Globusz^® Publishing 

Ernest and Katie Needle were both at work; the fact that it was a Friday would lead them through their routine for the day and carry them into their weekend. They had both started work in McNaughton’s London Brewery during the Swinging Sixties. Now heading towards retirement they moved like cogs within a giant machine. Having to pass a fish and chip shop on his way home from work and a local pub reminded Ernest, that God did at least create a perfect World for him.

Katie was married to a merchant seaman when she first started in the wages office; they had married young and he had enjoyed sex on a global scale before it killed him. She was hard and had wasted no time in next marching Ernest up the steps of the local registry office. The fact that he was shortly to inherit his hospitalised mother’s house was the biggest turn on to be had within the brewery workforce. Katie had still lived at the time with her large family, all-waiting for Sinbad as they called him to return bearing gifts; he never did. So she instead had to suffer Ernest.

The old horn that brought the day shift to a close caused the usual Friday jokes. Katie would make her way home ahead of  Ernest, as she was office staff; tonight however having to consider a pleading phone call she had received that day from her sister.

Katie knew how to tell her husband of the call. She would just wait until he was stuffing his face with the Friday night carrier bag full of stodge from the chip shop, washed down with a large bottle of McNaughton’s Light Ale. With his short concentration span, if she talked slowly enough, he would never know what he had agreed on.

Her plan worked, Ernest was only alerted to the news that their Nephew would be in the East End the next day and how nice it would be to see him, but not that Nineteen-year-old Norman Smith was to be their first lodger. In fact, he would be the first person ever to invade the private world of Ernest and Katie. Norman had been adopted by Katie’s sister Lucy and husband Frank Junior Smith. He had been found during the clean up after a rock festival. The Police could not be sure if he was abandoned or his Parents had just got stoned and forgot they had a baby, possibly wandered back to the wrong tent and started another life. He was rapped in a patchwork quilt made up of rock star portraits, as the centrepiece was Frank Zappa the Police named him Frank. That name caught the attention of Frank Junior Smith as he toured an orphanage with wife Lucy some years later, looking for a son and heir to their Council flat in Birmingham. Lucy however insisted on the name change, so Norman Frank Junior Smith was reborn out of compromise. Ernest would annoy Katie by referring to their nephew as Glastonbury.

The cause of Norman now being shipped off to London was of, “A rather delicate nature,” Lucy had explained. “Norman has been having improper relations with our next door neighbour and only whilst her husband is away fighting in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces!”

“Isn’t that treason?” asked Katie in a startled tone.

“No, but it would be if my Frank was King.” 

The couple embarrassed by Norman’s actions and fearing a quick end to the war gave him two choices; he fancied the staying alive one. Lucy had even offered Katie money knowing that would appeal to Ernest.

Following on from his Friday night stodge, Ernest fell asleep in his easy chair. He was a thin short man, untidy dark and grey hair, with a dress sense with which he would have looked at home in a silent movie.

Katie dozed off in their bed upstairs. This was always the prelude to Friday night out at their Friday night local, which involved just coming out the front door and turning right. Unlike their Saturday night out at their Saturday night local, which involved just coming out of their front door and turning left.

From 9 o’clock they took part in a real old East End knees up, Ernest loved it. Katie played cards with the ladies from the office; however this night she thought long and hard about how life might be with Norman the Nephew in tow. The evening slipped by as usual, Paddy the pub landlord pleading with Ernest later-on to make his way, “Down the yellow chip road and not to take sweets from strangers, only money.” Paddy always used the law as his excuse to close.

Once back home Katie and Ernest were soon tucked up in bed, he comatose, she now panicking about the dawning of the next day that would bring the end to their timeless and exclusive routine. She did eventually fall asleep only to wake to the sound of her alarm clock.

