Frankie & Benny #12 – Coronary

“…Benny, my old friend, how are you feeling?”
“I have been better Francis, I must admit, I have been better.”
“You’re looking better than you were… when you came in, you know.”
“Well that will be, old chum, because I am no longer having a bloody heart attack. It will be because I no longer have a fifteen stone paramedic tap dancing on my chest.”
“He saved you life Benny.”
“I know, and I’m obliged, I just wish he could have done it without breaking all my bloody ribs. I don’t wish to sound ungrateful here, but couldn’t he see that I’m an old man?”
“Well at least you’re not a corpse my friend. It didn’t look good back there.”
“I know. I wonder what brought it on?”
“The heart attack?”
“No Frankie, I mean the French Peasant Uprising of 1358… of course the heart attack.”
“Well, you were on your second pie of the day.”
“Is that enough to bring on a heart attack?”
“I don’t know. Some of those pies have been in the warmer so long they could cause Bubonic Plague for all I know. I suppose the specialist will tell you.”
“Is that the woman in the pink trainers?”
“Could be, why?”
“She said with my diet and alcohol intake it’s a miracle I didn’t die years ago.”
“A tad harsh. What did you say?”
“I said that when I was younger, my diet was considered ideal.”
“And?”
“She said that when I was younger, smoking was considered good for the lungs, sugar was good for the teeth and rickets was for sissies. She said I should wake up and smell the roses. She said I should change my diet, get more exercise and drink less.”
“And you said?”
“Is there any chance of a heart transplant instead? A twenty year-old, teetotal heart should keep me going for years.”
“And she said?”
“‘Hearts are precious things, Mr Anderson. We don’t waste them on old timers like you. Just try to look after the one you’ve got.’ She said that if I behaved myself I could have years left in me yet.”
“So are you going to do that then? Are you going to behave? I mean, you’re a pain in the arse and all, but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Maybe I could restrict my pasty intake a bit. I’m nearly eighty Frankie, I’m too old to change now. Nobody lives forever do they?”
“Indeed they do not my elderly friend, indeed they do not.”
“Besides, you need to think about it too. I’m not that much older than you, you know.”
“Three years Benny, three years. It doesn’t seem much at our age, but when we were at school…”
“We were in the same year at school.”
“I think you were held back.”
“I bloody well was not! We started school together on the same day. You always tell people that you’re three years younger than me, but you’re not. What year were you born?”
“1945.”
“And I was born in 1944.”
“So you are at least one year older than me.”
“I was born in December and you were born in January: it’s barely a month. Where do you get three years from?”
“You were always old for you age.”
“I was more sensible than you.”
“Three years more sensible.”
“Yes, well now I’ve had a heart attack for my pains and you’ve had…”
“…to sit in that corridor for two days without a change of pants. I’ve had a permanent wedgie for the last twenty four hours.”
“You sat out there for forty eight hours?”
“Of course I did. You’re my oldest friend Benny, besides, you had my front door key in your trouser pocket and they wouldn’t let me search for it. I asked the nurse if she would have a bit of a rifle through your kecks and she said that there wasn’t sufficient hand sanitizer in the hospital for her to risk that. She said that if she got five minutes she would set fire to them and rake through the ashes when they’d gone out.”
“They were clean on!”
“Mm, but they weren’t clean off, as it were.”
“…I can’t even remember what happened.”
“You remember years ago when we went to the cinema and Ursula Andress came out of the sea in a bikini? Well your face kind of went like it did back then and you gurgled.”
“Gurgled?”
“Yes. Well you were two parts of the way through a pie at the time, so I didn’t think much of it until you fell of the stool. To be honest, I wouldn’t even have thought too much about that if it hadn’t been so early in the night.”
“So you phoned an ambulance?”
“Well, I phoned them, yes, but they didn’t come. Apparently the paramedics remember the last time they got called out to The Travellers so they refused to come again without police protection.”
“And the police?”
“They, Benny my friend, also remembered the last time they got called to the estate. They wanted the army calling out.”
“So how did I get to the hospital then?”
“I couldn’t leave you on the floor, could I?”
“You carried me?”
“Are you mad? I’m no spring chicken myself you know, and let’s be honest, you take a bit more lifting than you used to… I pushed you round in a wheelbarrow. It’s a wonder I didn’t have a heart attack myself.”
“People let you push me round here on your own? Nobody offered to help?”
“Most of them thought you were pished to be fair, although I must admit that if the Bible were being written that night, it would contain the Parable of the Totally Indifferent Samaritan.”
“How long did it take you?”
“About twenty minutes, but I did nip into the offie for a scratchcard on the way.”
“You left me dying in a wheelbarrow while you bought a scratchcard?”
“I got one for you as well.”
“Oh well…”
“You didn’t win mind.”
“You scratched my scratchcard?”
“Well I wasn’t sure that you’d… you know. You kept moaning ‘Don’t let me die Frankie. I’m not ready to die…’ You’ve always been a bit of a moaner.”
“Frankie, I was in a wheelbarrow… dying.”
“I didn’t know you were dying. I thought it was wind.”
“They’ve fitted stents!”
“Oh well, that’s good then. So are you all better now?”
“I’m going to be ok I think. I just have to be careful. The specialist said I shouldn’t drink anymore.”
“Any more? Was she talking volume?”
“I presume so.”
“So a small glass is preferable to a large one?”
“That is what I assumed, yes.”
“And she never mentioned Wagon Wheels?”
“Not by name, no.”
“Good, because I’ve got a hip flask and Wagon Wheels in my bag. Come on now, sit up Benny, we’ll drink to your health my friend. Cheers…”

For your information, ‘the offie’ is the Off-Licence: a shop for the out-sales of alcohol and Wagon Wheels are large chocolate covered mallow-filled biscuits.

If you like these two old boys, you can find previous conversations at
Frankie & Benny #1
Frankie & Benny #2 – Goodbyes
Frankie & Benny #3 – The Night Before
Frankie & Benny #4 – The Birthday
Frankie & Benny #5 – Trick or Treat
Frankie & Benny #6 – Christmas
Frankie & Benny #7 – The Cold
Frankie & Benny #8 – Barry
Frankie & Benny #9 – Vaccinations
Frankie & Benny #10 – Anniversary
Frankie & Benny #11 – Dunking

