm only kidding, or am I?   Who knows.    To continue.  Sitting on the sofa beside the billiard table (one leg tucked under his backside) is David Fleming.     A long time friend of the family... I watch him smoothing his ruffled hair with his forefinger and thumb.   He was telling Hellen (or was it S________.) ‘I go nowhere without Holly.    Careful when rubbing its nose. She scratched it last week.'  Poor thing.' Whispered one of those two women. 

Next to the fireplace was the aspiring politician Mulberry Hawk, and sitting next to him Toby Watson—the writer of a book on architecture.

Lets see.  Hellen Pyre and Glades Pedal were talking (talking over each other, as usual) when Catherine Pollard arrived... together they watched her remove her coat—exposing two exceptionally long beautiful legs.     'Trouble are those legs.' Hellen said... said more to herself—yet heard by others.     Including Balfour.   'Don't they just look great?'    He said.    I replied.  'Yes they do.'     Yip; behind us stood B_____ r’s (current) wife.      We both turn... saved by the arrival of John Minton and Thomas Muir at the door.

Mulberry Hawk was onto his third glass (of whatever he's drinking), making random toasts and saying... I'll drink to that.    He’d only been here for five minutes and was already dominating Glades.    He will make a good politician, I thought.     I watch Glades trying to escape by turning away and grabbing the arm of Stephen Jacket.     I ask myself, has she gone from the flying pan to the fire?  … and of cause me.   My invitation arrived not by post or by hand...  but via the technology of the day; I was expecting it, and was waiting only for the date.  For time was never an issue...       

Instructions to the actors.

John mumbles, Mulberry dominates compensation. Samantha irritates people-plus more...

John Minton specks very quietly. So often one, when listening never hears the last word... allowing the audience to add a word, they assume fits perfectly.

Mulberry Hawk is an aspiring politician... (without the balls to be one).  Mulberry always uses twenty words when maybe ten would suffice... because of these extended sentences (those who know him) allow time for multiple lapses between comers and full stops, and for new breath to be taken and the narrative to be completed.      He talks to much.

Edward Strange. A dreamer at heart. What more can be said?

Sammantha Stapp, is a teacher, and having just ceased smoking  (two weeks before) would have been less irritable and argumentative had she not.  Samanthais is one of those annoying people (manly women) who manage to escalate the last word in every sentences to rise an octave.     You know, the last word is said in a lighter pitch.

Thomas Muir.   One of little importance.  Yet one so important at such events.   I forget why... however.

Hellen Pyre. Is a mother of triplets, and a daughter to a father and slave to a God.   The actor must believe... only Jews complete an answer with a question. Hellen, I'm sure is no Jew.      Yet it has become of late a habit... and a tiresome one at that.      You will find yourself (with difficulty) avoiding conversations that may require a question and answer competition... and move on to comments about the weather.  Hellen and her family arrived in _______ when she was just seventeen... having moved from ______, due to her father taking an appointment with Ironwood & Jones Architects and Surveyors.        Her father found substance in both the bottle and in God—although if asked, he would say... he found them both at the same time.

Catherine Pollard, is a sister to Glades, and is never allowed to forget that fact. 

Jacqueline Jones, current wife to Balfour.

Glades Pedal speaks very fast and always combines words Shakespeare would never have done.     Both the actor and the audience will be driven insane while deciphering her ramblings, and making it worst she closes both eyes just when you're sure you understood something... only to realise you have been distracted.      

David Fleming.  A friend at the table.   Gay and one for living an alternative life style.   What ever that entails?     I'm sure many would died to play his part.

The person who's part it is to play Sharon Bloom... will recall Sharon from his school days... her copper hair (a red haired, as she was known) is as bright today as it ever was. Her skin (for all to see) is still fresh, and hardly lined—although she today is a little plumper than   once recalled.

Jason Garner, is the group of a high flyers, with ambitions (banker of the year).  Those who know him admirer his determination to succeed.    Nothing will separate him or stand between him and his dreams;  No stone will be left sunny slide up... no obstacle is too large or too great for him to demolish, and control...(the reader will know this).    On stage he will dominate.

Greta Bridge.  A friend at the table.  Gay/lesbian and one time hippy... and is living her alternative life—in style.     Rich and free, and with many friends.     She has a daughter.     I know the father.

Glades Pollard. Half sister to Catherine. Glades is French born to English parents... living in France (with an aunt).  Glades inherited her aunts love of the roaring 20s... all the razzmatazz and the like—and it's in this style, flare and colour she presents herself...

The actor to play John Minton will be in his thirties and a large man... for John is a barrel-chested man of capable proportions (Friar Tuck appearance).     His eyes rounded and his nose comes to a point—there placed, casting at shadow across his cheeks from any angle of light.   His face almost square; his lips fluffy—deep in colour and of smooth texture. When he smiles (as he often does) one is distracted by his white teeth...  a contrast to his charcoal black hair (cut very short), clean shaven apart from long sideburns to the base of his small ears.

Stephen Jacket.  Insurance sales man.    Who wants to play the insurance man?

Toby Watson is the writer of a book about architecture.      He is a only child to two academics parents... but now dead.     He was a late child in their world—they were to busy to have children.

Lockwood Pluck.  Short, fat and with a flat nose, puffy bottom lip—plus two large ears.     A hard part to full.

Chapter 1.

Greed

Thieving from a thief—ask yourself... is it still a crime?   Thomas sits on the sofa, and I  study family photographs.

Like myself at this junction in conversations—minds of similar development endeavour to seek solitude; where I study family photographs (placed in expensive embossed  silver frames), Thomas thoughts are parked in a row like taxis outside Stanly Street Tavern on a Saturday evening; has flung himself on the sofa and sits for a while without stirring.    Meanwhile a dozen others mingle expressing options of all descriptions and circulating like wasps... in circles with no one theory or subject dominating all that was placed across the table.     

And there upon the sofa (eyes closed) T_______ had no more input and, indeed, it did not occur to him to participate further.    Soon peaceful sleep came over him—encroaching within his being.

And as for me (rummaging through closed side-board draws) paying no heed to any witnessing eye… or any interested persons in my behaviour—found gold bullion in ornamental braid and twisted strands of platinum and jewellery of silver.     Ah! I hear you say.    'A thief?'  You shout.  A guest and one who steels another's wealth.   Plus; you are correct, the booty was not on show—but hidden.    You steel (telling yourself—under your breath) you steel your fortune from the draw of a woman’s hiding place—you did not take it from her person... was that because you are a coward?       Yes; I reply... but was not the gold and silver stollen once (without knowledge) from rivers rich, and mines deep?       Each of the mineral seeing nothing, suspecting nothing—neither the gold in a river or the silver in the earth's crust...  neither belong to anyone; nor the rivers nor the ground.    You may consider me a thief.      But am I?   I ask you.     Is thieving from a thief—is it still a crime?Chapter 2.

Governments.

Mulberry Hawk helped himself to three handfuls of cashews and three or four handfuls of potato chips—filling an appetite for such treats.   His head ached more (and he thought) ached deeper.    

Circulating and playing the captured audience M________ options on the state of governments made no impression on the others... losing arguments, that he thought, were sound and based on his own understanding, family traditions and on reliable newspaper reports.   One always prepared to expose his political bias... and free to say; a governments obligations is to its citizens... to provide the means for security, education and health—plus a politically stableness—for growth and trade. Does a government (of either persuasion) mould it polices to suit its own needs or those who vote for it?'   Is it hesitation? No.     M_______ stops only to take in new breath, grab a hand full of nuts... followed only by swallowing a mouth full of bubbly and scanning the room for anyone not listening.       Satisfied he continued.   'Why should; or do half (give and take) of the population at any 3 year period... dream to believe one government will provide them (those who voted for them) to spend freely on favours they wish; and believe that~that governments policies are superior to those policies of the other?'     He continued.   (Content that he was winning the argument although no one was arguing against).  'Ask yourself; are those calling themselves politicians... really do the job; only to do wonderful things for the country, and the population at large… or for their own benefit?'   He stopped.   Although he had more to add...  but not one to burden others with his options (if we are to believe him), withdrew from the conversation and returned to the sofa.     There his father's world called him.    His eyes were closed when I sat down next to him, and stayed that way throughout question time.     He was in Parliament.   The speaker was on his feet... Gentleman, gentleman.     Order, order... the speaker was calling... Silence, silence... but none to be found; and just like inside the spinning head of our Mulberry Hawk tonight—nothing was silent.     