It was 9am the start of Katie’s Saturday morning two-hour bathroom makeover. She was still an attractive woman and loved this time of each week like no other. She pampered herself and sometimes in a sexual manner. In the bath she heard and felt their door buzzer. It sounded like the ones used on the old television quiz shows. Ernest on hearing it buzz and to his amusement only would shout out the answer to an imaginary quiz question, “Aborigines,” he shouted loudly as he made his way to the door.

Katie, curious as to why so much conversation was taking place, got out of the bath. She slithered still wet and soapy into her silk-look dressing gown. Her head appeared round the bathroom door, from where she could look straight down the stairs. Strange at first she thought, ‘No daylight showing up the damp patches on the flowery wallpaper; was the front door open, she strained to see beyond the cowering frame of Ernest.

As if wedged into their doorway, Katie saw an almost rectangular shape. Without her glasses she squinted long and hard before making out the smiling face of a young man near the top of the doorframe. “Who is it Ernest,” she enquired in her haughty tone.

“Says he is to lodge with us!” came his shocked reply.

With firmness now in her voice, Katie instructed Ernest to show his Nephew Norman into the Front Room. “I will be down shortly,” she advised the pair of them. On returning to the bath, the noises from below as the men attempted to close the front door, open the front room door and move Norman’s enormous suitcase, gave her much cause for concern; she sighed.

As Katie reached the bottom of the stairs, she caught sight of Ernest waving frantically from the safety of their lounge-dining room. He gestured it was time he escape to the pub; after all it was what he did Saturday mornings if he was not at work. Avoiding eye contact he hurried out through the back door, leaving it open to lesson the condemnation of his actions. Katie was pleased to see the back of him; she made her way to greet Norman. There in the front room, time had stood still since Ernest’s Parents had only once decorated and furnished it.

“We should open this room to the public at weekends,” remarked Katie.

“You would need wheelchair access though,” replied Norman.

She laughed, “I can tell we will get on like a house on fire, do you smoke?” 

“Yes please,” he said

“Do you drink?”

“Just a sherry at Xmas.”

“Funny, that’s not what your Mother told me, “I guess Ernest was of no help with that suitcase. He’s a right lazy so and so, but harmless.”

In the modest comfort of the front room, Katie and Norman drew hard on their cigarettes in almost a tribal manner. She explained that only her good self made the house rules. His room was at the front of the house, next to theirs, but not to worry, he would not hear any cries of passion coming through the wall. His guided tour of the house included the outside toilet, where he was informed, “That’s the gents’.” Katie had even more startling revelations; she explained how during the summer months the brewery took on temporary staff. Norman would start on Monday. However, she admitted that he would need to pass himself off as a student, “Company policy, sorry,” she said excusing herself, as she pointed to the whereabouts of snack food before going off to her room.

Having dressed for her weekly maintenance trip to the graves of her Late In-Laws, Katie waved to Norman, “See you for tea time and just ignore Ernest.” Her words relaxed him; he settled into an armchair in front of their big old television set in the back lounge diner and fell asleep.

Just like the classic fictional drunk, Ernest fell through his back door at 3.30. Norman was startled but did not show it, on account of his size he re-acted slowly to most things in life. Ernest stumbled round him as if he was a new piece of furniture and made his way up the stairs, “Alright; I Must ‘ave forgot you was coming to stay, excuse me I’m suffering from terminal laziness,” being the only conversation he managed.

Katie returned at 5 o’clock. Norman was asleep, but woke with her presence in the room as she handed him a cup of tea and explained the routine for the rest of the weekend. The evening meal as they called it was at 7 o’clock; a meat and veg affair, no pudding, McNaughton’s Light Ale to wash it down for the boys and tea for her good self. This would be followed by tea all round as a final stomach liner before their big Saturday night out.

Norman went off to his room. He now unpacked and tried to feel fully at home. Lying on the old double bed he gazed at a new world to him. This was a real afternoon television movie set he thought and perhaps Richard Burton would suddenly walk into the room. After much thought, he heard Katie calling out, “Grubs up.” Ernest must be conditioned to this routine thought Norman as he heard him stir and make his way down the stairs to the dining table.