Frankie & Benny #10 – Anniversary

“…Mostly I remember the rain… and the smell.”
“Not my fault. Who the hell would let their dog do that right outside a church?”
“You could have wiped it off before you came in.”
“There were time pressures if you remember Frankie. We were running late on account of you not being able to locate your favourite socks.”
“Because you were wearing them!”
“Well, I’d washed them hadn’t I? After all, you’d been sick on mine.”
“Oh Benny, get over it old pal. It was sixty years ago. They were nice socks, I admit, but really mine were better: all wool, no darning. You got the better deal. We were young, it was our stag night and the waiter didn’t make as much fuss as you.”
“No, but to be fair, the people who were eating at the table did… We never did pay for that meal did we?”
“Well no, Benny, we did not. It was clearly faulty.”
“The chef didn’t think so. Half a mile he chased us waving that bloody cleaver around.”
“I don’t know why he took it so personally.”
“You threw up on his dog…”
“Ah yes.”
“… And then you said that if he was going to put Chihuahua on the menu, he should at least have the decency to peel it first.”
“It was a strange kind of evening altogether, wasn’t it: just the two of us out together on a joint stag night.”
“Both getting married in the morning and no friends to join us.”
“All away on National Service weren’t they.”
“Or at the mercy of the Prison Service… At least we both had our Best Man there.”
“Yes, and to be honest it was all a bit rushed wasn’t it, on account of your Doreen’s ‘condition’.”
“And the fact that Lou’s dad had threatened to disembowel you if you didn’t do the right thing by her.”
“How the hell did we both manage to get our girlfriends pregnant at the same time Benny?”
“Because you, Frankie, bought the condoms from an army surplus stall on the market.”
“I always thought that military products were super-efficient.”
“I think, my friend, that those particular ‘products’ probably became surplus during the Napoleonic Wars. I swear the one you gave me was hand-stitched.”
“Ah well, it didn’t turn out too bad did it old chum? In the end it was ok… How long have we been doing this now?”
“Taking the flowers to the crem’?”
“Ay, the flowers.”
“Well, Lou died the year before Doreen and we started taking the flowers on our anniversary just after Doreen…”
“Daffodils as ever.”
“Yes, little bunches of sunshine Frankie, little bunches of sunshine.”
“Classy… and all that the petrol station has.”
“Other than pasties.”
“Oh yes, they do a decent pasty, don’t they.”
“And Murray Mints.”
“Murray Mints, Murray Mints…”
“…Too good to hurry mints.”
“Rock-hard shite. Do you remember when we first met the girls Benny?”
“I do, my friend, I do. At the NAAFI.”
“We bought them tea and rock cakes.”
“Correction, I bought them tea and rock cakes. You said that you’d lost your wallet in hand-to-hand fighting.”
“It was when the cigarette ration came in.”
“We asked them out there and then and they said ‘Yes’.”
“Providing we bought the Poppets in the interval.”
“Oh, that first date, what a night it was. ‘North by Northwest’ at the Gaumont, hake and six penn’orth to share on the walk home and a quick grapple in the graveyard before dropping them off.”
“I learned everything I ever knew about bras in that cemetery…”
“There were more courting couples than corpses as I remember.”
“Lots of stiffs.”
“Francis Collins! You would not speak like that if your Lou was still around.”
“No, and I wouldn’t be sitting on a bus with you, going to visit her grave would I?”
“Do you think we’d still be… you know… if the girls were still alive?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, would we still be able to perform?”
“I can still sing a bit.”
“I mean perform in bed.”
“Oh no, I never sing in bed.”
“Oh very funny. You know what I mean. Would we still be able to rise to the occasion?”
“Well, strangely, I was all ready to go when I woke up this very morning.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Scared me half to death if I’m honest. I thought it was rigor mortis. Anyway, did we decide in the end, you know, how long we’ve been doing this?”
“This will be the tenth time we’ve done it.”
“Ten years. Ten years of just you and me. Ten years of dreadful coffee, still frozen chips and gala pie for Sunday lunch. The kind of whisky that should only be sold from the pumps at petrol stations… Do you ever think about marrying again?”
“Me? I never really thought about it the first time. It was just meant to be. I don’t think that lightning strikes twice.”
“Oh it does. Surely you remember Roddie Frazier, he was almost permanently charred.”
“Oh yes, Lightning Rod, whatever happened to him?”
“He emigrated to Australia. Thought that he would make it big in opal mining.”
“Lightning Ridge?”
“Yup, he thought that he was somehow immune after all the times he’d been struck over here.”
“And he wasn’t?”
“We’ll never know. He choked on a barbecued shrimp the day he arrived.”
“Can’t help the digestion can it, being upside down all the time.”
“I suppose not, no…”
“Excuse me for asking, but are you aware, Francis, that you have a full ball of cotton wool wedged in your ear?”
“Indeed I am my friend.”
“Why?”
“Wax Benny, I have wax in my ear so I can’t hear a thing.”
“The cotton wool can’t help.”
“The doctor told me to put olive oil in.”
“Olive oil? Do you have olive oil?”
“No, which is why I used the next best thing: lard.”
“Lard? You put lard in your ear? So why do you need the cotton wool?”
“Are you aware of how hot it is in there Benny? After a few minutes I had liquid pig running down my face. I smelled like pork crackling.”
“So, is it working?”
“Pardon?”
“I said is it working?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. I’ve got an earful of rendered Saddleback and cotton wadding.”
“Surely the other one is still functional.”
“Oh yes, the other one is indeed working, I just find that it’s usually pointing in the wrong direction somehow…”
“You always were good at turning a deaf ‘un. What about you Frankie, have you ever thought about jumping the broomstick again?”
“With these knees? I couldn’t jump a matchstick. No, old friend, it’s the single life for me. I’m starting to appreciate your dreadful coffee, ketchup sandwiches for breakfast and the kind of whisky you can clean coins in. Come on, let’s cheer up, we’re almost there. We’ll lay the flowers, pay our respects and then we’ll raise a glass to what we have left.”
“Love conquers, old chum, but friendship endures.”
“As does heartburn.”
“And a decent pair of trolleys.”
“Oh yes, always a decent pair of trolleys…”