'Can I get you another drink,' I ask playfully... while slipping a hand into his trouser pocket removing (without a sign of recognition upon his face) his wallet.  Chapter 3.

Education.

Once Mulberry Hawk sat down on the sofa.   Edward Strange found his voice and crosses swords with Sammantha Stapp.

After a period of time (but maybe only seconds) E______ , an un-published author and failed student (both at the same time), known as one not paying his debts; and one to give a I. O. U. to satisfy creditors for a week—one not to clear his gambling chips, and where (his friends find) complaints are constantly being lodged against him, and where-ever he travels... behaves like a joker...   Strange in name and in nature,  E______ rose from the table to stretch his legs.     

All eyes (he felt) were upon him.     He opened his mouth and then closed it again.     He did this several times... before succumbing to the temptation to speak.     He could not step far from any conversations where he felt he was a master of—finding himself always haunted by other's options (laid out as facts) and seeing how those living within their daydreams—such strange daydreams they are?    He thought.      There before his very person.     Rising above the music... one such persons option kept recurring.    E_______'s head (he felt) would explored as he listened.      She stood.    Informing the others; how she was in Africa, in Egypt, somewhere east, west and south of there... and how she was traveling by camel.     Her eyes glazed over for is deep in memory (she appeared to me) as her adventure un-folded before those captivated by the surly of her words.        'If I had children at the time,' S_____ continued... 'I would have behaved differently.'      How? were the thoughts of others.      She had E______ ear now and looking directly towards him. 'Look', she paused. 'Different generations require different skills to succeed at their time in history; basic skills, such as reading, arithmetic and writing.   With her fingers as counters.     She pointed each in turn.   1. to read the Bible. 2. to count the seeds to sow and 3. to write ones name to receive payment.'     She stopped.   'Education,' remarked E_______. Taking advantage of the silence provided.    Listen S_______ he interrupted.    He hands shaking in his trouser pockets.     With confidence.    'Being educated with all these skills learned... did that knowledge stop hundreds of thousands giving their lives to wars~wars not of their own making… yet blind; they went off for adventure; to kill or to be killed... in lands (near and far) and for reasons obscure.'        He stopped.    Their eyes meet.      Neither spoke.        A bridge was built.    I watched as they tried to cross that bridge... neither with a great deal of experience in such matters of relationships... pursed, took a breath, then         both spoke at once, then neither specking at all.      They moved closer, then moved further apart.        'How is your mother?' Finally asks Edward.   A easy question he thought.      'She is very well,' advised Sammantha.     A easy answer she thought.      There the ice is broken.  I said to myself—I  stole a kiss while Sammantha's eyes were closed... slipping my phone number into her hand.Chapter 4.

Love and relationships.

Lockwood drinks some water.   Sharon Bloom has two admirers, and Thomas is aroused from the sofa.

By now Lockwood was drinking water from a plastic bottle (spring water read the label).  To L______ is was cool and tasted wonderful—a wonderful blue in colour; he imagined it came from rivers high in the mountains waters running among the many-coloured stones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there like gold.     

As if to stimulate his mind a clock strikes—bringing to the fore—his ideals—for and against employment.   He begins; aroused, raising his head, looking across the table directly into the green eyes of his rival—returning to stare into the blues eyes of the women both wish to conquer.       She for her part more amiable she looked, and the more seductive the smiles she lavished on him became.   She moved uneasily, waiting impatiently for a chance to look away from the window—for the last minute there (she lay) viewing the mountains—backed with an orange sky; suddenly jumping up (arousing T_______ from his daze on the sofa) springing, she, on tiptoes to the door—just as if someone was pulling her with a bungee rope—stealthily opened it and began running to the toilet. Even when a girl is only scurrying down the hall towards the toilet—many a man can learn a lesson.      I have.     As luck would have it at the end of that bungee rope was me.    'O sorry I said... didn't see you come in.   'Just a minute'.   I say.    I finish by three shakes of my penis and tuck it back into my undies (making a point of drawing up the zip) turn from the toilet pan and move to wash my hands.      'Sharon how are you tonight?'  I make a point of using her name. Sounds more caring I thought.      'Fine, thanks,' she replies, 'if you don't mind I need to use the toilet.' she says.

'Okay,' is my reply.     Just before I leave, I managed to remove twenty-dollars from her bag.   Damn ... people just don't carry wolds of cash these days.

Unseen to all, deep in despair... drunk in the cycle of desire, caught in the clutches of desperation and full of flirtation... What? You ask does this convey.     There under the table we find Jason endeavouring to rekindle tired love—but discovers a desire for gold.

Time; it is said, can heel all.       From the hour we are born; all we understand is a need to be nourished, to be kept warm and held-held close when a un-known discomfort trouble us.       As to a new born time is controlled only by circumstances... far from our understanding.   Love; to a new born, is only gauged by feel and by touch; pacified is the new born by a gentle voice and by un-familiar words of affection.  Ownership.  Ownership a young child learns quickly... more so, if siblings are present; yet no less...  if ones an orphan.

Chapter 5.

Environment.

We learn some believe they alone are the saviours of life (as we know it)… plus Glades provides a quotation. 

We all in our own way are concerned for the world we now live in (or upon); each at sometime think (to ourselves) not to harm the land, the seas, the rivers, the lakes, the mountains, the valleys—in fact the earth in general.       Leave a better world for our children.  So it is we will find at any table among those gathered a miss Glades Goody-shoes—she and only she can see what man (and women, I hope, although never mentions), has, or is doing, in our own time, damaging the world, we all live in (or upon).     How man, yes man alone... pollutes.

Ah! Yes, the week and the mild among those sitting at any table—once a dominating earth saving campaigner—upon a soup box... holds the domain of others and with a high pitched voice and vocabulary matching that of an evangelist—one preaching from the gospel of John the Baptist.       

The observers of tranquillity, note; those with opposing view points and beliefs, how they reach for another glass and divert their eyes and ears to another subject.

To quote, said Glades.  "Now the key thing to understand is not just that the world population is growing, it is that the developing world, for example China and India, are doing just that, developing, which means that they have to expand their use of raw materials, energy and water at an ever increasing rate. When you realise that China has the intention of building cities to house the equivalent of the population of Australia, every year, for the next thirty years, you get some idea of the amount of steel, copper, concrete and other building materials that would be required.  Another statistic (she continued after a short pause) of interest is that, this last quarter, for the first time ever, more vehicles were sold in China than in the US.  She concludes by saying... and every one requires gasoline.”  Un-quote.

'Where does she get this stuff from,' asks T______ of M______ ,finding themselves together upon the sofa... reclining—their shoes removed and feet touching ever-so-gently.     From where I'm sitting witnessing this contact, an uneasy realisation creeps upon my thoughts compelling a movement of my hand into my trouser pocket... not I must inform, to count any change, I may or may not have stored there. Charter 6.

Gold, wealth and finance.

When one has un-earned wealth and ideas of grander… they; offer salvation to those without.

On the other hand Jason Garner eyes roll in all directions when he talks, and he talks slowly... pronouncing each syllable correctly.      What you and I can say in three minutes—it takes Jason ten.      Yet no one can complain of not understanding.

From my advantage point (beside the window…) and with religious rite, and higher self-assumed morals… find my fingers (caressing my pockets) while massaging my booty of stolen treasure.    I observe Jason Garner (the name he called himself earlier—when first introduced and as described below)… now specking on a subject he feels is his domain.   Greed and selfish desire.