Norman a touch nervous followed on. As he joined the others a chair awaited him at the table, opposite Katie. “Never ad a lodger before,” said Ernest.

“Nor me,” replied Norman. That was all the conversation that took place over that meal. 

After a couple of hours of watching television in silence Ernest went upstairs to put his Saturday night suit on. Katie passed in her Saturday outfit joined Norman on the sofa, “You will come,” she said.

“Sure,” he replied, wanting to fit in. He had not changed his clothes since arriving, but his look passed the Katie test or he would have been told.

When the three of them set off, it was of course out the front door turn left night, Ernest walked out in front leaving the others to walk side-by-side and even break the usual silence.

“Ernest has taken being a lert too literally,” pointed out Katie to Norman as she laughed.

As they entered the Prince of Wales pub it was as usual, busy and noisy with a happy locals atmosphere noted Norman. At first the crowd went into a bit of a whisper mode. They thought Norman was on his own and his size caused concern to the landlord Charles, “If he gets pissed, you can throw him out,” said Charles’ son Churchill as he pulled a pint for Ernest. Suddenly Norman was being introduced by Katie to one and all. This would be the theme of the evening, as curiosity brought over even those that preferred to socialise in their private clusters.

“Welcome to the Prince of Wales, I am Charles the landlord of course and the peoples’ true Prince of Wales,” bellowed a man in his sixties perched at the end of the bar watching all. His beer gut sitting proudly on the counter in front of him.

Ernest rose to the occasion like a proud father. It had always been Ernest and Katie, now there were three of them by default and Ernest was even more contented. At first Norman was taken off to sit with his Uncle and some brewery workers. Katie joined her lady friends in a booth, for cards and gossip. As the evening de-generated somewhat Norman got the chance to socialise, no longer under the proud, yet restricting glances of his newfound guardians. First to monopolise him was Nancy Trollope, this caused many heads to turn. “Trollope by name, Trollope by nature,” remarked Katie. The comments addressed to Ernest at his table were pure filth on this subject. 

Nancy was attractive; she worked in the same office as Katie. She was most kindly referred to as the merry widow. Her late husband Dick had been killed in a tragic accident at the brewery, where he also had worked. He was most well remembered for buying vegetables from the local market, then giving them away to the bosses at the brewery as his home grown. This along with his name and the circumstances of his death provided a constant source of sick humour, not only at the brewery but also at the local pubs. Even this night a pal of Ernest’s commented, “Pity your nephew’s not called Dick, Nancy still loves her dick.”

Nancy’s house backed on to Ernest and Katie’s, just separated by their small back gardens and the lane that ran the length of the streets. This meant of course with Ernest and Katie sleeping in their backroom and Nancy in hers, the merry widow had few secrets and no vegetable patch. A pair of binoculars once used for nights at the local dog track provided both Ernest and Katie separately with many hours of adult entertainment.

The Prince of Wales pub operated flexi-time on a Saturday, so landlord Charles informed his customers throughout the evening. “As long as you spend, we serve,” he croaked on noticing the till had gone silent. He and Churchill would take it in turns serving and stayed open all hours.

Katie thinking that it all might be a bit much for Norman on his first night, gathered up first Ernest by the scruff of his collar and then Norman more politely as the clock struck Mid-night. Ernest was in a state of shock walking home sober for the first Saturday night in his life possibly, “Everything looks strange,” he said. Katie wasted no time in giving her nephew the facts of life talk with the substitution of the birds and the bees for a somewhat more graphic Nancy theme. Ernest developed a new saying, “That’s right, your Auntie knows best,” he said in a pure grovel tone. The three bid the local chip-shop owner goodnight as they passed by. “I love that chip shop,” blurted out Ernest, as if he was making a confession.

“I know dear and the chip shop loves you,” replied Katie.