First Published 09.02.24

Frankie & Benny #9 – Vaccinations

“…You’d think they’d have coffee, wouldn’t you? Perhaps a custard cream or something. We’ve been here ages”
“Well, I don’t suppose they want to be encouraging folk to linger do they? I think ideally they want us in and out.”
“Really? Well how long have we been waiting here now my friend?”
“Just under forty minutes I think, but we did arrive almost an hour early.”
“Yes, well that wasn’t entirely our own fault was it?”
“Well no. I suppose we could quite legitimately blame the landlord for chucking us out of the pub so early. I’ve no idea why he should need to go upstairs to cook himself a meal anyway when he’s got a cabinet full of meat pies on the bar.”
“True, although if he’d eaten one of those he would probably have had to see the doctor before us. Some of those pies have been in there so long you can tell how old they are by cutting them in half and counting the rings.”
“Then you can’t really blame him for not wanting to eat them, can you.”
“I can blame him for charging me two quid every time I have one.”
“To be honest, I bet it costs him more than that to keep the bloody things warm for weeks on end. Besides, he only keeps them for you Frankie, nobody else touches them… unless they want to build a rockery perhaps.”
“Well at least they’re hot Benny, not like the shitey pasties you eat.”
“He microwaves the pasties. Nothing survives a microwave, does it? And I never eat the cold bits…”
“Well, he could have had one of those then, couldn’t he, and we could have stayed in the warm a bit longer.”
“To be fair, he can’t survive on just pies and pasties can he? I mean, alright I know that we do, but he’s young and soft. He likes his veg.”
“We’re eating veggie tonight.”
“I thought we were having fish and chips.”
“Fish, chips and mushy peas. How veggie do you want?”
“Good point. And anyway, fish is veg as well, isn’t it really? And bread and butter…”
“…Marge. Bread and marge. Margarine is made from veg.”
“To be honest, the stuff you buy is probably made from old sump oil. Have you ever checked the ingredients?”
“In margarine? No. Have you?”
“Well no, Francis my friend, but I don’t buy my spread from the local coal merchant.”
“Don’t exaggerate Benny, he’s a mobile grocer… He just sells coal as well.”
“Frankie, he’s a coal merchant with a van who sells anything he can get out of Derek’s ‘Only Slightly Out of Date’ bargain bin.”
“Well whatever, it’s proper margarine… and I can’t read Russian anyway. What’s the time?”
“Have you lost your watch again?
“That depends on how you define ‘lost’.”
“Have you got it?”
“No.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“No.”
“That, old chum, is how I define ‘lost’.”
“Ok, let’s go for lost then.”
“It’s ten to.”
“When are our appointments?”
“Mine’s at five to and yours is at five past.”
“…I still think they should offer us coffee.”
“Look, we’ll just get this done, buy our fish suppers and you can come back to mine for a coffee, ok?”
“I think I’ll have tea.”
“I thought you wanted coffee.”
“Not your coffee.”
“What’s wrong with my coffee?”
“Have you tasted it?”
“No, I don’t drink coffee. I stick to tea.”
“Ok, well where did you get it from?”
“I’ve no idea… Actually, I think you gave it to me… So, the coal merchant probably.”
“No, well, it’s probably for the best that they don’t serve coffee here if I’m honest. I’m busting for a pee.”
“Why don’t you go here?”
“Here? At the doctors? Are you mad?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around you, the place is full of sick people. No, I’ll just sit here, thank you very much, and wait for my injections… Which arm will they use?”
“I think we’re having flu and covid, so they’ll use both.”
“Really? My arm was as stiff as buggery after my covid last year. If they do both together I won’t even be able to scratch my own arse tomorrow.”
“Always a silver lining eh?”
“…Did you feel ill last time?”
“Not really. Bit of a headache I think, but I took something for it.”
“What did you take?”
“A tumbler-full of cheap whisky, that did the trick.”
“Then, good doctor, I will follow your advice – indeed, if they are doing both arms, I shall have two tumblers-full.”
“Very wise, Francis, very wise… So when we get these injections done we’ll eat our vegetarian suppers and drink our medicine whilst watching ‘Only Connect’ on the TV shall we?”
“Yes, although I’m not sure why we always watch that, we never know the answers?”
“Well no, but we like watching the presenter, don’t we? We can turn the sound down if you like.”
“Yes, that would be better, wouldn’t it.”
“We’ll certainly feel less stupid.”
“I doubt that will work. We are, old pal, exceedingly skilled at ignorance.”
“In modern parlance, I believe it is probably known to be our default position.”
“Like hiding behind the hat stand when the Jehovah’s Witnesses knock on the door?”
“Indeed.”
“Like when you put your collar up and pull your hat down whenever you see a poppy seller?”
I don’t do that… Do I do that?”
“Indeed you do, my friend.”
“Well, if they want us to buy a new one every year, they shouldn’t make them last so long, should they? See, like this vaccination we’re having, they change them every year, don’t they. Just enough to make us think that we’ve got to have the new one.”
“But the vaccination is free.”
“So are the poppies for some: I’ve seen what you put in the box.”
“It’s proper money, they’ll just need to get it changed.”
“I’m not sure they’re that desperate for a peseta.”
“They might be collectible these days, pesetas.”
“Well, it is possible I suppose, although the bus driver didn’t think so, did he?”
“I’m not certain that his language was entirely appropriate.”
“Ah well, at least we had plenty of time to walk, since the dipstick landlord chucked us out onto the street with over an hour to kill.”
“…And only a two peseta pie for sustenance…”
“You didn’t!”
“Rude not to Benny, rude not to…”

First published 20.10.23

Frankie & Benny #8 – Barry

“…Well, I’m pleased we went.”
“Yes, me too, I’m pleased we went.”
“I’m sure he appreciated it.”
“…Do you think he knew who we were?”
“He thought you were one of the staff; that’s why he asked you to empty his commode. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d remembered who you were, now would he?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. He always had a strange sense of humour, Barry, I think that’s why nobody liked him… Would you visit me if I was in one of those places?”
“Of course. You owe me money.”
“Do I?”
“You don’t remember? Maybe we ought to go straight back and sign you in. Where do you keep your Will?”
“I don’t have a Will. I don’t have anything to leave – unless you want the Crinoline Lady off my spare toilet roll.”
“You have a spare toilet roll?”
“Anyway, I don’t owe you money, do I?”
“Have you got any?”
“On me? No.”
“Let’s hope we can find a pub that gives credit then, because it’s your round.”
“Francis, my dear friend, I always ensure that I maintain the pecuniary wherewithal to finance your sad alcohol dependence. I have my debit card in my wallet, an emergency ten pound note sewn into the hem of my trousers and, should all else fail, a lead-lined cosh in my pocket. Do not worry my friend, you shall not want for a tipple. And anyway, when have I ever missed my round?”
“What about last week?”
“Frankie, I was in bed with flu. You came round to mine and drank all four of the cans I had in the fridge and you ate all of my Blue Ribands.”
“I brought tea to your bedside.”
“Call that tea? It was like warm pish.”
“Honey and lemon, very good for you – at least, it would have been if you’d had any honey in…”
“…Or lemon…”
“…Or lemon.”
“So, what was it then?”
“Golden syrup and Oxo. I had to improvise.”
“You thought that you’d cure me with sweetened gravy?”
“At least I came to see you.”
“And you ate all my sausages!”
“They were going off.”
“I’d only bought them the day before.”
“Well you should have taken them back, they were horrible.”
“Really? What was the sell-by date on them?”
“Who looks at sell-by dates? You can smell if things are going off.”
“So they weren’t off then? Otherwise you wouldn’t have eaten them.”
“No, not off, just horrible. Where did you get them?”
“The corner shop.”
“You’ve been in Derek’s Bargain Bin again haven’t you? I told you, he just puts the crap out of his own fridge in there. No wonder you’ve been ill, eating all that stuff.”
“I didn’t eat it, did I? You did.”
“Yes, well I’ve always had a stronger constitution than you haven’t I? Even when we were kids, you were always the weakling.”
“I was not!”
“You were. You were never at school. Always wrapped up at home in bed, in your muffler.”
“My mum was just a bit over-cautious, what with my dad and everything.”
“Your dad?”
“Yes, and his chest.”
“Benny, there was nothing wrong with your dad’s chest. He was on the sick from 1955 to 1985 and I never once heard him cough. ‘Work-shy Wilf’ my dad used to call him. The only time he ever broke sweat was when he had to go and sign on.”
“He gave his life to that foundry. All that smoke got onto his chest, that’s what killed him.”
“Benny, he smoked sixty a day. I never once saw him without a fag on.”
“Can’t have helped, I’ll grant you…”
“Staying at home in bed, in the room directly above your dad had to be more unhealthy than going to school. Maybe you missed out on headlice, threadworm, measles, chickenpox and mumps, but laid up there, I’m surprised you didn’t turn into some kind of a kipper.”
“Well that’s as maybe, but I didn’t miss out on mumps did I?”
“Oh no, I forgot you caught that when you were eighteen didn’t you? You had a ball-bag like a bull elephant. You had to lie flat on your back for weeks. Your mam could never balance the breakfast tray on your bed…”
“Yes, well I’m pleased you find it amusing Frankie. It was a scary time.”
“Of course my friend, of course I understand. The fear of not being able to have children…”
“I don’t think that ever bothered me. I was worried that I would never be able to wear the new flares I had just bought. They had a button fly and very little in the way of non-essential space.”
“Yes, you always did like a tight trouser, didn’t you?”
“It was the fashion.”
“It might well have been the fashion, but I don’t think I ever saw you sit down for about six years.”
“Yes, well I’ve got over it now.”
“You certainly have.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, your trousers are exceedingly… accommodating these days, aren’t they?”
“I buy for comfort now.”
“Yes, you look as comfortable as a man twice your size.”
“Well, thank you for your sartorial input, Mr Versace… You didn’t answer me earlier. Would you visit me if I was in one of those places?”
“What makes you think that it won’t be you visiting me?”
“Well, granted that you’ve got a bit less ground to cover before you get there than me, but let’s just suppose…”
“Maybe we could both go ga-ga together.”
“Maybe we already have.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well ok, take this bus, why are we sitting upstairs and why are we right at the front?”
“It’s what we always do.”
“Yes, but why?”
“I don’t know. Do we have to have a reason? It’s just what we always do isn’t it.”
“We used to come upstairs to smoke, like everybody else back then, nobody under fifty ever sat downstairs, I remember that, but why did we start sitting at the front? I don’t remember Frankie, do you?”
“No Benny, I don’t, but I don’t think that means we’re going senile either. Nobody remembers exactly why they do everything they do. It isn’t practical. Why do you always wipe your chin with a hankie before you eat?”
“I don’t… Do I? I didn’t even realise I did that.”
“My point is, Benny, you get to our age and it’s much more important that we remember what we have to do today than why we started doing something else God-knows-when.”
“And you think that’s all it is: knowing where we are and why we’re there?”
“As long as I can remember that it’s your round, I’ll be happy.”
“But what if it isn’t?”
“Then I’ll have to hope that you’ve forgotten.”
“…Do you remember when you realised that Barry wasn’t quite right?”
“Barry was never quite right.”
“Yes, I admit he was always a little bit… adjacent… I’ll give you that, but we didn’t notice when he started to change, did we?”
“Change? The thing is, we all change all the time don’t we.
“And?”
“Because it happens so slowly, you just don’t see it.”
“Like you reaching into your pocket at the bar?”
“Or you stumping up for a fish supper when it’s your turn of a Friday.”
“He kept forgetting names though didn’t he? Then he kept forgetting where he lived. Do you think we should have noticed sooner?”
“We all thought he’d had too much to drink.”
“To be fair, he normally had.”
“Yes, and if I’m honest, if I’d lived where he lived, I’d probably try to forget it too.”
“Not the best of housekeepers was he?”
“Generally speaking, flood did a better job.”
“Anyway, I’m pleased we went to see him.”
“Yes, me too.”
“We should raise a glass to him later.”
“Providing we remember…”
“Yes.”
“Do you know whether this bus turns round at the end of the route?”
“We’ve missed our stop, haven’t we?”
“Yes…”

