If I was a banana
I’d be quite appealing.
I’d zip my yellow suit off
And throw it on the ceiling.
I’d streak around the kitchen
With my pale white flesh on show,
Wiggling my banana butt
Everywhere I go.
If I was a banana
I’d be quite appealing.
I’d zip my yellow suit off
And throw it on the ceiling.
I’d streak around the kitchen
With my pale white flesh on show,
Wiggling my banana butt
Everywhere I go.
You’re my special someone ‘til the end of time,
My gin and tonic to my splash of lime.
You’re my small umbrella in my exotic cocktail,
My refreshing breeze propelling my sail.
You’re my reason to wake with a smile on my face,
My obedient pet to hug and embrace.
You’re my sparkling star in the darkest of night,
My shining beacon and my guiding light.
You’re my positive thought snuggling in my head,
My freshly washed sheets straddling across my bed.
You’re my motivation for living life true,
My excitement for starting over anew.
You’re my obsession, possession, lover for life,
My soul companion during the afterlife.
You’re my morning coffee, that shot of caffeine,
My wonderful servant, and I am your Queen.
Sat against this rock I am hidden from the world. Invisible and insignificant.
Facing outwards, I hear the ocean caressing the rocks further below me, I see the lit lighthouse standing proud, alone but confident, defiant against the blackness of the unknown ocean stretching ahead of it.
Facing inland I see couples illuminated by candlelight through the restaurant picture windows, laughing, smiling, touching. I don’t know which I’m more envious of, the people exchanging loving looks, or the ocean full of freedom and hypnotic hope.
I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone to look lovingly at me, to be their whole world in that moment and moments more. I am not worthy of another’s love. Even I don’t love myself so how can I expect it from another. No one could find me special, wonderful, their guiding light. I will never be someone’s lighthouse, someone’s restaurant gazer.
I will be the lone rock sitter, the solo sea starer, the self-placed exile. I long to be with someone special, as much as I long to leap into the ocean, to float away from pain. Maybe I should take that leap, find the lighthouse for me.
Why am I so scared of sitting in that window? The remote sea seems less terrifying to me. I have a blackness within, it spreads and dims my vision. It smothers my clarity at times. At times I don’t know if I’ll leap when my dark secret self swirls deep. The sea speaks to me, it says listen to me, follow me, join me, stay with me.
I close my eyes as wind joins waves in beautiful orchestral crescendos.
Inhaling salted air, I breathe life into me.
Today is not a leap day.
I wish I was a potato, lounging in a field,
Dreaming of being scrubbed and delicately peeled.
I’d aspire to being dauphinoise
But that would take some class I guess.
Maybe I’d be chunky chips
And hang around with spicy dips.
Or I could be some creamy mash
Whipped up with butter in a flash.
Maybe I’d chill and watch a show,
Being a magnificent couch potato.
Another year older and what have I done?
I’ve held on to my sanity and had lots of fun.
I went to a boot camp and did a zip wire,
Screaming so much like my ass was on fire.
I went to a film set and had my throat slit,
It looked really gory but didn’t hurt one bit.
Inglorious in concert and Wayward Sons too,
Electric Six was a blast, and Dick Valentine, woo!
The Emmerdale weekend was of course a highlight,
If I ever missed that my year wouldn’t seem right.
Met Michael Madsen at London Comic Con,
A chat with him and my legs were gone.
I went to a wedding that was full of romance,
I felt all happy and in a love trance.
I relaxed in Jersey with walks along the beach
And got mugged by a seagull with the loudest screech.
I left my job as it was getting a strain,
Went back to my old one for the sake of my brain.
Book number four was hot off the press.
And I ate too much fudge, I must confess.
I met lots of new friends to add to the collection,
I really do have such a wonderful selection.
If this following year is even half as much fun
I’ll be a bouncy, jolly, happy bun*.
*Unless I meet Judd Nelson, where I’ll spontaneously combust,
And drift of in the atmosphere like sparkly purple dust.
Neville has been my best friend since as far back as I can remember, in fact I can’t remember life without him. When we were both little we would share the same bed, I’d stroke his soft purple mane as he snored blissfully next to me. Logistics got in the way as we both got bigger. A man and a fully-grown unicorn just don’t fit into a bed together. Even the king size bed that I have now. Neville has his own room, but I have the en-suite. Neville prefers the great outdoors for his ablutions. I’ve fitted a latch on the back door that Neville can unhook with his horn, so that he can venture out to the garden whenever he wants.
