Confessions from a Nudist Colony. Timothy Lea
blame him really. I mean, we live in disturbing times when what went for our grandfathers does not even make us think about coming. When he throws us down the steps of the caravan we are in a bit of a quandary and it is just as well that there is this pile of sacks lying behind the coconut shy. We slip two on sharpish and hop off home. Probably the most knackering experience I have ever undergone, especially coming after Millie – not that I did come after Millie. I am pretty certain that we came at the same time. Anyway, it helped to disguise Sid’s naughty parts and the fact that I was wearing handcuffs.
‘I’ll tell you how to get fit,’ says Dad. ‘Do some bleeding work! The country can’t afford to support grasshoppers any more.’
‘If it can support you, it can support anybody,’ says Sid. ‘Grasshoppers, arse hoppers, you name it!’
‘Hello, dear,’ says Mum, coming in with a tray of tannic poisoning – or tea as she calls it. ‘Did you get your certificate all right?’
‘Oh!’ says Sid. ‘Been down to Doctor Khan, have we? How long did he give you this time?’
‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!’ says Dad. ‘He’s useless if you don’t wear a turban.’
‘Don’t be like that,’ says Sid. ‘That curry powder did wonders with your warts.’
‘And you know who owns the supermarket where I had to buy it?’ complains Dad. ‘Only his blooming brother-in-law. I remember when you used to get your stuff at a chemist. He told Mrs Kedge to wear a lentil poultice and it was leaking out of her knickers all down the high street.’
‘Walter!’ Mum jerks up the spout of the tea pot in protest.
‘Well, it’s true. It’s no good trying to draw a veil over these things. It’s like this business of having to pay for your medical certificate. It’s profiteering off the sick and needy.’
‘So you’ve been down the library all day?’ accuses Sid. ‘Queueing up with the dossers to have a crack at the page three nude in the Sun.’
‘Some swine tore it out!’ says Dad. ‘That’s nice, isn’t it? Taxpayers’ money and all. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of Khan’s lot. They like white women.’
‘Well, that’s only fair,’ says Sid. ‘I mean, you like black women, don’t you? I remember how choked you were when you thought those African birds were going to have to cover up their knockers on the telly.’
‘Sidney!’ says Mum.
‘Nearly turned him against the monarchy, it did,’ says Sid. ‘He couldn’t make up his mind whether to write to Buckingham Palace or Bernard Delfont. In the end he chose Bernard Delfont because he was more influential.’
‘It was the artistic licence I was worried about,’ says Dad.
‘You ought to be more worried about the TV licence,’ says Mum. ‘We’ve had three reminders and you still haven’t done anything.’
‘What have you got there?’ asks Dad. Like a berk, I have raised my hands to grab the tea and Dad has clocked my wrists.
‘He’s got his cufflinks tangled,’ says Sid. ‘Nice, aren’t they? A bit on the large side but handsome.’
‘It’s nothing to be alarmed about,’ I say. ‘This bird thought I was something else – I mean someone else.’
‘Picked you out in an identity parade, did she?’ says Dad. ‘Don’t worry, my son. They’ll never make it stick. What did you do? Nick her handbag. Where is it?’
‘I didn’t nick anything,’ I say.
‘You don’t have to lie to me, son,’ says Dad. ‘I’m your father. I’ll stick by you. We may have our ups and downs but when the chips are down we Leas stick together.’
‘Look –’ says Sid.
‘Shut up!’ says Dad. ‘You led him into this, I suppose? Made him the catspaw for your evil designs. Played on his simple nature.’
‘What do you mean simple?’ I say.
‘Your father’s right, dear,’ says Mum. ‘Don’t let them put words into your mouth. Say you never touched the girl.’
‘I didn’t touch the girl,’ I say. ‘I mean, not like that I didn’t.’
‘Of course, it could go badly with him,’ says Dad. ‘There’s his criminal record to be taken into consideration.’
‘Don’t be daft!’ I say. ‘The only criminal record I’ve got is “The Laughing Policeman”.’
‘He laughs in the teeth of danger!’ says Sid. ‘Makes you proud, doesn’t it? Shall I start piling the furniture against the door? How long do you think we’ll be able to hold out? Better nip out and get a few cans of beans before they get round here.’
‘Shut up, Sid!’ I say. ‘You’re not funny. Haven’t we got anything stronger than this nail file, Dad?’
‘Of course!’ says he from whose loins I sprung with understandable haste. ‘Is that the best he could do for you, my son? Hang on a minute, I’ll get my blow torch.’
‘I’ll go quietly!’ I scream, leaping to the window.
‘Now see what you’ve done,’ says Sid. ‘You’ve inflamed his persecution mania. Why don’t you calm down and start baking him a cake with a file in it?’
‘Because, if his mother made it he’d never be able to bite through to the file,’ says Dad.
‘Walter!’ Mum is understandably upset. ‘How could you? Haven’t I made a nice home for you and the kiddies? Why do you have to say a thing like that? If you don’t like my cooking, you know what you can do.’
‘Yeah. Go on gobbling down the bicarbonate of soda like I do at the moment. Don’t make a scene for Gawd’s sake. There’s more important things to worry about.’
At this moment, fraught with unpleasantness and overhung by a thin veil of menace, the doorbell rings.
‘Who’s that?’ says Mum.
Sid takes a dekko through the lace curtain. ‘Blimey!’ he says. ‘It’s the fuzz!’
‘Don’t take the piss,’ I say, ‘Let me have a – oh no!’ Standing on the doorstep and tucking thoughtfully at his helmet strap is an enormous copper.
‘Right!’ says Dad. ‘I’ll handle this. You get out the back and pretend you’re pushing the lawnmower down to the shelter. I don’t want the neighbours to notice anything.’
‘They’ll notice you haven’t got a lawn,’ says Sid.
‘Shut up!’ says Dad.
‘Dad,’ I say. ‘I don’t think–’
‘I know you don’t,’ says Dad. ‘That’s why I have to do it for you. Now, get out there and stop arguing.’
‘Your father knows best,’ says Mum. ‘Stay in the shed till we come for you. Check there’s nobody round the back, Sid.’ When they go on like that you really feel that you have done something and I begin to wonder if my spot of in and out with Millie was against the law in more senses than one.
‘Right,’ says Dad. ‘Here we go.’
‘Don’t antagonise them, Walter,’ calls Mum.
‘You can rely on me,’ says Dad.
‘There’s nobody round the back,’ says Sid. ‘Come on, Bogart!’ He pushes me out of the back door as I hear Dad opening the front.
The lawmower Dad was talking about is another piece he has ‘saved’ from the lost property office where he is supposed to work. The only piece of