First published 26.05.23

Frankie & Benny #7 – The Cold

“…How many layers are you wearing under that coat Benny?”
“Why?”
“Four, five?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“You look like somebody’s pumped you up.”
“Well, you’ve got plenty on yourself.”
“Nothing special: vest, shirt, jumper, cardigan and hoodie – the same as I wear about the house. I just threw a coat on top to come out with you.”
“Your dressing gown belt is hanging below your coat.”
“…And a dressing gown.”
“Well, whatever. It’s cold, I’ll grant you that, but it’s nice to get a little bit of sun on the face isn’t it.”
“Drizzle.”
“Alright, if it makes you happy, it’s nice to get a little bit of drizzle on the face. It’s nice not to be looking at the same four walls.”
“Especially with your wallpaper.”
“What’s wrong with my wallpaper? I put that up myself.”
“How long ago, twenty years? Thirty?”
“Probably. About the same time you last bought new trousers.”
“What’s wrong with my trousers? They’re good trousers.”
“There’s nothing wrong with them Frankie. I like a good turn-up myself. And a button fly. How long does it take you to do that up in the morning?”
“If I’m honest I don’t normally bother unless I know I’ve got to go out.”
“…My wife chose that wallpaper, that’s why I’ve never changed it, since she… It’s the only time I’ve ever wallpapered.”
“It’s stayed up well, I’ll give you that. No sign of it peeling or anything.”
“So it should. It cost me a fortune in Bostick!”
“Bostick?”
“It was all they had at the corner shop. Everyone in the block was suffering hallucinations the week I put it up.”
“You made a good job of it though.”
“Until I ran out of paper.”
“Yes, well, always been the elephant in the room that one, hasn’t it. Couldn’t you have got some more?”
“They wanted me to buy a whole roll and I only needed one length. I always meant to push that old Tallboy in front of it, but…”
“…It’s hiding where you tried to plaster over the serving hatch.”
“So I’ve never bothered much since… Do you fancy a pasty?”
“What time is it?”
“Pasty time.”
“Ok then. We’ll walk through the park shall we, get one from the pub?”
“Why not? Nothing like a microwaved pasty and a pint of lager for warding off the cold.”
“What about a whisky?”
“Whisky? Are you paying?”
“Well, I have had a small win on the scratchcards.”
“Really? How small?”
“Enough for a whisky to accompany our pasties and, but not enough to put the fire on when we get back home.”
“Oh well, an hour in the pub then, and then an afternoon on the seat over the heater on the bus before we head home.”
“Are we at yours or mine tonight?”
“Mine I think – providing you do your buttons up.”
“I’ll probably put my onesie on.”
“You’ve got a onesie?”
“Yes. Well, it’s more of an overall if I’m honest. I kept it when I finished work.”
“That was fifteen years ago.”
“I knew it would come in… and since I spilled the tomato soup it matches my slippers.”
“Do you sleep in it?”
“Benny, I’m in my eighties. I sleep in everything.”
“So do you wear it over your clothes then?”
“Some of them, I mean, I don’t suppose you’ll be putting your heating on will you?”
“It depends on what you class as heating…”
“I’ll bring a blanket then, shall I?”
“A hot water bottle wouldn’t go amiss… and drop a tea bag in it. It’ll save boiling the kettle later.”
“I’ll bring those squashed Wagon Wheels* I got last week.”
“We’ll put a plastic bag over the smoke alarm and light a candle, that’ll warm things up.”
“I might have to take these plus-fours off though. I think I might be allergic to tweed and they might be just a bit too much even inside your flat… Still the bloody drizzle. I wish I’d put my balaclava on…”

*A chocolate covered marshmallow topped biscuit. When I was a child the advert used to go, ‘Wagon Wheels are the treat for me. They’re the biggest biscuit you ever did see.’ They have shrunk.

