A spartan living room | old 3 bar fire on full pelt | a Wedgewood Elizabeth II 50th anniversary coronation plate on the mantelpiece with a chipped edge | next to a pair of dice & an incomplete Rubik’s Cube. Rodge |late middle age & peculiar | far away glazed expression | is sat on a rug in the middle of the room surrounded by various sized spanners | hammers | monkey wrenches & screwdrivers— there is no furniture. The door goes rata tat tat…rata tat tat…no one answers so Plinky just walks in.
Plinky: “Erm…Rodge mate? You in ‘ere? Er… crikey Rodge. What y’doin?”
Rodge: “Wotz it luk like? I’m tekin’ this ship engine t’bits. Gunna use it t’decorate the ‘ouse wiv. Marge will be chuffed t’bits wen she gets off ‘er hols. Best thing fer it i reckon is dangle it from the ceilin’ like a fancy chandelier.”
Plinky: “O…right Rodge. Erm… I dunno if Marge is gonna be so ‘appy ’bout that pal. Why’s d’ya decide t’do all this?”
Rodge: “Cuz me brekkie told us to. Said Marge’d luv it fer our wedding anniversary.”
Plinky: “Yer brekkie?”
Rodge: “Is there a parrot or n’echo in ‘ere? Yeh! Me alph-a-bett-y spag’etti told us. Read me horoscope n’all an that con-f’rmd wot me alph-a-bett-y spag’etti said: ‘you will find a ship engine in an unlikely place & put it to decorative use for a special person.’ So’s that’s wut i’m doin’.”
Plinky: “Who prepared yer brekkie mate?”
Rodge: “Cooked it me self cuz Marge is gone away. Only fing in the cupboard was alph-a-bett-y spag’etti. The likeli’ood of it eh? The shippin’ forecast told me t’gu on wiv out it an all. Sea change. Clean sailing all the way southeast’rly | which is my fav direction. But I mailed you about that. Got me a new penny | an I got one fer Margaret too.”
Plinky: “O yeh | smashin’ stuff that is Rodge.”
Rodge: “Y’gunna ‘elp me or jus’ keep badgerin’ me?”
Plinky: “Gimme five pal. I gotta mek a phone call.”
Rodge: “Well ‘urry yerself | the best bits cummin up | y’don’ wunna miss it.”
Plinky: “Don’t ya wurry Rodge pal | it’ll tek no time‘t all— wudn’t miss the best bit fer the world… (in the hallway Plinky dials— beep beep beep beep ring ring ring)… is that New Cross Infirmary? My pal Rodge is goin’ off on a wrong’n cud y’send sumone out please | his wife died recently: I fink he’s ‘avin’ a mental crumble. The address is…”
Rodge never got to finish decorating his house.