'What would you rather have? J_____; the young single intellectual banker; with his clean and shaven face... but for a little stubble, asks the tired mother of triplets... while his eyes wonder across her completed chest.   Gold.  Her smile—said it all;   'Gold,' they said.   Was that the third glass of bubbly? he thought to himself, and was that a smile of an invitation slipping down from her moist lips.      'Maybe.'  If asked, was her reply.    'Yes Gold,'  she repeated.    Engrossed in dreams of riches.  Deflated she is... yet not discouraged, for it is the alcohol I find the tired mother of triplets still sitting at the table... encouraging the young banker to move closer—close enough to smell the scent of her motherhood.   Sweet lady he sweet talks her when speaking only to her the young banker quotes —from memory, an article recently read.    

'There are two ways of looking at this. We are right in what we say, or we are wrong. If you think we may well be right, then you owe it yourself and your family to take aggressive steps to protect what wealth you have. This means that you should consider carefully what follows. If you think we are wrong, then we still suggest you should invest in some protection, just as insurance, or gold.'

Now in his arms she with her blue eyes of understanding of all things beautiful, of all things bright and shiny... she asks. 'Could I not protect myself from fraud, bankruptcy and loneliness... by the love of a wealthy man?'    But it is to late for this mother of triplets her jewels are gone.     No longer intact is her modesty, freedom and self control.     'I have three children to feed, J_______.' Her words are lost against the background of lust and wealth.Chapter 7.

Architecture.

The group hear from a chap with a particular interest.   

'I wrote a book,' informed Toby Watson about architecture, and reached for the almanac from his brown leather briefcase.    He thought it would be of some interest—unfortunately it was not... undeterred he continued—glancing to his left and then to his right; he assumed some small interest towards his subject was shown, encouraged; he continued to explain from it.   'See;' he explained, 'here are the variations in architecture from century to century and from architect to architect, and from a period in time... look (his voice raised a little), many are due to a whim of a king or a queen.'  He continued.   'First man lived in caves, then huts of mud, then buildings made with stone and with roofs of reeds.'     'Look,' T______ call... sliding the book towards the long established mr. Fairwater.    Mr. Fairwater looked at the hand drawings—he was impressed with the diagrams, but showed little interest in the words.    Yet.    T______ took this as a victory (of sorts) and commenced reading the first paragraph of the introduction on page 7.    

'In order to live men need first food and drink and then shelter...' he read—'shelter from the weather and protection from ones enemies...'  he continued—'at first men did not build their shelter—but found it—like most animals.'    Loving the sound of his own voice he continued to turned many pages, seeking out interesting lines to quote from.    'Here this,' he said.  'With improving building skills; man moved from single story building to structures consisting of multiple levels...'    

Ah!  How interesting all this is—and there he was, totally lost and absorbed in his own thoughts; un-aware that the (long awaited) hot sausage-rolls and mince pies had arrived.Chapter 8.

Insurance.

Stephen dons his reading glass and reads from a insurance policy document.    Greta and Lockwood ask questions.

‘After all, when you insure your house against fire, it’s not because you think it will burn down; it’s because the result of not having insurance in the rare case that it does... is extremely severe.’

'Let's look at insurance,' said S________, who has just celebrated his thirtieth birthday last Thursday by spending it with his mum... as it was her eighth the week before.     

'She has her townhouse insured for that's her one big assist'... he had most there listening—especially the women folk; only because one day they will be eighty and were wondering if their son would attend.

Glades Goody-shoes thought to herself.   Does his mother have health insurance...? Then sheepishly she asked the question (out loud) without being sure why.

'Why would a women of eighty have life insurance?' asked L________.    Having asked the question Glades felt she should defend it.    'Why not?'       Before expanding and providing  reasons, and explaining why she should have, or why she should not have—was stopped in her tracks by S________ adding she does not (have insurance) but has reserved funds in a bank account.

When educated citizens apply reason to and for insurance, they will discuss with others when and why having insurance is a credit or a debit.

Someone will suggest singles with no  dependencies... such as children, a house or spouse; life insurance will be of little importance or a policy to cover a building.     Nine out of ten will agree—maybe the abstaining would be miss. Glades Goody-shoes?

'Let's not mention the small print of an insurance policy,' contributed C_______, as she left the table...  exposing (to those sitting opposite) her un-covered honey jar sitting atop and between her beautiful long legs.

‘Then explain to me,' the explanation being requested from David~David just into his last year of an apprenticeship in the trade of bricklaying and hoping to convince his girlfriend of three years... to become his fiancé.      'When should I invest into insurance and savings?'    His intended fiancé turn her head from her friend... David caught her eye and instantly read its meaning. 

I found an opportunity to advance towards this young fiancé of this David and to sit between her vision of him... so if she was to  catch his eye she would have to rise from her seat.   'Another drink?' I ask.   'I have one.' She replies.  'Ah! So you have.' Taking her hand... find her engagement ring—a size to large for her slim white finger—how fortunate, for me... slipping the cut diamond set in white gold into my pocket.  You have nothing to fear with insurance. I tell her. Everyone has opinions and are able to express them free of charge—based on their own situation and based on tradition within their own family and how their own parents and their grandparents and from a friend of the family and from a relation who works in insurance industry and from what they understood when (that relation) sold them the insurance they signed up for.

Once I have explained this to her, I feel she and David (once he has completed his apprenticeship), will become man and wife with a greater understand of life and insurance.  Who knows?   But I know she has learnt more from me tonight than in the last three years with David.    Tonight once home and together... she teach him a thing or two.    David caught her eye (and I'm sure), instantly read its meaning. 

Chapter 9.

Religion.

Hellen an un-likely follower of God... although was often mistaken to be an angle—holds centre stage; preaches to the captivated and those in love with her.

H________ to B________ seamed to be a woman of forty, not at all bad-looking—perfect height to width ratio... perky ski-slop breasts and a nice rounded backside; her eyes large, blue and round... her blonde eyebrows matching her blonde shoulder length hair (natural, he thought) with a cut fringe. She had attached to each ear, circular earrings (swinging) with what looks like (in the centre) a parrot on a perch.    He thought.

Damn, what a rigamarole it is to be within hearing distance when she speaks, thus annoying him more at this moment, then the fact she should speak at all; for what she was saying made no sense at all—only to demonstrate how frustrating are blondes.     However her words were capturing all those around her... 'my ex.' she was explaining... 'will never progress further than he has now'... then stopped in mid-sentence—due to her now concerning herself to what C_________ was wearing and how revealing her dress was, and how entertaining is her chest, and how round are her shoulders, and how un-kept is her hair, and so-on and so-on.    Yet the males within the group of admirers... only concerned upon the movement of those beautiful long legs—and where those standing behind only concerned upon her rounded backside.   And to herself.  And what is that book she is reading from—with its leather cover and gold edge papers… with little yellow markers placed within the block suggesting truth; see how easy her slender fingers (three on each hand supporting gold and silver rings) fall upon those yellow makers and how easy the words flow fourth.

"John the Baptist—a man sent from God… who—was not the light, but—came as a witness; to bear witness to the light, so that through him everyone might believe."

All those there gathered believed; not only in God but in this woman of forty-one—one not at all bad-looking—one so easy to the eye… asking why has she sold herself to the church?—when so many would willingly shared wealth upon her?    Why?   All those there gathered believe in God would at any time (day or night) at any age (young or old) at any place... surrounded  by fire (camping) or at a dinner party (drinking and eating) at the front line of battle (shooting) in the trenches of France (dying) and in the villages of Afghanistan (wondering why) are keen to die and kill in his name—have an acoustic guitar (at the ready) with a so many voices of great harmony to accompany the notes played in song...

… her voice deep and honeyed, lyrical. I could listen to her all day long… her voice more Beaz than Dylan.