It’s so much easier now we live by ourselves. When we lived at Dad’s it was a nightmare having to go out to the garden every time Neville needed to do his business. Dad was always suspicious why I needed to keep going outside, I’d regularly get my pockets checked for cigarettes when returning in from Neville’s toileting. Nev would find this highly amusing, suggesting I bought a packet so my dad could ‘find’ them on me and feel vindicated for the prison search.
I wished that I could’ve told him the real reason for my garden visitations, but the word unicorn was banned in our house when I was seven. Up until then I had included Neville in our family conversations and no one had seemed to mind, then Mum and Dad got divorced, and life got complicated.
It was an upsetting time for me, not Mum and Dad splitting up, but because they both said I had to stop pretending that a unicorn lived with us. They might as well have asked me to pretend the grass isn’t green. So I had to do the opposite, from that day on I had to pretend I couldn’t see Nev. He was upset of course by this, but when I explained it was necessary for him to stay with me, he stopped crying. Which was good because unicorn tears are tricky to get out of clothes, it’s the glitter in them. If Neville has had a cry on my shoulder my shirts always need a prewash, once when I was about ten I forgot to prewash and Dad wasn’t over the moon with his glittery pants. I blamed the school’s art department for glitter sticking to my school jumper, but Dad complained about his glittery pants for months.
I should point out that I did the washing at home as it was just me, Dad and Neville living in the house. Mum had moved to a flat across town. She’d wanted me to move with her of course but it was a tiny two bedroomed flat on the fourth floor. That would have been no good for Nev so we stayed with Dad. I also didn’t like Mum’s new boyfriend Warren, he smelled of herring and smoked, and that would set off Nev’s asthma. The smoking that is, not the herring smell. Did I mention Neville has asthma? When I used to visit Mum, Nev would stay at home in the garden. A few times he came with me and waited outside but the fumes from the traffic would set the asthma off too.
Mum visits me now in my house, but not that often. I think she senses Neville here and doesn’t want to admit to herself that he’s real. He stuck his hoof out once and tripped her up when she walking to the door and telling me I should get some friends. She blamed the rug. Neville laughed externally while I laughed internally.
I’ve mastered the art of laughing internally while keeping a neutral face over the years. When I had to pretend not to see Neville because we were in others company he would always relish acting the fool to try and make me chuckle. He got me a few times, usually when he stood on his hind legs and did demented disco dancing. On those occasions I would feign a coughing fit to leave the room for a glass of water.
It got tiresome though pretending I couldn’t see Nev and whispering when I wanted to talk to him, so I moved out last year on my twenty first birthday. I’m a postman and Nev comes out on my rounds with me. We’ve learnt which gardens to avoid, there are a few dogs that go nuts when they see him. Mrs. Jones in Laburnum Terrace has a poodle called Binky that poops on her lawn when he sees Neville. Nev either waits at the end of the road or crawls commando style past Mrs. Jones’s house, it depends on his mood. He can be quite moody at times.
Except on Sundays. On a Sunday Nev is buzzing like a bee in a florist shop. We go to the park every Sunday, even in bad weather. There’s so much space for Nev to gallop about in and he loves swimming in the lake. It’s our highlight of the week, and even more so now.
Two Sunday’s ago, we did our usual routine. I sat on the bench eating a strawberry ice-cream watching Nev frolic around the green. He was taking a longer and slower route than normal so I observed the rest of the park goers. There weren’t that many, a family feeding the ducks on the other side of the lake, a couple out for a romantic stroll who were holding hands and giggling as they ambled along. There’s another bench further along from the one I was sitting on, a young woman in a blue cardigan and jeans was sat alone, the sun highlighting her red hair. She was looking across the green, intensely watching something. I followed her line of vision, there was Neville, prancing about like a parade horse.
I looked back to her and then back to Neville. She was still staring at him. My heart started galloping alongside Nev as I tried to think what to do. I wondered if suddenly everyone could see him now or just this mysterious woman. The romantic couple and family didn’t stare though, which I’m sure they would have if they could see a purple unicorn. My ice-cream drew my attention back to myself as the coldness of it dribbled down my fingers. I dropped it into the bin next to me, having lost my appetite with nerves, and licked off the sticky strawberry from my knuckles.
Before my brain could work out what to do next my legs were walking towards the other bench.
‘Hello,’ I said, as I sat down next to the blue cardiganed woman.
She glanced at me quickly. ‘Hello,’ she said, before looking back across to where Neville was still showboating.
I watched Neville and from the corner of my eye could see the woman looking back and forth between me and Neville. I turned my head towards her and caught her in full stare. ‘I’m John.’
She held my stare gently, her green eyes sparkled. ‘Emma.’ She smiled a smile that would have morphed my ice-cream to a milkshake.