First published 15.02.23

Frankie & Benny #6 – Christmas

“Ah Benny, Merry Christmas old chum. Come in, come in and slip off your shoes. Your slippers are by the fire and your breakfast sherry is by the toast.”
“Breakfast sherry? Excuse me for saying so Francis my friend, but is it not traditional to drink Bucks Fizz on Christmas morning – fine Champagne and freshly squeezed orange juice – and not cheap British sherry from a milk bottle?”
“It may well be Benny, it may well be, but only in the kind of circles that can live with the fact that a litre of pasteurised orange juice is twice the price of a pint of draught sherry and the nearest the local mini-mart has to fine Champagne is warm Lucozade. If you are worried about your health, I can put some roughage in the sherry for you: I’ve just burned the toast, I can scrape it into your glass if you’d like.”
“Don’t get angry Frankie – you’ll burn the eggs as well – you know full well that we like to push the boundaries you and I. We may well set the trend. Within a year or two the landed toffs will be sending the faithful old family retainer down to the corner shop on Christmas Eve saying ‘Here’s a tenner. Bring us back a bottle of that sweet sherry with a picture of a stagecoach on the front and a couple of vacuum-packed kipper fillets if they’ve got them: the ones with a little pat of butter in. Get yourself a pack of five Park Drive with the change and Merry Christmas Jeeves. Make sure you’re back in plenty of time to stuff the turkey mind…’”
“‘…And give that orange juice and fizzy wine shite to the kitchen staff. Let the chef cut the meat up first though, I don’t want thumb in my duff again.’ How do you want your bacon Benny, crispy or crispy?”
“Tradition dictates that it is crispy my friend, like the eggs and the tomatoes. The black pudding, however, should still be frozen in the middle and the mushrooms left, forgotten in the fridge until New Year’s Eve.”
“And how do you like your fried slice these days, my Masterchef friend?”
“White or wholemeal?”
“White.”
“Crispy, able to withstand a sound dunking in tomato ketchup. Shall I pour the sherry?”
“The cups are on the table.”
“Cups? How very refined. And they’re matching too – at least they both have handles.”
“Well you can’t have mugs, can you? Not on Christmas Day. Anyway, they’re still in the sink from yesterday. I’ll wash them for the wine at dinner.”
“We’re having wine at dinner?”
“Of course.”
“What kind?”
“The cider kind. The kind you buy in plastic two litre bottles and drink from a mug.”
“Lovely.”
“So have you brought the bird?”
“Yes, of course… In a manner of speaking…”
“What kind of manner of speaking? You have brought a bird haven’t you?”
“Well yes, in part, yes.”
“In part?”
“Legs, I’ve bought legs! It’s all I could afford, but we’ve got two each.”
“Legs? Where am I going to put the stuffing?”
“In the Yorkshire Pudding?”
“Yorkshire Pudding? Who has Yorkshire Pudding with Christmas dinner?”
“They were on offer at the Co-op with a packet of Surprise Peas and a Mint Vienetta.”
“Then we shall stuff the Yorkshire Puddings and set fire to the Vienetta. Cheers my friend.”
“Cheers… You know I could quite get to like sherry and fried egg.”
“It’s like a deconstructed advocaat.”
“Lovely. So, when shall we unwrap our presents then?”
“Unwrap our presents?”
“Yes, should we do it now, before lunch or after tea?”
“We always buy one another the same thing Benny, every Christmas, year after year: you buy me a bottle of cheap scotch and I buy you a bottle of cheap ruby wine, and we drink them both with a packet of cheese and onion crisps before falling asleep on the sofa with a mince pie each and two Gaviscon.”
“I know that, but it’s Christmas, we still have to unwrap our gifts.”
“I haven’t wrapped mine.”
“…Can’t you go and wrap it now?”
“In what? Why?”
“In anything. It’s the only thing I have to unwrap on Christmas day. I’ve wrapped yours…”
“You have?”
“Of course. Really colourful paper too: robins, snow, all that jazz. It’s got the football results on the other side if you’re interested.”
“…I could put it in a bag.”
“What sort of bag?”
“Well, it’s not a bag exactly, it’s what the toilet rolls came in. it’s got polar bears on it.”
“Ok.”
“If it means that much to you.”
“It does.”
“Fair enough. I’ll do it while you prepare the sprouts.”
“Ok, we’ll clear the breakfast stuff and then we ought to have a bit of a check on the dinner.”
“It’s not a problem. We’re all set: look, we have turkey legs…”
“…Chicken…”
“…We have chicken legs, frozen; Surprise Peas, frozen; Yorkshire Puddings, frozen; potatoes, tinned; carrots, tinned; stuffing, powdered; gravy, powdered…”
“Do you think we really need sprouts?”
“They’re traditional.”
“Do you like them?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I’ve got a tin of baked beans back at mine.”
“Then fetch them, after all, we thumb our noses at tradition don’t we?”
“We are at the vanguard. We are the way forward. We are the new normal… When shall we have the marzipan fruits?”
“After the washing up?”
“Good idea. I’ll put the kettle on. If we’re having marzipan, we’ll need tea.”
“Oh yes, lovely.”
“Merry Christmas, my friend.”
“Merry Christmas…”