                With God On Our Side  (first verse)

Oh my name it is nothin'

My age it means less

The country I come from

Is called the Midwest

I's taught and brought up there

The laws to abide

And the land that I live in

Has God on its side.

(Lyrics by Bob Dylan)

… and once sung and the last cord struck the room was silent; only the beating hearts of the young men could be heard.

T_________ (absorbed within himself) sat at the table (ponding his future employment) when C_______ knocked over her glass of wine.    His head returned to the now… he thought how gracefully she bent her head and shoulders in the endeavour to save the last dribbles of the liquid—making its way onto the table.      Ah! His mouth opened then closed… un-intentionally and involuntarily—his left leg shoot out on its own making...waking Holly—the collie-dog—bursting it free from behind the large ceramic turquoise coloured flower pot; exploding as it did into an un-controlled energy; leaping upon C________, with its tongue extended and tail thumping the air.     C_______'s cry brought attention—every eye (she felt) was undressing her... none more so than myself. 

As the old love stories go... across the room we lock eyes—it's not the first time... she moves close, I smell her breath... mint.    She places a hand against my chest.   I one against hers... but don't.      One of her slim fingers twirls a strand of her blond hair—securing it behind an eye. That hand on my chest slips to my trouser belt.   I move back and she moves forward.     Her lips speck... kiss me.     Mine say sure.     We do.      Soft and moist they taste.    Ridged and raised are her nipples... for my fingers have found away into her blouse.    What a cleaver girl she is (without a sign of recognition upon her face), seven little buttons have been freed and two little red cherries melt between my lips.    Ah! What a Turkish delight.Chapter 10.

Fashion

 Trends and fads... come and go, as do loves hates, bright and dark colours. David Fleming smokes a Black Russian Cigarillo.

I've read all Kimonos are the same length, so no matter how tall or short... each women who wears them, the extra fabric must be folded beneath a sash.    A tall geisha  in this case, when helped to dress—their dresser will doubled the kimono fabric at the waist and tie a cord to hold it in place; without the slightest buckle.  Then the geisha would stand in front of a free-standing mirror admiring that image.   Once the dresser has finished (with a tuck here or there) the robe always fits the contours of the body beautifully.      Not so today... with the skimpiest of underwear—leaving little to the imagination (just how I like it).    Why just imagine it when you can just experience it.    Today.   Gathered from a draw, a tight fitting top... placed over ever increasing breasts, and a pair of distressed jeans... pulled up and over ever increasing backsides (unfortunately much a norm of today) and maybe coloured jangles.      'There I'm ready,' the young of today say.

As we grow older we become costumed to a flavour (once horrid to ones taste buds) but now in our twenties we appreciate... so we find that what has been said we can discard without enjoying the substance.    So it is we find D_______ leaning back against the sofa with a lit cigarette; a Black Russian cigarillo—with a gold-leaf tip; not really his favourite... but one of three he purchased sometime back.     Not sure when or why.     But waste not want not; as he his father was fond of saying.       Fashion is just a fad.    He recalled his fashioned conscience mother telling him.        'You remember your granddad's doubled breasted stripped suit.'  She often asked.   'I do.'   He said, even that he didn't.        'It will be fashionable again... you mark my words.'      His mother always had the last word.

The last Chapter 

The End.

The evening comes to an end, fond goodbyes are exchanged, and guest depart... leaving those to clean up.

How so lonely or relieved can the host feel once the guests have departed... covering the munificent host with kisses and expressing fond memories of a wonderful occasion... with the reliable response—we must do this again.       And when _______ first reached to his pocket—discovering the time—and when Chubby little ________ retired to his bed.     When ________ first discovered his cloth hat had left his head—he stood tall, stopped playing with the strand of black hair and cried out good-night.      Goodnight.    Others found the need to cease their conversations... drain their glass of all the remaining liquid, locate discarded belongs... hug and kiss those close or even those across the room (although not the same time), turn to their host, and as other did before them... cover with kisses.     Good-night and Good-bye are the calls as the vehicles depart.

Ah!  Is whispered by ________ (Balfour's third wife) as she inspects the out come of such a successful party.    I find myself close behind squeezes her breasts, she turns towards me—and we they kiss.   Speaking in a low tone and with several voluntary movements of her hand... as we all do on occasions; even if we have or do not have a hand security around a warm erected penis ... words can be whispered—such as; leave that and come to bed.     We do.   She's a natural beauty with soft brown eyes and full lips... her top... unbuttoned halfway down-exposing a little of each pink nibble.     Her long hair is tied into a ponytail.      She somersaults...  like a Russian gymnast (that's my impression anyway), upon the bed, the bed swallows her torso—leaving only to lovely breasts... poking out like ______.

Goodnight and goodbye.

Thomas Leathan-drum

Introduced.

Let me narrate exactly how it happened.  Perhaps even once read... the reader will still not comprehend.  So if I am to tell this story, I must begin at the beginning; and how is it possible to begin at the beginning, without a thought towards the end.

At any table we can find people from all walks of life and gender; be they strangers or friends. Together talking or reading, or just listening.   Many with a common interest… others content only to pass judgement… if an eye is cast their direction.   Congregated.   Those here gathered from many a back-ground and social standing—no closer lot would be found, in many a room of any Grand Hotel, or in any free city of the world.      Had a stranger appeared un-invited—they would not recognise many from the variety of disguises—cotton dresses, cotton shirts, tailored trousers, woollen coats and tartan jackets.    They might have been all strangers on a journey... each bound for a separate destination.   Yet now sit within specking distance of each other... taking turns in expressing their own thoughts and opinions—some talking without listening—some engrossed deep in heavy fog or in light mist (thick only enough to divide them from each other's thoughts and options), the educated (among them) in isolation... poring over a paper, absorbed in reading, while listening to every word spoken (near or far) or leaned forward to gather their share of peanuts and chips (placed just that far out of reach); drawn to playing cards or billiards; some conspired against by those requiring silence~silence like that of a late evening walk along a public railway—or along a white sandy beach... counting the incoming waves; there alone, maybe disturb only by the clatter of the rain upon ones hat.    Company can be found when least expected and from a place outside a comfort level of companionship.       Thus conversation—at what ever level of intelligence can provide stimulus to an empty mind—on a lazy afternoon; where lubricating a reluctant participator... requiring beverage to loosen a hesitant tongue.      While sitting at a table opposite one other, or several... and knowing all, or only having had their company yesterday; and when one spoke, the expression taking to their face—the listeners imagine doors once closed to memories, being opened—in no particular order... endeavouring not to repeat words of another conversations completed, once spoken in similar situations.   Common interests encourage conversations between those with parallel passions and  enduring convictions towards all subjects earthly and spiritually—of politics, religion, love and fashion, of sportsmen and women, plus the caring of children, of food, of employment; such as bricklayers, lawyers, festival organisers, car salesman, insurance brokers, governments and politicians... doctors and truck drivers; some talk of architecture—Tutor, Georgian, Victorian, Edwardian or contemporary; others of education, law and order... robberies , murders, and yes the environment and finances... nor lets us not stereotype or generalise those who rise to such discussions; lets us tolerate and try to except those holding opposite options and beliefs—yet not allow them to persuade the votable among us to bend to their lopsided views.  As for me.  My name is not important... nor any long description of myself.     I am here (invited to swell numbers—as how most of my party invites accrue these days).  I've been friends with Balfour Jones (friends since primary school).   Having kept in touch throughout our progress to manhood—through work, relationships and broken marriages (Balfour—now on his third)... as for me; one was enough.     To continue.    Only to say... here as an observer, I find myself engrossed and captured within one's own thoughts—sitting occupied with those there... they; either listening or involved; transitioning between many narratives—true or false; reluctant; yet free to add or correct, towards any or all that's said by others, or to hold back, from saying what is important to them and of their own understanding of any, or all, of the topics discussed.    My entrance.   I arrive at 56 Maple Drive.    The numbers on the letter box were of stainless steel and about 50mm in height.  The sun had since departed some hours back.   The street lights now control both colours and shades of the trees and of the houses... the grass had been freshly cut, providing that new grass smell... the side door to house 56 is open (as was the host's custom).    The hall is lit by a night light (found in many homes with little children... although no little children lived in this house).   I make my way to the bathroom (second door on the left).    The door is open.         The clock with a white circular glassed face, supported by a brass pedestal—shares the time...  I have approximately an-hour-an-a-half to bathe.     As was the host's custom fresh towels and alike were laid out on a side table, along with a glass of chilled beverage.    I ran the water, testing it for warmth—removed my clothes—once at a comfortable temperature. I stepped in.  (humming to myself)

****

I watched as Jacqueline rubbed some sort of oil on her long beautiful legs—possibly a skin lotion of sorts... she is a woman who applied many such remedies... I study her, as she did at the green plastic bottle—containing the oil.