I felt myself blush so turned away, Neville was trotting back towards us. Emma was watching him. This was just too weird. Neville stopped trotting when he reached the bench and shook his head, fluffing up his mane.
I took a deep breath. ‘You look like you’re having fun,’ I said, raising my eyebrows to Nev for some help.
‘You can see her?!’ Emma’s eyes widened and she moved forward on the bench.
My heart bumped repeatedly against my ribs. ‘Him. He’s a he.’
Emma frowned. ‘She’s a she.’
‘Neville is definitely a he.’
Neville was looking back and forth between us and was unusually quiet. I thought he was upset being mistaken for a female so I stood up and started to pat him for reassurance.
Emma squinted. ‘What are you doing?’
My stomach knotted. ‘Stroking my unicorn.’
She laughed. The knotting tightened.
‘You have a unicorn with you?’ Her smile radiated through every pore in her face and her shoulders relaxed as she leaned back into the bench.
The knot in my stomach started to unravel. ‘Yes.’
She nodded. I was confused. I thought she could see Nev, but then it was obvious she couldn’t, yet she didn’t run for the hills. And there was no pity in her eyes, still just the vibrant twinkle.
She stood up and started to stroke the air next to Neville. I thought she was humouring me by pretending to stroke him.
I rested my hand on Neville’s back. ‘He’s here.’
She nodded, still stroking the air. ‘This is Moira.’
My eyes tried to analyze hers. I couldn’t speak, I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at her like an idiot.
‘Moira is a unibob,’ said Emma.
I looked at Nev and he nodded. I swallowed to moisten my throat enough to speak. ‘What’s a unibob?’
Emma glanced at the air she was stroking. ‘A unibob is a magical llama with a horn, but it has a little bobble on the end of the horn, unlike a unicorn’s pointy horn.’
‘She’s pink, what colour is your unicorn?’
‘Purple, he’s purple.’ I smiled at Neville, he just looked embarrassed by me.
‘They match well then.’ Emma stopped petting the air and relaxed her arms down.
‘Yes.’ I nodded again, like a goofball. ‘We come here every Sunday, I’ve not seen you here before.’
‘We’ve just moved to the area, I inherited my grandfather’s farm, up by The Grange.’
I nodded again. ‘Will you be here again next week? I’d like to see you again.’
‘I can be, I’d like to see you again too. And judging from how much Moira was leaping about on the green I think she’d like to see Neville again too.’
He did, and we did. The Sunday after was just the best. I’d never felt so relaxed in my life, and for the first time I felt I belonged in the world. That sounds corny but it’s true. I guess what I’m trying to say is that just because someone can’t see your unicorn, they know that you can, and someone accepting you for you is the best feeling in the world. No pretending.
Nev wants to move to the farm today, but I’ve told him it’s too soon. We’ll go next week, that’ll give me time to pack. Neville is a useless packer as he just packs snacks.
‘Wow it’s cold,’ says Patrick, stepping outside and closing the door. He puts his gloves on, and a icy mist escapes from between his lips.
Ruth raises her eyebrows. ‘Well it is winter.’
‘Funny girl.’ He crinkles his nose up at her. ‘You never did feel the cold.’
‘I’m Welsh, we’re tough and hardy.’ She dazzles him with a wide smile.
Patrick laughs, exhaling more frosty clouds. ‘I won’t argue with that.’
Ruth adjusts her woolen hat, tucking her fringe up into it. ‘Ready to go?’
‘Yep.’ Patrick holds his hand out and Ruth’s hand slides into his with ease.
They walk in comfortable silence, just the sound of shoes crunching onto snow soundtracks the short walk from Patrick’s parents’ house to the town square. A few people are hurrying from The Golden Lion across to The Three Witches, trying not to get slapped by Jack Frost. Ruth always wanted someone to open a pub in town with the word wardrobe in the name, just so a pub crawl could involve going to The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Patrick loved her so much that, if he’d won the lottery, he would’ve bought a pub and called it The Wonky Wardrobe, just to make her laugh.
They wander towards The Lion and stand just back from the window, looking in on a busy party scene. The sounds of music, laughter, and cheering, all leak out from the windows, and burst through the door when someone braves the outdoors.
Patrick squeezes Ruth’s hand. ‘There’s Rob and Danny, I think they’re trying to outdo each other in the most embarrassing Christmas jumpers.’
‘You want to go in and have a drink?’
‘No.’ He watches them downing their pints. ‘I said my Happy New Year to them earlier.’
Ruth glances to Patrick. ‘Oh yes, good time?’