First published 23.12.22

Frankie & Benny #5 – Trick or Treat

“So Frankie, shall we do yours or mine on Monday?”
“We’ll do yours Benny. Your door sponges down easier than mine.”
“So you say. Ok, well you’ll have to help me block the letterbox again and make sure we’ve got plenty of food in.”
“Yes, it took us a full week to get out last year after the little buggers superglued the lock.”
“My lock.”
“Yes, well, we made the mistake of letting them know we were in there.”
“‘Trick or Treat?’, ‘Trick or Treat?’… If I’m honest, yes, I’d like a treat thank you. How about I could afford to turn my heating on? How about I don’t have to sit under a blanket at night to keep warm?”
“Ah, but we like the blankets don’t we.”
“Well yes, ok, at night with the telly on.”
“A cup of tea and a Yo-Yo.”
“Legs all tucked in.”
“And you with that bloody rubber Frankenstein hand again no doubt.”
“There should be a good film on the telly mind.”
“It’ll be a horror won’t it, being Halloween.”
“I suppose so. What was it last year? The Exorcist wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and you pee’d your pants.”
“I spilled my tea. It made me jump.”
“It made you put a cushion on your crotch for the rest of the evening.”
“You know, I don’t remember Halloween even existing when we were kids.”
“No. It was an American thing wasn’t it.”
“Yes, I think that bloody alien brought it over.”
“Alien?”
“Yes. In that film. Little green thing. Long finger. Sat on the front of a bike while all the kids wandered about with sheets over their heads.”
“E.T.?”
“Probably. We didn’t have it till then did we: Halloween? Bloody Trick or Treat: extortion I call it. Robbery in a white sheet and grandma’s make-up.”
“Well, they don’t bother much with the fancy dress around here do they – unless you count a black balaclava and a baseball bat. Never mind a pumpkin in your window to show that you’re Trick or Treat friendly. I reckon you’d need a gun emplacement in the foyer to keep the little sods away.”
“Not so little most of them.”
“No. So big these days aren’t they? One day a toddler and the next a full-grown mugger.”
“They were taking credit cards last year.”
“For payment?”
“No, they were actually taking credit cards and buying stuff from the corner shop.”
“Blimey, they must have had to buy a lot of sweets: don’t they have a minimum £5 spend on a card?”
“They don’t do Haribo these days apparently, kids, they do Johnnie Walker and Benson & Hedges.”
“It was all about Bonfire Night when we were kids wasn’t it?”
“Penny for the Guy.”
“Dignified begging. At least there was some effort went into making those Guys.”
“Unless you could nick one off the smaller kids.”
“Of course, but it was all much more innocent then, wasn’t it?”
“November the fifth, a box of Brock’s in the back garden, a mug of Bovril and a blackened potato out of the bonfire.”
“Disappointing rockets and Catherine Wheels that fell off the pin and scorched your dad’s begonias.”
“Roman Candles that threw sparks into your bobble hat and burned great patches out of your hair.”
“Tying a Jumping Jack to your sister’s coat.”
“And bonfire toffee, do you remember that?”
“I do, Francis my friend. I do. Rock hard shite. It was like chewing a sweetened paving slab.”
“And Mischief Night the night before.”
“Oh yes, knock and run…”
“…Dog shit on the door handle…”
“…Bangers through the letterbox…”
“… So, we lock the door, block the letterbox, turn off the lights and pretend we’re not in until after Bonfire Night.”
“Shall we have a Halloween themed meal?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know… Egg and chips?”
“Egg and chips? How’s that Halloween themed?”
“Well, it’s what we always have. Have you got a better suggestion?”
“Well, let me think now… What about Ghoulash? Stake and chips? Maybe something with loads of garlic in it.”
“Why garlic?”
“It wards off the vampires.”
“It wards off everything when you’ve eaten it.”
“Mm, it doesn’t sit well with me does it?”
“It oozes out of you. Sharing a room with you is like being locked in a dustbin with a French corpse. I have to wash my clothes when I’ve been in the lift with you.”
“No garlic then?”
“Not unless you want it with egg and chips.”
“Shouldn’t we have pumpkin?”
“Pumpkin what?”
“Pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, pumpkin and chips. I don’t know, I’ve never eaten pumpkin.”
“I don’t think anybody eats pumpkin. It’s like turnip: it’s a straight out of the bag and into the bin thing.”
“So what then?”
“I’ve told you, egg and chips, a fresh cream éclair and a cup of tea.”
“A few tinnies with the film afterwards. Champion. Just like always… except we’ll be in the dark.”
“Oh God, yes. I suppose I’ll be chiselling egg yolk off the settee again.”
“You leave them too runny.”
“Too runny? Who wants a solid egg yolk? You can’t dip your chips in a solid egg yolk.”
“You can when you’ve cooked ‘em! Last time they were still frozen.”
“I was trying to save gas.”
“Well it didn’t work did it? I had to thaw mine out one at a time in front of the fire.”
“You’re very quick to criticise. You’re no Egon Ronay yourself you know. The biggest leap forward in your cookery skills came when you took the batteries out of the smoke alarm. And anyway, we’re not having the fire on this time. We’ve got blankets and hot water bottles. We’ll just sit the week out. It’ll be like the blitz. Especially if you’ve had garlic.”
“It’ll keep the kids away from the door.”
“It’ll definitely put them off their Smarties.”
“…Do kids still eat Smarties?”
“I’m sure they do. I’ve seen them sharing them out. Only the blue ones mind.”
“Are you sure they’re Smarties?”
“What do you mean, M&M’s?”
“No, I don’t think they’re M&M’s either.”
“What then?”
“I think they’re probably pills.”
“Viagra?”
“No Benny, not Viagra.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, randy little buggers.”
“I think they’re probably amphetamines my friend?”
“What?”
“Amphetamines. Bennies, Benny. Speed, whiz, whip…”
“Bloody hell, you sound like a script for Batman. What do they do with those then?”
“Well they keep them awake. It’s why they’re down in the front there firing rockets at the fire brigade at three o’clock in the morning. It’s why they’re setting fire to your bin at midnight. It’s why they’re asleep all day. It’s probably why they keep mistaking your door for a lavatory…”
“…Do you remember those little brown tablets we used to take as kids Frankie? Really perked you up they did.”
“I think you’re talking about Fisherman’s Friends old chum.”
“Am I?”
“They certainly cleared the sinuses, I must admit.”
“Maybe I’ll get a bag of those for the Trick or Treaters.”
“It might not be wise my friend.”
“No, I suppose you’re right. We’ll keep the door shut and the lights out. If anyone knocks we’ll pretend we’ve had a stroke.”
“…Shall we eat the Haribo now then?”
“Yes, let’s do it…”

I feel as though some explanation may be required for those of you reading this outside the UK.
Yo-Yo – a foil wrapped, mint cream topped, chocolate biscuit delight.
Haribo – jelly sweets made almost exclusively from cow knuckle and sherbert.
Bonfire Night – November the Fifth. A ‘celebration’ of a failed attempt to blow up the British parliament in 1605, in which an effigy of one of the plotters, Guy Fawkes, is burned on a bonfire. In the past, the effigy was often taken from house to house asking the householders to give ‘a penny for the Guy’. This was not begging, it was tradition. November Fifth, back then, was the only night on which, whatever the weather, fireworks were lit and as tradition dictated, damply fizzled out. The traditional Fireworks Night now runs from mid-September to Christmas.
Mischief Night – November the Fourth. The night on which all of those who did not stump up the ‘penny for the Guy’ learned the error of their ways.
Smarties – Like M&M’s, but less so.
Fisherman’s Friends – A small brown throat lozenge, also useful for removing the non-stick coating from Teflon pans.