As the three entered their home, Katie was also confused to be home so early and sober on a Saturday night. She announced to Ernest she would be taking a long un-interrupted bath, followed by an early night with her romantic novel, which would be finished tonight and also without interruption; then she wished Norman goodnight. 

Ernest seemed relaxed and contented to have company. He sat in his favourite armchair; poured McNaughton’s Ale for the two of them and stretched his braces. “Blokes at work reckon this is a right affidavit if you drink enough.” he said.

“Do you mean aphrodisiac uncle?”

“Yeah that’s it. Do you like Chas and Dave?”

“Don’t know them,” replied Norman.

“Gertcha,” sounded the old man.

The two watched the latest news on the tele, “You wouldn’t catch me trying to sail round the world in a’rangatang,” commented Ernest with his words now slurred. 

“Nor me Uncle,” laughed Norman as he headed off for his first night’s sleep under the roof of the Needles. Ernest stumbled his way to the outside toilet. Norman knocked on the bathroom door, “Thanks for everything Auntie Katie,” he shouted through the sound of running water; there was no reply. Norman settled into his new bed, great he thought, this life is so easy and with a feeling of total security he fell asleep.

6 am. Sunday, Norman woke up with the fear of God in him. “What the fuck am I doing here,” he asked himself. It had dawned on him, that this was not the morning after the night before, more a case of the first day of the rest of his life. He took deep breaths to fight off an anxiety attack, then he managed to put things into perspective in his head. He reasoned with himself, he could just treat this situation like a working holiday with relatives. It did not have to be more than that. He thought about moving on after the summer, an old school mate Chris Mason worked as a waiter on the cruise ships, “That’s it he muttered, I will go to sea, move on from here, why not. I must send him an E-mail, an S.O.S. must be a Cyber Café round here somewhere.” They had been best friends all through school; it was their almost identical heights that had caused the bond. Chris the adventurer of the two had left school as soon as the chance came, leaving Norman to then concentrate and throw himself into years of endless exams. Chris went off in search of fun, he had told Norman, ‘The minute you take life seriously, it’s over.’ Norman had missed Chris; having found a possible way out of his predicament he dozed off again.

Katie took Norman in a cup of tea, waking him at ten. He needed coffee but made do. Sunday would be another day of unfaltering routine. Ernest would take his bath in the morning; then scatter his toenail clippings over the garden. “It’s good for the soil,” he informed Norman. 

“Must be right, Bloke in the Pub told me.” Katie sighed, she prepared the lunch before they set off to the pub. This session of the week was spent at the Hercules after a few introductions including the landlord Paddy who was not actually Irish, Norman found himself under the spell of the merry widow. The seat beside her was the only vacant seat ever it seemed, however he was in fact glad of her company, most present were much older than he. Nancy was, ‘Thirty something,’ she insisted; Katie in fact only knew her age and a sworn pact kept both their ages a secret. Both curvaceous blondes, they looked and acted like real cockney sisters.

Nancy warned Norman he was in for a boring day at his new home. Sunday evening was the only night of the week that both Ernest and Katie stayed in. “I think they have sex on Sundays,” she joked, then watched his reaction, he looked away. “Sorry, but imagine it,” she laughed; so did he. They continued to talk, laugh and enjoy each other’s company. Nancy suggested they should meet up that evening, if only to stop Norman feeling perhaps the odd man out at home. He thought perhaps he ought to give Ernest and Katie some privacy and agreed.

Katie marched her two men out of the pub at 3 o’clock sharp. Within minutes of their arriving back home, the Sunday roast was served. A bottle of McNaughton’s Ale sat in the centre of the table, “Wine of the hop,” announced Norman. This remark went over the head of Ernest, but not Katie, she loved her crosswords. After a huge meal, Ernest returned from a long visit to the outside toilet, switched on the news channel and dozed off. Katie remarked how little Ernest knew, considering how many hours he spent in front of that, “Flaming news channel.” 

