The Killing Floor (6)


Oooh… I don’t know about you but I need a holiday.”


“I said – I need a holiday.”


“You thinking about getting away soon?”

Nah… I’m tired.”

“That’s why most people have a holiday…”

Naah… I’m tired of holidays.”

“Surely Immy needs a break?  You said she’s been flat out with modelling work the last six months – I know Trish is dropping lots of hints about exotic climes; I’m going online tonight when she’s out at her mother’s – try and surprise her.  Must remember to wipe the history this time!”

“That’s it in a nutshell…”

“What?  You mean you’re going to take my advice and do the same?”

Nah…  Of course not… Immy’s been so busy the last couple of years – never mind the last six months…”

“Even more reason to take her away…”

“No… that’s the point; she’s taken her kit off everywhere that qualifies as tropical, historical, trendy, off-the-beaten track or best kept ‘secret’ – I’ve filled in all the places on the map for adrenaline junkies and together we’ve joined the dots on anywhere that the sun shines hotter than here.  In that pep talk on the top floor the other day  – you remember; when Vialli the Roman on holiday was droning on about corporate responsibility – I worked out that between us we had been round the globe twice.”

“That’s amazing…”

“No… that’s a lot of new handbags and swimwear – it’s why I’m thinking of taking advantage of the new regulations and do my bit to boost the economy by building an extension for extra wardrobe space.  Help out Eastern Europe anyway – maybe a quick Polish build by one of the cleaners’ husbands.”

“Bloody hell!”

“I am joking…”

“Yeh – right: er, I knew that…”

“We’ve got more rooms than even Immy knows how to fill – although she’s doing her best.  Anyway – don’t want to make cleaning too easy for that damn Filipino maid.”

“You two still don’t get on?”

“That bitch from a one-chicken town is the only person I know who is more arrogant than me!”

“Well there’s a reason for a holiday…”

“Not if Immy decides she needs dressing help and brings her with us.”

“She wouldn’t?!”

She would… she’s like the mama she never had – apparently; the press call us Masters of the Universe when I feel more like Mario stuck in a cart given the run around.  Undermined in my own home by a ruddy peasant!”

“Seeing that you’ve been everywhere and done everything… Haven’t  you ever thought of employing a sort of reverse psychology and… oh, I don’t know – maybe try camping say or going to the seaside?”

“What?!  Are you serious?  In England!  Camping?!  The seaside?!  What’s this – some sort of back-to-basics austerity kick?  Make the banker pay?!  Who do you think I am – Vince Cable?  The only tent Immy wants to see is the one in me trunks when she parades the latest style up and down by the hotel pool.  As for the coast… Eurgh… All those real people… real ordinary people with snotty-nosed brats, parading their inbred obesity up and down some tacky sea front: all over-sized tattoos and chip fat oozing from every pore barely concealed beneath a tsunami of casual polyester.  Are you for real?!  Sounds like you’re the one who needs the holiday.”

“You were real once…”

“Yeh – but I was never ordinary!”

“It’s only a suggestion…”

“So’s this – you want to keep it real?  I’ll have an Ethiopian – three shots.  If  I went away just think how much you’d miss your trip round the corner.  Oh and it’s pissing down out there – proper English holiday weather.”


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