First published 28.10.22

Frankie & Benny #4 – The Birthday

“It’s your birthday Frankie my friend, so you choose. What should we do today?”
“Well now Benjamin, that’s a tricky one. I mean the world is so full of opportunities, isn’t it? We could take a cruise on our private yacht. We could have lunch in our favourite restaurant in Paris, dip our toes in the water at St Tropez, perhaps fine wines and an evening with Barry Manilow in Las Vegas… or we could perhaps walk a slow circuit of the park…”
“…Like we always do…”
“…drop in at the pub for a pie and a pint…
“…as ever…”
“…home for an afternoon snooze…”
“…the same as always…”
“…and then a film on the TV at yours or mine with a couple of cans of beer and a microwave chicken curry…”
“…just the same as every Saturday.”
“ Ay… we like it though, don’t we.”
“We do, but don’t you think that we should do something just a little bit different as it’s your birthday?
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, it’s your birthday, you choose.”
“Well ok. We could… I can’t think of anything.”
“Oh come on. Use your imagination. We could go to the pictures.”
“The pictures, yes, that’s a grand idea. The pictures. We haven’t been to the pictures in years. What’s on?”
“Erm, let’s see. There’s ‘Nope’.”
“Nope?”
“Yes.”
“Is that the name of it? Of the film? What’s it about?”
“UFO’s I think.”
“Oh no. I can’t be doing with all that pie-in-the-sky mularkey. There are quite enough little green men in the pub of a Saturday night. Isn’t there a Western on or something?”
“There’s ‘Where the Crawdads Sing.’”
“What’s a crawdad?”
“No idea?”
“Oh. Well, who’s in it?”
“Erm, let me see here. It says Daisy Edgar-Jones, Taylor John Smith, Harris Dickinson and Garret Dillahunt…”
“How many people is that?”
“No idea.”
“Have you heard of any of them?”
“No.”
“There must be something else.”
“Well, there’s the new Top Gun.”
“Ah, I saw the first one of those.”
“And did you like it?”
“No.”
“Oh, we used to love the cinema though, didn’t we? Back in the day. You and me, two young ladies, a tanner each in the back row, a newsreel, a cartoon, a ‘B’ film and a main feature – a proper cowboy or cops and robbers…”
“A choc-ice at half time and ten minutes necking if you were lucky before the usherette turned her torch on you.”
“Necking?”
“Ay, canoodling, you know.”
“I remember the choc ices. The chocolate always fell off in the dark. You always came out of the pictures looking like you’d shit yourself.”
“I never could be trusted with chocolate, Benny. I think that’s why they invented the Milky Bar, so it didn’t show up so much on my beige loons.”
“Oh, you loved those loons.”
“And my brown suede Hush Puppy boots.”
“It used to be great, didn’t it, to get dressed up for a night out I mean?”
“Part of the fun, my friend: the matching shirt and tie, the drape coat…”
“…the tank tops and the cork-heeled shoes.”
“Perhaps that’s what we could do today, for my birthday: we could get dressed up, hit the town. Maybe we could have a more sophisticated lunch…”
“A ploughman’s, perhaps.”
“King prawns in our curry and perhaps hire a DVD instead of watching whatever old tosh is on the telly.”
“Do you have anything to play a DVD on?”
“No.”
“No, me neither. It’s all Netflix isn’t it now.”
“Have you got that?”
“No. I’ve got channel 4.”
“OK. That’ll do. We’ll watch ‘Bake Off’.”
“No, come on, let’s do it. Let’s get dressed up and head out for town. We might meet some ladies.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that Benny. I’m out of practice at all that. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Let’s not worry about that for now. Let’s just get our glad rags on and promenade.”
“Glad rags?”
“Sunday togs. Let’s do it.”
“I’m not sure. I think my best cardigan might be in the wash.”
“Come on, let’s just make the effort. Trousers without an elasticated waist, shoes without a tartan Velcro strap, you could take your vest off for a start.”
“I always wear a vest.”
“Over your shirt?”
“Oh, I must have got a little out of synch this morning. I woke up needing to… you know. I had to rush into my clothes. It’s freezing in that bathroom. I’ll move my vest under my shirt, change my trousers, put some shoes on, will that suit you?”
“Maybe gel your hair a little bit. So you don’t look quite so much like you’ve just got out of bed.”
“Gel? I don’t think I’ve got any gel. I’ve got some Vaseline from when I had that rash.”
“That’ll do. Instead of walking round the park and back to the pub, we’ll go straight through, maybe to that wine bar on the other side, and we can feed the ducks on the way.”
“Do they do pies?”
“The ducks?”
“The wine bar. Do they do pies?”
“Oh no. Sophisticated dining there, Francis my friend, couscous I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Couscous? What the hell is couscous?”
“No idea, but I’m sure they’ll do it with chips.”
“And beer?”
“Lager. Fancy lager. In bottles…”
“Ah what the hell. It’s my birthday. Let’s give it a go. I’ll go and get ready.”
“You’ll need a coat, mind.”
“Really?”
“It bucketing it down.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about my best shoes in that park when it’s raining: it’s a quagmire at the best of times. Full of dog shit as well if you’ve not got your wits about you.”
“Yes, you’re right. Maybe not your best shoes.”
“And trousers?”
“Elasticated ankles might be wise.”
“Perhaps we could just go straight to the pub.”
“It’s much nearer.”
“I’m not really over keen on ducks, truth be told.”
“No. Quacking little bastards.”
“Our age, it’s much more sensible to get out of the rain as quick as we can. We could catch our deaths.”
“We’ll do that then, and after that we’ll come back here for a cup of tea – I’ve got a pack of those Breakaway biscuits…”
“…and maybe a bit of a nap by the fire…”
“…chicken curry for tea and a couple of cans with the film on the telly.”
“Sounds great… I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday, old friend.”
“It’s always good to ring the changes. Cup of tea and a Kit-Kat before we go?”
“Great. Put the kettle on, I’ll go and change my vest and find a clean cardigan…”

First Published 16.09.22

Frankie & Benny #3 – The Night Before

“You, my friend, were drunk.”
“I was not drunk, Frankie. I have not been drunk in many years.”
“You were slurring your words. Were you having a stroke?”
“No.”
“Then you were drunk.”
“Nobody else said that I was slurring my words.”
“Well, they wouldn’t would they? They wouldn’t want to upset you, in case you were having a stroke.”
“I was as sober as a Methodist christening. I was not slurring my words. I was not drunk.”
“You were most definitely not sober. I walked the several miles home with you.”
“Several miles? We were only across the road. Eight hundred yards at the most”
“As the crow flies, Benny, I’ll give you that. Eight hundred yards in a straight line, but you were not walking in a straight line. You, Benny my friend, walked as far backwards as you did forwards, and twice as far to the side. You were bouncing off parked cars and garden fences like a pinball. You were singing to the lamp-posts.”
“You’re exaggerating again. I know what you’re doing. Alright, I had drunk a little – as had you – but I was not drunk.”
“Ah well, ok, have it your own way. Have you checked your coat pocket, by the way?”
“My coat pocket? What for?”
“Why don’t you go and check?”
“…A mushroom vol-au-vent. What does that prove? Everybody sneaks food away from a buffet. It’s expected.”
“We weren’t at a buffet, Benny. You went through the baker’s bin on the way home. Check your other pocket.”
“…What the?…”
“Chicken Chow Mien, I believe.”
“I don’t even like Chicken Chow Mien.”
“I know. You kept bothering a young couple at the bus stop, telling them your life story and eventually they offered you some of their food to go away. You said that you didn’t actually like the fore-mentioned concoction – I seem to remember you showed them how the noodles get under your dentures – but that you’d take some home for the dog.”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Indeed you do not. Nor do you have a parrot, but you also took their prawn crackers.”
“Oh dear. I must admit, I do have a bit of a fuzzy head this morning, but I don’t remember any of this. Are you sure you’re not winding me up here?”
“No. No, not at all… Well ok, maybe just a little bit. The landlord brought out the vol-au-vents after the quiz, that’s where you got that from.”
“And the Chow Mien?”
“That was from the couple at the bus stop.”
“Oh God… What were we even doing at a quiz, we’re both thick aren’t we?”
“I believe that is indeed what our teachers told us Frankie. A verdict I have never felt equipped to contradict.”
“So why were we doing a quiz?”
“There was a prize.”
“What?”
“A bottle of whisky.”
“And did we win it?”
“No, but we did drink one.”
“I think I’ll put the kettle on. Do you want a tea?”
“I wouldn’t say no. If I’m honest I feel a little out of sorts myself.”
“Do you want a biscuit?”
“Yes, and a couple of aspirin if you’ve got them.”
“…Why do we do it?”
“What?”
“Drink too much. At our age, why do we do it?”
“Well, I think that if we were sober, Benjamin my friend, we would not do it, but as soon as we get drunk, then we start to drink too much.”
“So you’re saying that if we didn’t start to drink at all, then we wouldn’t drink too much?”
“Precisely.”
“Well, that’s cleared that up for me then. Here, have a biscuit. I’ve only got Rich Tea I’m afraid.”
“Rich Tea? What happened to the Hobnobs?”
“I don’t have any.”
“You do, I was with you when you bought them yesterday.”
“I ate them.”
“When?”
“Last night when we got back from the pub. I also appear to have eaten several slices of toast and fried my last two eggs.”
“You ate your last two eggs?”
“You should listen to what I say Francis, perhaps clear some of that wax from your ears. I did not say that I ate my last two eggs, I said that I fried them.”
“So what did you do with them then?”
“Well, one of them I appear to have put in the fridge with a beer mat and a half-eaten spring roll.”
“And the other?”
“I have just found in my slipper…”
“So are you not going to wash your foot then?”
“I think I’ll just sit a minute first. Drink my tea… I might need to take a minute or two before… The yoke, you know… So how many of us did this quiz thing then? I mean, how many were in our team?”
“Just you and me old chum. Just you and me.”
“So we came last then?”
“Oh yes we did indeed. Very. But we did win a prize.”
“Really, what?”
“This.”
“A tiny cup. Very nice. I’ll keep it in my trophy cabinet with all the others. What does it say on it?”
“‘Wankers.’”
“Oh classy. Charming that. Quite a wag, that landlord, isn’t he?”
“He did apologize. He said that if he’d known we were going to take part, he would have had our names engraved on the loser’s trophy in advance.”
“Oh well, fair enough.”
“Yes, fair do’s, he could have insisted that the losers at least scored some points.”
“Did we not score any?”
“We never answered any, Benny. We spent the whole night arguing over our team name. I wanted to call us ‘Frankie and Benny’ – everyone knows who we are anyway – but you said it should be something clever and witty.”
“And?…”
“We couldn’t think of anything… How’s your head now?”
“Not so bad. I’m starving mind, how about you?”
“I could certainly go a fry-up.”
“Come on, I’ll just get this yolk off my sock and we’ll go and get one.”
“Ok. I fancy the whole works: fried bread, black pudding, mushrooms… That’ll sort me out.”
“Mind you, we did spend quite a lot at the pub last night. If you want, I could warm us something up here instead.”
“Oh yes, and what have you got?”
“How do you fancy Chicken Chow Mien?”

