discovered. Yet there were also many
Devonians for whom the more mundane metropolitan delights of a multiplex might
have won out over these rural delights. The bored teenagers of Leeds and London
had nothing on the claustrophobia experienced by their country cousins.
Jez Carberry had been waiting all
morning for someone to call him. His mother kept suggesting he went to the
beach, but he was bored of the beach and tired of windsurfing. His A’ level
results were still three weeks off and he couldn’t wait to get them; they were
his passport out of here. He glanced down at his computer and saw the game was
still loading. Everything seemed to be taking a long time today. He lolled his
head back on his pillow and caught Kate Bush’s eyes on the poster over his bed.
Steve had been right; you could make out her nipple underneath the tight top
she was wearing.
Steve had given him quite a lot
of stick for getting off with Katy’s younger sister, but did it really matter?
They hadn’t done anything after all and he wouldn’t now; not after all their
piss takes about him being a cradle snatcher. To be logical about it, Liddy was
only 3 years younger than him, which was a far narrower age gap than that
between his own parents. She was also only a year younger than the girl Steve
had met at Nicky’s last night and no-one had given him any stick. The fact that
he hadn’t got off with anyone last night, let alone in the last month was frustrating
him and making him feel that this summer was not going to be the carefree end
to school and the one long party he had anticipated. The fact that there were
now five early morning shifts at the bakery between now and the next Friday
down the Wheatsheaf also depressed him.
He wondered where Liddy might be
right now? Katy and her friends had been at the pub on Saturday, yet she seemed
to have made a determined effort to ditch her younger sister since her party.
He’d overheard someone say he’d seen her at the Dog, yet he couldn’t go there –
that really was the kids’ pub – you didn’t even have to look 18 to get served
there. The Bennetts lived off Exeter Road, but he could hardly go round there
on a Sunday… Katy was more Steve’s friend than his and if she was in, she’d
know she’d see through his smokescreen.
His computer beeped, the game had
finally finished loading. Yet now he was no longer in the mood for ‘Elite’. He
grabbed a less dirty T-shirt from the floor, squirted some Brut under his arms
and headed for the door. Going out now seemed a better option. Despite the open
windows and wide balcony overlooking the sea, the flat seemed stifling. Anyway,
his Mum was always telling him to get more air.
****
George Dent never felt it easy to
relax. He would have much preferred to have worn his smart, blue dress uniform
to the endless round of barbecues and Sunday Roasts his wife inveigled
invitations to on seemingly every weekend that summer. This was when not
returning the unwanted hospitality by having to host their own over planned and
overpriced ‘Sunday Gatherings’… These return visits were even worse, as they
forced him to fumble over charcoal and lighting bricks as he struggled with the
demands of the Modern Caveman by burning various cuts of meat for plummy voiced
guests who insisted on offering tips and advice at every opportunity. The main
point of these too frequent occasions was for Delia to demonstrate their new
found status as owners of a large des res in the pricey and picturesque village
of Knowle.
In many ways he felt the system
of pairing off, as adopted by Conservative and Labour MPs from far flung
constituencies might be better adapted for the social gatherings of the
chattering classes. Like their political masters, they could all agree it was
far too much effort to meet up and just agree to cancel each other out by
consuming their own charred steaks at home, without any need for reciprocation.
The weather felt close
Devonians for whom the more mundane metropolitan delights of a multiplex might
have won out over these rural delights. The bored teenagers of Leeds and London
had nothing on the claustrophobia experienced by their country cousins.
Jez Carberry had been waiting all
morning for someone to call him. His mother kept suggesting he went to the
beach, but he was bored of the beach and tired of windsurfing. His A’ level
results were still three weeks off and he couldn’t wait to get them; they were
his passport out of here. He glanced down at his computer and saw the game was
still loading. Everything seemed to be taking a long time today. He lolled his
head back on his pillow and caught Kate Bush’s eyes on the poster over his bed.
Steve had been right; you could make out her nipple underneath the tight top
she was wearing.
Steve had given him quite a lot
of stick for getting off with Katy’s younger sister, but did it really matter?
They hadn’t done anything after all and he wouldn’t now; not after all their
piss takes about him being a cradle snatcher. To be logical about it, Liddy was
only 3 years younger than him, which was a far narrower age gap than that
between his own parents. She was also only a year younger than the girl Steve
had met at Nicky’s last night and no-one had given him any stick. The fact that
he hadn’t got off with anyone last night, let alone in the last month was frustrating
him and making him feel that this summer was not going to be the carefree end
to school and the one long party he had anticipated. The fact that there were
now five early morning shifts at the bakery between now and the next Friday
down the Wheatsheaf also depressed him.
He wondered where Liddy might be
right now? Katy and her friends had been at the pub on Saturday, yet she seemed
to have made a determined effort to ditch her younger sister since her party.
He’d overheard someone say he’d seen her at the Dog, yet he couldn’t go there –
that really was the kids’ pub – you didn’t even have to look 18 to get served
there. The Bennetts lived off Exeter Road, but he could hardly go round there
on a Sunday… Katy was more Steve’s friend than his and if she was in, she’d
know she’d see through his smokescreen.
His computer beeped, the game had
finally finished loading. Yet now he was no longer in the mood for ‘Elite’. He
grabbed a less dirty T-shirt from the floor, squirted some Brut under his arms
and headed for the door. Going out now seemed a better option. Despite the open
windows and wide balcony overlooking the sea, the flat seemed stifling. Anyway,
his Mum was always telling him to get more air.
****
George Dent never felt it easy to
relax. He would have much preferred to have worn his smart, blue dress uniform
to the endless round of barbecues and Sunday Roasts his wife inveigled
invitations to on seemingly every weekend that summer. This was when not
returning the unwanted hospitality by having to host their own over planned and
overpriced ‘Sunday Gatherings’… These return visits were even worse, as they
forced him to fumble over charcoal and lighting bricks as he struggled with the
demands of the Modern Caveman by burning various cuts of meat for plummy voiced
guests who insisted on offering tips and advice at every opportunity. The main
point of these too frequent occasions was for Delia to demonstrate their new
found status as owners of a large des res in the pricey and picturesque village
of Knowle.
In many ways he felt the system
of pairing off, as adopted by Conservative and Labour MPs from far flung
constituencies might be better adapted for the social gatherings of the
chattering classes. Like their political masters, they could all agree it was
far too much effort to meet up and just agree to cancel each other out by
consuming their own charred steaks at home, without any need for reciprocation.
The weather felt close
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