'What.' She said, snappishly to me.   I said.   'Nothing... just it's _______.'    'What of it?' She followed up with.     'Nothing.' I said again, moving over to smack her ____.

****

As I've said Balfour Jones and I have been best of friends since primary school... keeping in touch throughout our progress from puberty to maturity and through love and broken marriages (Balfour—now on his third wife)... as for me; one wife was enough... just as she thought one husband was one too many.    Anyway.   After my soaking, once having dried and dressed myself—I ventured towards the living room.     A CD of Barbara Streisand was playing in the back ground; a larva light was changing colours—from orange to green to blue—each sliding up down up down... Ginger (the cat) was sprawled untidily across the long piled rectangular cashmere rug.     Several of the guests had already arrived, and others were just arriving.      I was met by B______, glass in hand and a cigar in his mouth...  unlit.   'Thanks for coming.' He said.     'Thanks for the invite.' Was my reply.     'Help yourself to a drink.' He said.  'I will.' Was my reply.    'You know who's-who.'  He said.    'Of cause.’ I reply.  

****

Edward Strange. Standing by the window had the delicate ear of Sammantha Stapp.   She a regular... having come to these dinners since; I don't know?  Since Christ was born... with experience she had mastered the act of listening but not hearing… talking but saying nothing while holding a cigarette (unlit)—for she had given up smoking.

Greta Bridge. Sitting cross legged stoking the cat... a loyal friend of Balfour's second wife (complicated I know) although recently... a little bit on the defensive; having unwittingly expressed her feelings (at the last dinner) towards Balfour.   

There on a bar-stood at the breakfast bar sat Jason Garner; the banker who had over seen the sale of Balfour's first house (after the divorce) and his second house (after the divorce) and maybe soon the next).   I can tell you Jason is a high flyer with ambitions (and a very proud banker of the year). Those who know him admirer his determination to succeed.    Nothing will separate or stand between him and his dreams.  No stone will he leave sunny slide up... no obstacle will be too large or too great for him to demolish, and control... we all know the type.

Lockwood Pluck was slowly making his way towards the drinks trolley.    It was L _____ who had purchased Balfour's first house and now is husband to Balfour's second wife.    Ah! How strange is life? I thought to myself.    I could never see the attraction.    However love moves in funny ways.       Once I remember, I found her attractive... almost trapped in her cobweb of lust.     I'm only kidding, or am I?   Who knows.    To continue.  Sitting on the sofa beside the billiard table (one leg tucked under his backside) is David Fleming.     A long time friend of the family... I watch him smoothing his ruffled hair with his forefinger and thumb.   He was telling Hellen (or was it S________.) ‘I go nowhere without Holly.    Careful when rubbing its nose. She scratched it last week.'  Poor thing.' Whispered one of those two women. 

Next to the fireplace was the aspiring politician Mulberry Hawk, and sitting next to him Toby Watson—the writer of a book on architecture.

Lets see.  Hellen Pyre and Glades Pedal were talking (talking over each other, as usual) when Catherine Pollard arrived... together they watched her remove her coat—exposing two exceptionally long beautiful legs.     'Trouble are those legs.' Hellen said... said more to herself—yet heard by others.     Including Balfour.   'Don't they just look great?'    He said.    I replied.  'Yes they do.'     Yip; behind us stood B_____ r’s (current) wife.      We both turn... saved by the arrival of John Minton and Thomas Muir at the door.

Mulberry Hawk was onto his third glass (of whatever he's drinking), making random toasts and saying... I'll drink to that.    He’d only been here for five minutes and was already dominating Glades.    He will make a good politician, I thought.     I watch Glades trying to escape by turning away and grabbing the arm of Stephen Jacket.     I ask myself, has she gone from the flying pan to the fire?  … and of cause me.   My invitation arrived not by post or by hand...  but via the technology of the day; I was expecting it, and was waiting only for the date.  For time was never an issue...       

Instructions to the actors.

John mumbles, Mulberry dominates compensation. Samantha irritates people-plus more...

John Minton specks very quietly. So often one, when listening never hears the last word... allowing the audience to add a word, they assume fits perfectly.

Mulberry Hawk is an aspiring politician... (without the balls to be one).  Mulberry always uses twenty words when maybe ten would suffice... because of these extended sentences (those who know him) allow time for multiple lapses between comers and full stops, and for new breath to be taken and the narrative to be completed.      He talks to much.

Edward Strange. A dreamer at heart. What more can be said?

Sammantha Stapp, is a teacher, and having just ceased smoking  (two weeks before) would have been less irritable and argumentative had she not.  Samanthais is one of those annoying people (manly women) who manage to escalate the last word in every sentences to rise an octave.     You know, the last word is said in a lighter pitch.

Thomas Muir.   One of little importance.  Yet one so important at such events.   I forget why... however.

Hellen Pyre. Is a mother of triplets, and a daughter to a father and slave to a God.   The actor must believe... only Jews complete an answer with a question. Hellen, I'm sure is no Jew.      Yet it has become of late a habit... and a tiresome one at that.      You will find yourself (with difficulty) avoiding conversations that may require a question and answer competition... and move on to comments about the weather.  Hellen and her family arrived in _______ when she was just seventeen... having moved from ______, due to her father taking an appointment with Ironwood & Jones Architects and Surveyors.        Her father found substance in both the bottle and in God—although if asked, he would say... he found them both at the same time.

Catherine Pollard, is a sister to Glades, and is never allowed to forget that fact. 

Jacqueline Jones, current wife to Balfour.

Glades Pedal speaks very fast and always combines words Shakespeare would never have done.     Both the actor and the audience will be driven insane while deciphering her ramblings, and making it worst she closes both eyes just when you're sure you understood something... only to realise you have been distracted.      

David Fleming.  A friend at the table.   Gay and one for living an alternative life style.   What ever that entails?     I'm sure many would died to play his part.

The person who's part it is to play Sharon Bloom... will recall Sharon from his school days... her copper hair (a red haired, as she was known) is as bright today as it ever was. Her skin (for all to see) is still fresh, and hardly lined—although she today is a little plumper than   once recalled.

Jason Garner, is the group of a high flyers, with ambitions (banker of the year).  Those who know him admirer his determination to succeed.    Nothing will separate him or stand between him and his dreams;  No stone will be left sunny slide up... no obstacle is too large or too great for him to demolish, and control...(the reader will know this).    On stage he will dominate.

Greta Bridge.  A friend at the table.  Gay/lesbian and one time hippy... and is living her alternative life—in style.     Rich and free, and with many friends.     She has a daughter.     I know the father.

Glades Pollard. Half sister to Catherine. Glades is French born to English parents... living in France (with an aunt).  Glades inherited her aunts love of the roaring 20s... all the razzmatazz and the like—and it's in this style, flare and colour she presents herself...

