Episode 12 - Bob's New Story

—That notebook? Shove it. 

—Hello, grumpy. 

—I don’t want another bloody lecture from you about writing. 

—Alright, Joe. I hear ya. Bloody ‘ell. 

—I ain’t in the mood for—

—I heard yer, mate. Chill. Relax. 

—Right, what d’yer wanna talk about then? 

—Not fuckin’ politics. Boring as shite, that is.

—Fair enough. Hold up, ‘ere’s Brenda. Alright, Brenda, luv? 

—Sound, chaps, ‘ow’s you pair? 

—He’s grumpy as usual, Bren.

—Piss off, Robert. 

—Ah, now, Joe! What’s up wi’ ya? 

—I’m alright, Bren. That muppet wants to keep talking about bloody writing. 

—Leave ‘im alone, Joe. It’s his creative streak. 

—I said he can be creative and get the brews in.

—Well, I’m here with yer, aren’t I? So nobody’s getting a brew at the minute. 

—Well said Bren. See, Joe? Bit of common sense there. 

—Ey up, Bob. ‘Ave yer got another one of them quick stories? 

—I have Bren, d’yer want a read? 

—I’ll have a read while I’m resting me feet. 

—Bloody ‘ell. You’ve done it now, Bren. 

—Shh, Joe. C’mon Bob, let’s have it. 

(Silence while Bob handed Brenda his notebook.)

---

The Silence

He watched the world outside his window. Nothing much going on. He sighed. Had a think. Nothing came. Apart from a yawn. He let it out. A long, tired one. 

George Fletcher didn’t like life on the days where the demons ran things. He stood and ignored the creak from his knees. Went downstairs. The stairs creaked as well. 

In the kitchen, he felt something brush his legs. He looked down. There he was, Monty the spaniel. Looking up at him. Knowing. Wise. 

—Hello, boy, shall we go for a walk? 

Monty walked to the door. Looked around. 

George smiled. 

---

—Oh, Bob! I love that one. 

—Ah, ta, Brenda. 

—Do you want a read, Joe? 

—Do I ‘ave to? 

—You should, Joe. It’s great. 

—Right, if yer say so, Bren. 

(Silence while Joe reads)

—Shite. 

—Wha’? 

—Joseph! I’ll tell your wonderful Moira you’re been grumpy again. 

—Sorry, Bren. S’pose it’s alright. I like the dog. 

—Right, you pair. I’d better get back to it. No being ‘orrible to each other. 

—Righto, Bren, Joe? Did yer ‘ear that? 

—Yeah, alright, nobhead.