After Norman had helped Katie with the washing up, she announced Sunday afternoons were spent alone in her room. Norman suggested he could use a bath before having a walk, “To check out the area, perhaps locate the brewery,” he added. Katie handed him over his own front door key. He explained that he would most likely have a few beers that evening, “Get to know a few of the natives perhaps he gestured.”

“Get to know Nancy more like,” she smiled and repeated some warnings regarding the merry widow. Norman took a short sleep before his bath, and then left the house still dressed in the clothes he had arrived in. On his way towards the brewery he passed Nancy’s front door, the house looked more modern than the others in the terraced street. Blinds not curtains, with modern light fittings showing through and a skylight set into the front of her roof. 

McNaughton’s Brewery gates were large and padlocked. Floodlights added to the bright early evening sun to give it the appearance through the steam of a space ship landing. Norman was glad to have his plan for escape in hand, as this place he thought was his worst nightmare.

Sunday night the Hercules was quiet and cold all year round. Paddy the landlord was watching tele on the big screen. Chain-smoking; with his pale tall skinny frame dressed in white vest and his grey hair he even looked like a cigarette as he coughed with every breath.

The picture was blurred; lions tour apart a zebra. The pub door flew open; Nancy swaggered up to the bar as she blew a kiss to Norman, seated in a corner. “No frigging wander, no bugger comes in here on a Sunday night, Paddy,” she yelled. “Put some music on or I’ll start singing.” Paddy laughed as he started to pour her usual drink. “Two quid,” he snarled, “Jukebox is over there.” Nancy sat down close to Norman, not in the seat he would have expected her to have chosen.

“Cheers my darling,” she almost whispered. “Can you believe this pub, it is a miracle Paddy can afford to keep it open, trade is so bad. He would never get a job anywhere; look at the state of him.” Norman nodded.

“So why are we here,” he asked.

“Privacy, too many wagging tongues at the Prince tonight,” she explained, “And that Charles is a right dirty bastard, calls Churchill a drip of the old cock. He stinks; his breath could start an epidemic. Claims not to brush his teeth, reckons that what you pay the Dentist for; it was no surprise his poor wife left him. She ran off with the Juke Box engineer and all they had in common was a crush on Cliff Richard. ” Nancy continued to chat away; Norman just listened and nodded. A few more customers did drift in, not the brewery crowd. Couples sat in what seemed like their regular Sunday night positions. Nancy asked Norman if he could sense the forbidden love atmosphere in the pub. She nodded him in the direction of some of the couples, commenting on their circumstances. “Affairs of the heart,” she sighed. “And sex.” Norman started to consider his position; now in the company of the merry widow he could feel others’ eyes upon him and became self conscious these people knew of, ‘Nancy’s fancies,’ as Katie had called them.

“The bad news is,” announced Nancy, “this poor excuse for a boozer closes tonight at ten, Paddy’s poor wife, cancer you see,” she whispered as she drew on a freshly lit cigarette. “The good news is you are invited to my humble home for a night cap.” She had undressed Norman with her eyes and got quite excited when catching sight of his size twelve boots. Norman noting her gaze exclaimed, “Doc. Martins, very comfortable, I used to be a skinhead you know when I was at College.”

Nancy smiled as she enquired, “Why did you stop?”

“I fancied this black girl, but she didn’t want to know me.”

Placing her hands over his, she asked, “Did your change of image do the trick.”

“No” came the saddened reply, “turned out she was a Lesbian anyway.” At this they both laughed, for different reasons. 

“I meant stop College, come on,” gestured Nancy, “one for the gutter.” Norman took the initiative, soon returning from the deserted bar with two large Southern Comforts. “I hope you are not trying to get me pissed young Norman,” slurred Nancy.

“Just being friendly,” he replied. They walked awkwardly at first on leaving the pub. Nancy deciding to take hold of Norman’s arm in an innocent way, “Just for support,” she explained leading the way into the small hallway of her house. There with the door closed she wrapped herself around her young escort, 

“Lesbian indeed,” she whispered into his ear, “How dare she.”