The actor to play John Minton will be in his thirties and a large man... for John is a barrel-chested man of capable proportions (Friar Tuck appearance).     His eyes rounded and his nose comes to a point—there placed, casting at shadow across his cheeks from any angle of light.   His face almost square; his lips fluffy—deep in colour and of smooth texture. When he smiles (as he often does) one is distracted by his white teeth...  a contrast to his charcoal black hair (cut very short), clean shaven apart from long sideburns to the base of his small ears.

Stephen Jacket.  Insurance sales man.    Who wants to play the insurance man?

Toby Watson is the writer of a book about architecture.      He is a only child to two academics parents... but now dead.     He was a late child in their world—they were to busy to have children.

Lockwood Pluck.  Short, fat and with a flat nose, puffy bottom lip—plus two large ears.     A hard part to full.

Chapter 1.

Greed 

Thieving from a thief—ask yourself... is it still a crime?   Thomas sits on the sofa, and I  study family photographs.

Like myself at this junction in conversations—minds of similar development endeavour to seek solitude; where I study family photographs (placed in expensive embossed  silver frames), Thomas thoughts are parked in a row like taxis outside Stanly Street Tavern on a Saturday evening; has flung himself on the sofa and sits for a while without stirring.    Meanwhile a dozen others mingle expressing options of all descriptions and circulating like wasps... in circles with no one theory or subject dominating all that was placed across the table.     

And there upon the sofa (eyes closed) T_______ had no more input and, indeed, it did not occur to him to participate further.    Soon peaceful sleep came over him—encroaching within his being.

And as for me (rummaging through closed side-board draws) paying no heed to any witnessing eye… or any interested persons in my behaviour—found gold bullion in ornamental braid and twisted strands of platinum and jewellery of silver.     Ah! I hear you say.    'A thief?'  You shout.  A guest and one who steels another's wealth.   Plus; you are correct, the booty was not on show—but hidden.    You steel (telling yourself—under your breath) you steel your fortune from the draw of a woman’s hiding place—you did not take it from her person... was that because you are a coward?       Yes; I reply... but was not the gold and silver stollen once (without knowledge) from rivers rich, and mines deep?       Each of the mineral seeing nothing, suspecting nothing—neither the gold in a river or the silver in the earth's crust...  neither belong to anyone; nor the rivers nor the ground.    You may consider me a thief.      But am I?   I ask you.     Is thieving from a thief—is it still a crime?Chapter 2.

Governments.

Mulberry Hawk helped himself to three handfuls of cashews and three or four handfuls of potato chips—filling an appetite for such treats.   His head ached more (and he thought) ached deeper.    

Circulating and playing the captured audience M________ options on the state of governments made no impression on the others... losing arguments, that he thought, were sound and based on his own understanding, family traditions and on reliable newspaper reports.   One always prepared to expose his political bias... and free to say; a governments obligations is to its citizens... to provide the means for security, education and health—plus a politically stableness—for growth and trade. Does a government (of either persuasion) mould it polices to suit its own needs or those who vote for it?'   Is it hesitation? No.     M_______ stops only to take in new breath, grab a hand full of nuts... followed only by swallowing a mouth full of bubbly and scanning the room for anyone not listening.       Satisfied he continued.   'Why should; or do half (give and take) of the population at any 3 year period... dream to believe one government will provide them (those who voted for them) to spend freely on favours they wish; and believe that~that governments policies are superior to those policies of the other?'     He continued.   (Content that he was winning the argument although no one was arguing against).  'Ask yourself; are those calling themselves politicians... really do the job; only to do wonderful things for the country, and the population at large… or for their own benefit?'   He stopped.   Although he had more to add...  but not one to burden others with his options (if we are to believe him), withdrew from the conversation and returned to the sofa.     There his father's world called him.    His eyes were closed when I sat down next to him, and stayed that way throughout question time.     He was in Parliament.   The speaker was on his feet... Gentleman, gentleman.     Order, order... the speaker was calling... Silence, silence... but none to be found; and just like inside the spinning head of our Mulberry Hawk tonight—nothing was silent.     

'Can I get you another drink,' I ask playfully... while slipping a hand into his trouser pocket removing (without a sign of recognition upon his face) his wallet.  Chapter 3.

Education.

Once Mulberry Hawk sat down on the sofa.   Edward Strange found his voice and crosses swords with Sammantha Stapp.

After a period of time (but maybe only seconds) E______ , an un-published author and failed student (both at the same time), known as one not paying his debts; and one to give a I. O. U. to satisfy creditors for a week—one not to clear his gambling chips, and where (his friends find) complaints are constantly being lodged against him, and where-ever he travels... behaves like a joker...   Strange in name and in nature,  E______ rose from the table to stretch his legs.     

All eyes (he felt) were upon him.     He opened his mouth and then closed it again.     He did this several times... before succumbing to the temptation to speak.     He could not step far from any conversations where he felt he was a master of—finding himself always haunted by other's options (laid out as facts) and seeing how those living within their daydreams—such strange daydreams they are?    He thought.      There before his very person.     Rising above the music... one such persons option kept recurring.    E_______'s head (he felt) would explored as he listened.      She stood.    Informing the others; how she was in Africa, in Egypt, somewhere east, west and south of there... and how she was traveling by camel.     Her eyes glazed over for is deep in memory (she appeared to me) as her adventure un-folded before those captivated by the surly of her words.        'If I had children at the time,' S_____ continued... 'I would have behaved differently.'      How? were the thoughts of others.      She had E______ ear now and looking directly towards him. 'Look', she paused. 'Different generations require different skills to succeed at their time in history; basic skills, such as reading, arithmetic and writing.   With her fingers as counters.     She pointed each in turn.   1. to read the Bible. 2. to count the seeds to sow and 3. to write ones name to receive payment.'     She stopped.   'Education,' remarked E_______. Taking advantage of the silence provided.    Listen S_______ he interrupted.    He hands shaking in his trouser pockets.     With confidence.    'Being educated with all these skills learned... did that knowledge stop hundreds of thousands giving their lives to wars~wars not of their own making… yet blind; they went off for adventure; to kill or to be killed... in lands (near and far) and for reasons obscure.'        He stopped.    Their eyes meet.      Neither spoke.        A bridge was built.    I watched as they tried to cross that bridge... neither with a great deal of experience in such matters of relationships... pursed, took a breath, then         both spoke at once, then neither specking at all.      They moved closer, then moved further apart.        'How is your mother?' Finally asks Edward.   A easy question he thought.      'She is very well,' advised Sammantha.     A easy answer she thought.      There the ice is broken.  I said to myself—I  stole a kiss while Sammantha's eyes were closed... slipping my phone number into her hand.Chapter 4.

Love and relationships.

Lockwood drinks some water.   Sharon Bloom has two admirers, and Thomas is aroused from the sofa.

By now Lockwood was drinking water from a plastic bottle (spring water read the label).  To L______ is was cool and tasted wonderful—a wonderful blue in colour; he imagined it came from rivers high in the mountains waters running among the many-coloured stones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there like gold.     

As if to stimulate his mind a clock strikes—bringing to the fore—his ideals—for and against employment.   He begins; aroused, raising his head, looking across the table directly into the green eyes of his rival—returning to stare into the blues eyes of the women both wish to conquer.       She for her part more amiable she looked, and the more seductive the smiles she lavished on him became.   She moved uneasily, waiting impatiently for a chance to look away from the window—for the last minute there (she lay) viewing the mountains—backed with an orange sky; suddenly jumping up (arousing T_______ from his daze on the sofa) springing, she, on tiptoes to the door—just as if someone was pulling her with a bungee rope—stealthily opened it and began running to the toilet. Even when a girl is only scurrying down the hall towards the toilet—many a man can learn a lesson.      I have.     As luck would have it at the end of that bungee rope was me.    'O sorry I said... didn't see you come in.   'Just a minute'.   I say.    I finish by three shakes of my penis and tuck it back into my undies (making a point of drawing up the zip) turn from the toilet pan and move to wash my hands.      'Sharon how are you tonight?'  I make a point of using her name. Sounds more caring I thought.      'Fine, thanks,' she replies, 'if you don't mind I need to use the toilet.' she says.