‘Yep, Rob got his promotion, which is about time as he deserves it. Danny, well, Danny’s Danny. He couldn’t decide which girlfriend to go out with tonight so that’s why he’s out with Rob.’
Patrick shrugs. ‘Rob doesn’t mind.’
‘I meant for the girlfriends,’ says Ruth, shaking her head.
‘Oh. Yes, it is I guess. They don’t know about each other. Yet.’
They both carry on observing through the window. It must be warm in the pub as Danny is taking his jumper off. He reveals a t-shirt with the slogan ‘babe magnet’ printed on it, much to Rob’s amusement. Rob keeps his reindeer jumper on, it’s quite impressive as the reindeer’s nose flashes red.
‘Silly question, but why doesn’t he just choose one?’ asks Ruth.
‘He can’t decide. He likes them all but isn’t in love with any of them.’ Patrick removes his stare from Rob’s flashing jumper and turns his head to Ruth. ‘He’s not as lucky as me finding you.’
Ruth turns to return his gaze. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too, for eternity.’ Patrick feels tears gathering up as he looks deep into Ruth’s eyes.
‘Are you sure you want to come away with me? I can wait if you want to stay here longer.’
Patrick swallows down his tears. ‘Don’t be silly, I want to come with you. What have I got here without you?’
‘Err, family friends, work.’ She raises her eyebrows.
‘You’re all the family I need, I won’t be missed by the rest of my family, and I can pop in at any moment to see them. My friends will be sad when they find out I’ve gone without saying a proper goodbye, I couldn’t though as they would’ve tried to talk me out of it.’ Patrick looks back into the pub. ‘Not that they don’t want me to be with you, but because they’d think it was better if I stayed.’ He looks back to Ruth, who is studying his face. ‘But when they find out, they’ll know I’ve followed my heart and done the right thing for me. And as for work, I only work to pay the bills, I will not miss unblocking toilets and examining u-bends.’
Ruth does mock shock. ‘Really?’
‘Yes really, come on, before they spot me.’ Patrick takes Ruth’s hand and leads her away from the pub.
As they walk through the square, Mrs. Timpson from the Post Office is coming out of The Three Witches, carrying a bottle of wine.
Patrick whispers to Ruth. ‘Appropriate.’
‘Shh,’ says Ruth. ‘She’ll hear you.’
Mrs. Timpson keeps her judging eyes on Patrick as she walks past, her face all lemon pinched and sour. ‘Evening Patrick.’
Patrick stops. ‘Happy new year.’
Mrs. Timpson just grunts as she carries on walking away.
‘She never liked me,’ says Ruth, pulling him back into motion. ‘Come on.’
They walk out of town and along an overgrown footpath towards the river. The noise of the town dissolves behind them and the crunch from underfoot soothes once again. They reach the stone bridge, it’s high up over the river and the ice on the water far below sparkles in the moonlight like angel’s tears.
‘Our spot,’ says Ruth.
‘Yes, our spot.’ Patrick squeezes Ruth’s hand. ‘When I proposed to you here last New Year’s Eve, I didn’t think it’d be our last time here.’
‘It’s not the last time, we can come back whenever we want.’ Ruth sits on the stone wall of the bridge, pulling Patrick towards her. ‘And if you want to stay here now, you don’t have to come with me, I’ll understand, and I’ll wait for you, for eternity.’
Patrick moves closer. He closes his eyes and he can feel an icy breath on him. ‘I’m not having second thoughts at all, I’ve never felt so right about something.’
‘No one ever thinks,’ says Ruth, so quietly it’s barely a whisper.
Patrick opens his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
Ruth smiles gently. ‘Oh, I mean, no one ever thinks things will happen to them, do they. Danny never thought he’d be stuck in a love quadrangle, Rob never thought he’d have to wait five long years for that promotion, and I never thought I’d die in a car accident.’ She sighs. ‘And the woman who caused the crash didn’t think she’d cause a multiple pile up by having a heart attack that morning.’
‘And I didn’t think I’d meet the love of my life but I did. I’m the luckiest man in the world.’ Patrick climbs up onto the wall. He balances on the edge.
Ruth stands up next to him. ‘Would you like me to hold your hand?’
Patrick takes a last look down at the twinkling icy water, far below. Even in the moonlight he can see the rocks poking out from the shallow water, like mini icebergs. At this distance, he will easily break his neck. ‘Yes.’
Ruth’s fingers entwine his and she squeezes tight.
‘Don’t let go.’ Patrick closes his eyes.
‘I won’t,’ whispers Ruth.
Patrick steps forward.