KP: The dream

May 16, 2012 § Leave a comment

“Sixer. Swish, swipe, boff. And another. This batsman is the most dashing and stylish in the modern game. He’s slaying the bowling. So elegant. So debonair. So…Swoosh, another six, switch hit….ball out of the park!”

My alarm. Wake. I’m in me one room bedsit. Ginger hair scattered all over the pillow. It was that dream again. The one where I am KP.The universe. And….O God, it comes to me every night these days like. I cannae get it oot of me ed man!
Walk into the kitchenette. I open a pint o milk and pour it onto wor cornflakes. Watch the milk slowly seep into the raw flakes of corn, turning them soggy. I was not born to be dashing. Not I. O no. Wish a was a bit more canny like tho..
Shoit! It’s a half past o the seven man. Put on me fleece and run oot into the street to catch me bus. Its snowing. Sleet and slate on the roads. A couple o girls in miniskirts pass me by. I try n gi em then eye– but nothin. Not even the shriek o ol ginger pervert no more! Why ay man?
The bus takes me to me wark in the docks on the tyneside. Ah put on me overalls like and get onto me forklift and move a few boxes aroond. The cricket’s on the radio. England’r playin Oostralia.
“And it’s Pietersen charging down the track, he lifts the ball back over the bowlers head for a six. Magnificent. Stunning play in the dazzling, twinkling summer sun.”
That used to be me like. I was a player. Played for England. But ah was niver like them like. I wish I was. I really miss it.
Terry the farman often tells me I’m a great box packer. Ah but he don’t understand. This life int far me man, I couldda been someone. I could’ve ad class like, I could’ve been a contend…
Me ‘and slips. O no the farklift trucks gone wild like. The boxes man! Howay! The boxes they’re falling on me, O noooooooooo.
“Smooth operator….coast to coast LA to Chicago, Western Super Mare…”

My alarm. Wake. I’m in my penthouse overlooking Regent’s Park. Slight coating of hair wax covering pillow. It was that nightmare again. The one where I am Paul Collingwood. Life. The multiverse. I am everything.

I get out of bed and walk into the kitchen. Switch on the espresso maker. It purrs into life and after a minute plops out a small drop of liquid into a cylindrical cup. I take it and stroll over to my window with a view over the whole of London. The sun is coming up over the great city. The commentary is on in the background. I………KP

“The sun bounces off the track as off a pane of glass. In its reflection the greatest cricketer of our time stands proud like a Titan.”


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