'Okay,' is my reply.     Just before I leave, I managed to remove twenty-dollars from her bag.   Damn ... people just don't carry wolds of cash these days.

Unseen to all, deep in despair... drunk in the cycle of desire, caught in the clutches of desperation and full of flirtation... What? You ask does this convey.     There under the table we find Jason endeavouring to rekindle tired love—but discovers a desire for gold.

Time; it is said, can heel all.       From the hour we are born; all we understand is a need to be nourished, to be kept warm and held-held close when a un-known discomfort trouble us.       As to a new born time is controlled only by circumstances... far from our understanding.   Love; to a new born, is only gauged by feel and by touch; pacified is the new born by a gentle voice and by un-familiar words of affection.  Ownership.  Ownership a young child learns quickly... more so, if siblings are present; yet no less...  if ones an orphan.

Chapter 5.

Environment.

We learn some believe they alone are the saviours of life (as we know it)… plus Glades provides a quotation. 

We all in our own way are concerned for the world we now live in (or upon); each at sometime think (to ourselves) not to harm the land, the seas, the rivers, the lakes, the mountains, the valleys—in fact the earth in general.       Leave a better world for our children.  So it is we will find at any table among those gathered a miss Glades Goody-shoes—she and only she can see what man (and women, I hope, although never mentions), has, or is doing, in our own time, damaging the world, we all live in (or upon).     How man, yes man alone... pollutes.

Ah! Yes, the week and the mild among those sitting at any table—once a dominating earth saving campaigner—upon a soup box... holds the domain of others and with a high pitched voice and vocabulary matching that of an evangelist—one preaching from the gospel of John the Baptist.       

The observers of tranquillity, note; those with opposing view points and beliefs, how they reach for another glass and divert their eyes and ears to another subject.

To quote, said Glades.  "Now the key thing to understand is not just that the world population is growing, it is that the developing world, for example China and India, are doing just that, developing, which means that they have to expand their use of raw materials, energy and water at an ever increasing rate. When you realise that China has the intention of building cities to house the equivalent of the population of Australia, every year, for the next thirty years, you get some idea of the amount of steel, copper, concrete and other building materials that would be required.  Another statistic (she continued after a short pause) of interest is that, this last quarter, for the first time ever, more vehicles were sold in China than in the US.  She concludes by saying... and every one requires gasoline.”  Un-quote.

'Where does she get this stuff from,' asks T______ of M______ ,finding themselves together upon the sofa... reclining—their shoes removed and feet touching ever-so-gently.     From where I'm sitting witnessing this contact, an uneasy realisation creeps upon my thoughts compelling a movement of my hand into my trouser pocket... not I must inform, to count any change, I may or may not have stored there. Charter 6.

Gold, wealth and finance.

When one has un-earned wealth and ideas of grander… they; offer salvation to those without.

On the other hand Jason Garner eyes roll in all directions when he talks, and he talks slowly... pronouncing each syllable correctly.      What you and I can say in three minutes—it takes Jason ten.      Yet no one can complain of not understanding.

From my advantage point (beside the window…) and with religious rite, and higher self-assumed morals… find my fingers (caressing my pockets) while massaging my booty of stolen treasure.    I observe Jason Garner (the name he called himself earlier—when first introduced and as described below)… now specking on a subject he feels is his domain.   Greed and selfish desire.

'What would you rather have? J_____; the young single intellectual banker; with his clean and shaven face... but for a little stubble, asks the tired mother of triplets... while his eyes wonder across her completed chest.   Gold.  Her smile—said it all;   'Gold,' they said.   Was that the third glass of bubbly? he thought to himself, and was that a smile of an invitation slipping down from her moist lips.      'Maybe.'  If asked, was her reply.    'Yes Gold,'  she repeated.    Engrossed in dreams of riches.  Deflated she is... yet not discouraged, for it is the alcohol I find the tired mother of triplets still sitting at the table... encouraging the young banker to move closer—close enough to smell the scent of her motherhood.   Sweet lady he sweet talks her when speaking only to her the young banker quotes —from memory, an article recently read.    

'There are two ways of looking at this. We are right in what we say, or we are wrong. If you think we may well be right, then you owe it yourself and your family to take aggressive steps to protect what wealth you have. This means that you should consider carefully what follows. If you think we are wrong, then we still suggest you should invest in some protection, just as insurance, or gold.'

Now in his arms she with her blue eyes of understanding of all things beautiful, of all things bright and shiny... she asks. 'Could I not protect myself from fraud, bankruptcy and loneliness... by the love of a wealthy man?'    But it is to late for this mother of triplets her jewels are gone.     No longer intact is her modesty, freedom and self control.     'I have three children to feed, J_______.' Her words are lost against the background of lust and wealth.Chapter 7.

Architecture.

The group hear from a chap with a particular interest.   

'I wrote a book,' informed Toby Watson about architecture, and reached for the almanac from his brown leather briefcase.    He thought it would be of some interest—unfortunately it was not... undeterred he continued—glancing to his left and then to his right; he assumed some small interest towards his subject was shown, encouraged; he continued to explain from it.   'See;' he explained, 'here are the variations in architecture from century to century and from architect to architect, and from a period in time... look (his voice raised a little), many are due to a whim of a king or a queen.'  He continued.   'First man lived in caves, then huts of mud, then buildings made with stone and with roofs of reeds.'     'Look,' T______ call... sliding the book towards the long established mr. Fairwater.    Mr. Fairwater looked at the hand drawings—he was impressed with the diagrams, but showed little interest in the words.    Yet.    T______ took this as a victory (of sorts) and commenced reading the first paragraph of the introduction on page 7.    

'In order to live men need first food and drink and then shelter...' he read—'shelter from the weather and protection from ones enemies...'  he continued—'at first men did not build their shelter—but found it—like most animals.'    Loving the sound of his own voice he continued to turned many pages, seeking out interesting lines to quote from.    'Here this,' he said.  'With improving building skills; man moved from single story building to structures consisting of multiple levels...'    

Ah!  How interesting all this is—and there he was, totally lost and absorbed in his own thoughts; un-aware that the (long awaited) hot sausage-rolls and mince pies had arrived.Chapter 8.

Insurance.

Stephen dons his reading glass and reads from a insurance policy document.    Greta and Lockwood ask questions.

‘After all, when you insure your house against fire, it’s not because you think it will burn down; it’s because the result of not having insurance in the rare case that it does... is extremely severe.’

'Let's look at insurance,' said S________, who has just celebrated his thirtieth birthday last Thursday by spending it with his mum... as it was her eighth the week before.     

'She has her townhouse insured for that's her one big assist'... he had most there listening—especially the women folk; only because one day they will be eighty and were wondering if their son would attend.

Glades Goody-shoes thought to herself.   Does his mother have health insurance...? Then sheepishly she asked the question (out loud) without being sure why.

'Why would a women of eighty have life insurance?' asked L________.    Having asked the question Glades felt she should defend it.    'Why not?'       Before expanding and providing  reasons, and explaining why she should have, or why she should not have—was stopped in her tracks by S________ adding she does not (have insurance) but has reserved funds in a bank account.

When educated citizens apply reason to and for insurance, they will discuss with others when and why having insurance is a credit or a debit.

Someone will suggest singles with no  dependencies... such as children, a house or spouse; life insurance will be of little importance or a policy to cover a building.     Nine out of ten will agree—maybe the abstaining would be miss. Glades Goody-shoes?

'Let's not mention the small print of an insurance policy,' contributed C_______, as she left the table...  exposing (to those sitting opposite) her un-covered honey jar sitting atop and between her beautiful long legs.

‘Then explain to me,' the explanation being requested from David~David just into his last year of an apprenticeship in the trade of bricklaying and hoping to convince his girlfriend of three years... to become his fiancé.      'When should I invest into insurance and savings?'    His intended fiancé turn her head from her friend... David caught her eye and instantly read its meaning. 

