One Man Banned Chapter1

Thomas awoke to his watch alarm. It was a diver’s watch, acquired, at a local sports centre. He was always amazed at swimmers who bought ‘deep sea’ divers watches, but then, once owners, chose never to swim with them. The owners, would rather, keep them chlorine free, and nestling in a clothes locker. To Thomas, this was like owning a crash helmet without ever riding a motorcycle. His steel nail file and two paper clips were all he ever carried.

Today he was going to be Stephen Bowen. Another ‘find’ inside the hastily crammed locker. His philosophy was a truly virtuous one. Petty theft, is breaking the law, but borrowing from the community with a promise to repay interest, is just sound business sense.

He feared only God. The Lord would provide. He was a staunch believer, and read his well-thumbed King James daily. He lived by the measure. Jesus was into ‘waste management’ as he was. The Lord was a humble carpenter, but ‘He’ also knew about environmental issues. For example. He could make five loaves and a few fish, go a long way.

“You received free so give free.” As God’s children, we own nothing. We are merely custodians, with free uniform and meals on duty. Jesus turfed out the money-lenders from the temple. That is just what Thomas was going to do, today.

“Man cannot live on bread alone.” He muttered, as he pulled the crisp clean sheets from his body. Stirring quickly, he slipped from his Queen-sized bed, toward the bathroom. He wore nothing in bed, but latex gloves, and women’s pantyhose on his legs, with a single ladies stocking over his head.

He walked to the toilet and sat upon his ‘throne’ with the door open. King of all he surveyed. He was a man of order, and proceeded to cleanse the toilet, after its use, with a brush, furiously, as if by habit, and with much gusto.

He snapped open the shower cabin, and switched the apparatus on. Re-setting the thermostat as usual. He briefly, sat on the side of the bath, and putting his feet inside a plastic bag, peeled off the mandatory ladies underclothes, very carefully, rolling the nylon down his legs, leaving them, unattached, inside the shopping carrier. The stocking over his head was removed, and left in the bag also. With precision, he wrapped and knotted the bundle, and returned back to the bedroom, putting them into a pocket of the rucksack.

From his bulging rucksack, he took out a ‘dustdevil’, A battery operated ‘hoover’ and proceeded to gently vacuum the bed and pillows. He then re-made the bed, like a professional nurse. He checked each ‘hospital corner’ dutifully, to the point of obsession.

He went back to the shower, naked as a jaybird, except for the latex gloves.

Thomas stepped out of the shower after a vigorous bathing. He dried himself, with a ‘travel’ hairdryer, supplied by his pregnant rucksack. Thomas tripped back to the bathroom and brushed and flossed his teeth with airplane ‘hospitality’ products.

He neatly replaced his travel bag into his rucksack after removing a small complimentary hotel soap tablet from a polythene bag, that held many more of the same. He scrubbed and rubbed clean the shower tray, and tiles with Kleenex, depositing the damp debris into the bag, of used women’s underwear previously.

He looked closely at the shower cubicle, knelt down, and perused. He noticed one of his pubic hairs was straggling, on the acrylic tray, adjacent to the plughole. He picked it up, and ate it.

“Cleanliness is next to godliness”. He muttered. Walking towards the wardrobe he pulled from his large leather rucksack, a new shirt and silk tie to match.

He straightened up, and briskly walked back to the master bedroom.

He donned black dress trousers, and black patent shoes. The sort of shoe, that wipes clean, without polishing. Clipped on his newly found watch and checked the time.

He stalked out of the master bedroom and dragging the rucksack behind him, clopped down the wide dogleg stairs, whistling gaily. Scooping up some letters, that had been pushed through the letterbox, he strode at an easy pace, ripping the envelopes open nonchalantly, and sweeping through the lounge into the kitchen.

He boiled some pasta from a passing, glass Kilner jar, preparing it, in the microwave. Ate in silence, at the fashionable dining suite. Thomas started reading the junkmail. A bottle of olive oil stood on the woodblock worktop. Needing to liven his taste buds, he panned the work surfaces, and snatching some oregano from the spice rack, he shook the jar. In his haste, some of the dried herb spilled onto the glass table. He silently huffed, and with great meticulous attention, cupped his hands to rescue the herb debris, off the smooth surface.

He popped from his chrome stool and flung open the giant fridge, where his eyes fell upon, a bottle of salsa. Two dollops were quickly forked into his plate, and with a satisfied smile.

The house was new. It was exquisite. With brand new soft furnishings of great style and design. The kitchen floors were of Yorkshire slate. Thomas, was fussy about finishing touches. The ceramics from Milan. The fireplace, was white pebbled stone, fired by gas, and a huge surround with a fender made of solid granite.

He sipped his filtered coffee and looked into the giant ornate mirror above. He smiled a wide smile. Turned and opened the velvet curtains, that let lasers of spring sunshine spread across his face, and by incidence, the sumptuous red leather sofas and Persian rugs.

He combed his hair with his fingers and ran back upstairs. He checked his watch again. He deftly flipped open the top of his rucksack, that sat precariously, and pregnant, on the bed. He took out a sealed paper overall, and a paper industrial dust mask. Baseball cap, goggles, cordless electric car polisher. He laid each article carefully on the bed.

He wiggled into the paper overalls, and placed the goggles over his face. Thomas, pulled the NY baseball cap, low, over his eyes. He descended down the stairs. It was almost 8.00 hrs.

He walked down to the foot of the stairs with the polisher. He switched it on. He kneeled and started to polish the wooden floor, under the stair well.

He checked his watch again.

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All content on this site is subject to copyright © 2000/2006
If you wish to use anything either text or graphics please ask permission