First Published 24.06.22

Frankie & Benny #2 – Goodbyes

“Well Francis my friend, that was a pleasant kind of morning, don’t you think?”
“Oh yes, certainly. You can’t beat a good funeral, can you?”
“No, you can’t. Indeed you can’t. Providing, of course, that it’s done right.”
“Oh yes, has to be done right.”
“Proper mourning. None of that happy-clappy nonsense. Proper solemn hymns. I like a good hymn.”
“Traditional, yes. A good traditional hymn, where the words don’t fit the tune properly and the verses don’t rhyme unless you pronounce them wrong.”
“Yes, nothing worse than being asked to sing something that sounds like it might have been written by Gary bloody Barlow. I am at a funeral, not a Take That concert. I do not wish to clap along. I do not wish to shake my hips. I do not want my vicar to wear a kaftan.”
“And I don’t want to celebrate the life of the dearly departed either: he was a miserable bugger anyway. Wouldn’t have appreciated a good joke at his own expense when he was alive, let alone now he’s in a box.”
“You knew him then?”
“Who?”
“The fella in the box.”
“No, no… not at all. I was just generalising. I didn’t recognise a soul. I thought the widow was very dignified though.”
“Even when they had to lower her down into the grave to get her bracelet out.”
“Always a perilous business, chucking soil down into a hole. Fraught with danger…”
“Nice to get out in the fresh air though. Get a bit of sunshine.”
“Definitely, beats a cremation. Who wants to sit indoors for twenty minutes just to see the curtain come around and knock the flowers over? Who wants to listen to the corpse’s favourite song when you could be on your feet banging out ‘Jerusalem’?”
“…Did I see you putting money in the collection, by the way?”
“Changing really. Couple of those coins in there that you can sell on Ebay, so I swapped them for a couple of bog-standard. Nobody loses out and possibly I might make a bob or two. Silver linings and all that.”
“Do you know how to put them on Ebay?”
“Not a clue, but still, better in my pocket than the vicar’s.”
“Have you ever considered your own funeral, my friend?”
“How so?”
“Well, what hymns you would have, what prayers… who would read your eulogy?”
“I don’t suppose it will be you: you’re three years older than me.”
“Fitter mind.”
“Do you reckon?”
“I traipse half way across the estate and up the stairs to your flat every day. All you ever manage is a stroll to the pub.”
“I walk a lot faster than you. You dawdle. Dawdle, dawdle, dawdle, like you’ve not a care in the world… Mind you, there’s no doubt why you want me to get to the bar before you, is there?”
“Nor why you never decide to have a pie until the second pint. ‘Oh look, it’s Benny’s round. I think I quite fancy a chomp on a chicken & mushroom.’”
“…I’ve written it all down, you know.”
“What?”
“My funeral wishes.”
“What on Earth for? What does it matter? You won’t be there, will you? Listening, I mean, or watching. Well, you’ll be there of course… unless you’ve been lost at sea or something. Unless you’ve just wandered off. ‘Police are making enquiries about the whereabouts of Francis Collins – known to his friends as ‘Tight Bastard’ – who they believe was trying to walk his way out of buying peanuts…’ but you won’t know what’s going on, will you? They could be singing a selection from Abba for all you’ll care.”
“No, no. I want it to be right, you know. I expect all of my friends will be dead by then – you’ll be long gone – and I want to make sure that I don’t repeat mistakes, you know.”
“Mistakes?”
“Well, look at that funeral we went to last week.”
“The one at the chapel?”
“Yes, the one with the paste-table for an altar.”
“It wasn’t a paste-table Frank.”
“It was made of hardboard!”
“It was not. Granted, it was sagging a little bit in the middle, but a paste-table it was not. Have you any idea how heavy all that silver is?”
“Well, no. Now that you mention it, Frankie, I do not. I have never lifted any. Tell me old friend, have you and, if so, when? Perhaps you could fill me in on the circumstances.”
“I have seen it being lifted on the Antiques Roadshow. Comment is often passed viz-a-viz the weight. ‘A fine example,’ they say. ‘Full of… decoration… and… very heavy.’”
“Yes, well whatever, the service was much too long and I didn’t know a single word of any of the hymns.”
“Nor the tunes.”
“Nor the tunes indeed my friend.”
“Lovely wake though. Corned beef sandwiches and pickled onions. Trifle. Lovely.”
“Yes, nice food, I’ll give you that. Good spread.”
“No free bar though.”
“No, shame that. Fortunate you had your hip flask.”
“Indeed. My many years of Dib-Dib-Dobbing not entirely wasted Frankie my boy. Always prepared.”
“So, don’t you have any last wishes then?”
“Well, nothing special. I want to be buried, not burned: the surgeon told me that this new hip will last a hundred years – I wouldn’t want that to go up in flames, now would I? …And I don’t want a photograph of me looking startled on the front of the Order of Service. Why do people always pick ‘amusing’ photos? I want a picture of me looking serious, sombre like, you know.”
“When did you last have your photograph taken, Benny?”
“Well, I don’t know. I had a passport back in the day. I must have had a photograph then.”
“Your passport ran out in the eighties. Have you not had a photograph taken since then?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, what on earth are they going to put on your pamphlet then? A drawing? A photo-fit?”
“Well, I don’t know. I always thought they might take one after I… After, you know.”
“Oh yes, that’ll be nice won’t it. ‘Ah look at him on that photo. He looks really… dead.’ Classy. ‘You can see where the cat chewed the end of his nose off.’”
“Are you suggesting that I should have my photograph taken now, in case I die suddenly?”
“Well, it would save a lot of bother, wouldn’t it? Tell you what, I could do it on my phone I think.”
“Could you? Do you know how?”
“Well no, but how difficult can it be? Look, there’s a little picture of a camera there.”
“Well, press that then.”
“Alright, alright, I will. There… Oh look, it’s me!”
“You need to turn it round.”
“Now I can’t see the screen.”
“I can.”
“Oh, shall I press the button then?”
“Yes.”
“Right… Which one?”
“I don’t know. Let me see. What about this one? Oh… That’s your ear. That won’t do. We’ll need to practice a bit, don’t you think? I don’t want to be buried with everybody thinking that I looked like your left ear.”
“Yes, you’re right. It’s not urgent anyway.”
“No, I’m not ready to say my ‘goodbyes’ just yet. It can wait.”
“Shall we just take a little stroll down to the pub?”
“Yes, a fine idea my friend. Lead on MacDuff, lead on…”

First published 22.04.22