I found an opportunity to advance towards this young fiancé of this David and to sit between her vision of him... so if she was to  catch his eye she would have to rise from her seat.   'Another drink?' I ask.   'I have one.' She replies.  'Ah! So you have.' Taking her hand... find her engagement ring—a size to large for her slim white finger—how fortunate, for me... slipping the cut diamond set in white gold into my pocket.  You have nothing to fear with insurance. I tell her. Everyone has opinions and are able to express them free of charge—based on their own situation and based on tradition within their own family and how their own parents and their grandparents and from a friend of the family and from a relation who works in insurance industry and from what they understood when (that relation) sold them the insurance they signed up for.

Once I have explained this to her, I feel she and David (once he has completed his apprenticeship), will become man and wife with a greater understand of life and insurance.  Who knows?   But I know she has learnt more from me tonight than in the last three years with David.    Tonight once home and together... she teach him a thing or two.    David caught her eye (and I'm sure), instantly read its meaning. 

Chapter 9.

Religion.

Hellen an un-likely follower of God... although was often mistaken to be an angle—holds centre stage; preaches to the captivated and those in love with her.

H________ to B________ seamed to be a woman of forty, not at all bad-looking—perfect height to width ratio... perky ski-slop breasts and a nice rounded backside; her eyes large, blue and round... her blonde eyebrows matching her blonde shoulder length hair (natural, he thought) with a cut fringe. She had attached to each ear, circular earrings (swinging) with what looks like (in the centre) a parrot on a perch.    He thought.

Damn, what a rigamarole it is to be within hearing distance when she speaks, thus annoying him more at this moment, then the fact she should speak at all; for what she was saying made no sense at all—only to demonstrate how frustrating are blondes.     However her words were capturing all those around her... 'my ex.' she was explaining... 'will never progress further than he has now'... then stopped in mid-sentence—due to her now concerning herself to what C_________ was wearing and how revealing her dress was, and how entertaining is her chest, and how round are her shoulders, and how un-kept is her hair, and so-on and so-on.    Yet the males within the group of admirers... only concerned upon the movement of those beautiful long legs—and where those standing behind only concerned upon her rounded backside.   And to herself.  And what is that book she is reading from—with its leather cover and gold edge papers… with little yellow markers placed within the block suggesting truth; see how easy her slender fingers (three on each hand supporting gold and silver rings) fall upon those yellow makers and how easy the words flow fourth.

"John the Baptist—a man sent from God… who—was not the light, but—came as a witness; to bear witness to the light, so that through him everyone might believe."

All those there gathered believed; not only in God but in this woman of forty-one—one not at all bad-looking—one so easy to the eye… asking why has she sold herself to the church?—when so many would willingly shared wealth upon her?    Why?   All those there gathered believe in God would at any time (day or night) at any age (young or old) at any place... surrounded  by fire (camping) or at a dinner party (drinking and eating) at the front line of battle (shooting) in the trenches of France (dying) and in the villages of Afghanistan (wondering why) are keen to die and kill in his name—have an acoustic guitar (at the ready) with a so many voices of great harmony to accompany the notes played in song...

… her voice deep and honeyed, lyrical. I could listen to her all day long… her voice more Beaz than Dylan.

                With God On Our Side  (first verse)

Oh my name it is nothin'

My age it means less

The country I come from

Is called the Midwest

I's taught and brought up there

The laws to abide

And the land that I live in

Has God on its side.

(Lyrics by Bob Dylan)

… and once sung and the last cord struck the room was silent; only the beating hearts of the young men could be heard.

T_________ (absorbed within himself) sat at the table (ponding his future employment) when C_______ knocked over her glass of wine.    His head returned to the now… he thought how gracefully she bent her head and shoulders in the endeavour to save the last dribbles of the liquid—making its way onto the table.      Ah! His mouth opened then closed… un-intentionally and involuntarily—his left leg shoot out on its own making...waking Holly—the collie-dog—bursting it free from behind the large ceramic turquoise coloured flower pot; exploding as it did into an un-controlled energy; leaping upon C________, with its tongue extended and tail thumping the air.     C_______'s cry brought attention—every eye (she felt) was undressing her... none more so than myself. 

As the old love stories go... across the room we lock eyes—it's not the first time... she moves close, I smell her breath... mint.    She places a hand against my chest.   I one against hers... but don't.      One of her slim fingers twirls a strand of her blond hair—securing it behind an eye. That hand on my chest slips to my trouser belt.   I move back and she moves forward.     Her lips speck... kiss me.     Mine say sure.     We do.      Soft and moist they taste.    Ridged and raised are her nipples... for my fingers have found away into her blouse.    What a cleaver girl she is (without a sign of recognition upon her face), seven little buttons have been freed and two little red cherries melt between my lips.    Ah! What a Turkish delight.Chapter 10.

Fashion

 Trends and fads... come and go, as do loves hates, bright and dark colours. David Fleming smokes a Black Russian Cigarillo.

I've read all Kimonos are the same length, so no matter how tall or short... each women who wears them, the extra fabric must be folded beneath a sash.    A tall geisha  in this case, when helped to dress—their dresser will doubled the kimono fabric at the waist and tie a cord to hold it in place; without the slightest buckle.  Then the geisha would stand in front of a free-standing mirror admiring that image.   Once the dresser has finished (with a tuck here or there) the robe always fits the contours of the body beautifully.      Not so today... with the skimpiest of underwear—leaving little to the imagination (just how I like it).    Why just imagine it when you can just experience it.    Today.   Gathered from a draw, a tight fitting top... placed over ever increasing breasts, and a pair of distressed jeans... pulled up and over ever increasing backsides (unfortunately much a norm of today) and maybe coloured jangles.      'There I'm ready,' the young of today say.

As we grow older we become costumed to a flavour (once horrid to ones taste buds) but now in our twenties we appreciate... so we find that what has been said we can discard without enjoying the substance.    So it is we find D_______ leaning back against the sofa with a lit cigarette; a Black Russian cigarillo—with a gold-leaf tip; not really his favourite... but one of three he purchased sometime back.     Not sure when or why.     But waste not want not; as he his father was fond of saying.       Fashion is just a fad.    He recalled his fashioned conscience mother telling him.        'You remember your granddad's doubled breasted stripped suit.'  She often asked.   'I do.'   He said, even that he didn't.        'It will be fashionable again... you mark my words.'      His mother always had the last word.

The last Chapter 

The End.

The evening comes to an end, fond goodbyes are exchanged, and guest depart... leaving those to clean up.

How so lonely or relieved can the host feel once the guests have departed... covering the munificent host with kisses and expressing fond memories of a wonderful occasion... with the reliable response—we must do this again.       And when _______ first reached to his pocket—discovering the time—and when Chubby little ________ retired to his bed.     When ________ first discovered his cloth hat had left his head—he stood tall, stopped playing with the strand of black hair and cried out good-night.      Goodnight.    Others found the need to cease their conversations... drain their glass of all the remaining liquid, locate discarded belongs... hug and kiss those close or even those across the room (although not the same time), turn to their host, and as other did before them... cover with kisses.     Good-night and Good-bye are the calls as the vehicles depart.

Ah!  Is whispered by ________ (Balfour's third wife) as she inspects the out come of such a successful party.    I find myself close behind squeezes her breasts, she turns towards me—and we they kiss.   Speaking in a low tone and with several voluntary movements of her hand... as we all do on occasions; even if we have or do not have a hand security around a warm erected penis ... words can be whispered—such as; leave that and come to bed.     We do.   She's a natural beauty with soft brown eyes and full lips... her top... unbuttoned halfway down-exposing a little of each pink nibble.     Her long hair is tied into a ponytail.      She somersaults...  like a Russian gymnast (that's my impression anyway), upon the bed, the bed swallows her torso—leaving only to lovely breasts... poking out like ______.

Goodnight and goodbye.