The Flatmates by Andrew Lindsay
Dear Sir/Madam
In response to correspondent Mr John Powell's request that he be 'filled in', er, so to speak, on matters concerning Mr Andrew Lindsay's flatmates and daily events thereof and therein, I would like to hereby announce the start of a new real life soap, which is available to read on-line. The first episode isn't very good but the rest is a lot better. All material is copyrighted and is not to be used without the authors permission
Yours sincerely
Corporal Lynberg Vance
Managing Director
EPISODE ONE
Lynden awoke to find that it was raining again in Cardiff, as he did every morning as it always rains in Cardiff. Incidentally, that's why Cardiff is known as 'The Rainy City', but we're getting side-tracked already. So anyway, Lynden awoke and immediately smelled some tea. ‘Shit', he thought, overslept and missed lectures again, but then he realised that in fact he didn't mean that kind of tea. He meant the tea that you brew - the type that you can smell. Sometimes. Well, for the purpose of this story anyway.
So, as Lynden ambled into the kitchen, with his usual confident, unassuming and, some might say, wobbly gait, he noticed two things. Well, two things of note and much more besides that didn't really matter, and we won't go into them. He noticed, one, a cup of tea, and two, its maker (the tea that is not the cup, although it does turn out a bit further on that the lad making the tea - shit, I've given away that it's a lad now, aw, and used the word 'I' which means that I've ruined the 'third person' concept - did actually do some pottery on a school trip to Staffordshire once, however, that's a little bit more information than you required). Its maker was Tad. Or Mad Tad Antoniak as he was known to his flatmates, who lived constantly in fear of him, and in his fear, which was of spiders curiously enough. What a soft twat.
Anyway, as Lynden looked on at his fearsome flatmate with as much trepidation as you can imagine and also a sort of, er, squint which he had apparently acquired as a result of the previous night's drinking, not that he would boast any such laddishness, Tad turned around. He stirred his tea. First left, then right, then he gave over trying to 'psyche it out' and just mixed the milk and sugar in it with a small spoon - a spoon which he called a 'teaspoon'. Lynden had no idea what to expect. He ought to have been used to it by now, after all, it had been three long weeks now that he had lived under terrible Tad's beastly, er, can't think of a word for despotic authoritarian terrorism that begins with 'b'. Anyway, I think you get the basic point.
Suddenly, Tad turned; with his demon eyes gazing right into and through Lynden's, if that's possible, which of course it is in the pretentious world of novels, on-line soap operas and other works of fictitious literature. The gaze lasted for what seemed like hours, but of course wasn't. That would have been ridiculous really. Well it would here anyway. Look, even if it's not that ridiculous I'm the writer/author OK? OK. Anyway, after what seemed to Lynden to be quite a long time (?!...) Tad said, "Morning. Good night last night? Er,.............. rooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!"
Lynden laughed and relaxed, for he knew that the question was genuine and the terrible one's roar was merely jocular, in discerning reference to his terrible ways, which he himself claimed were of no fault of his, but the result of an odd upbringing; an upbringing that had started with him being named Tadek Mark Antoniak for example. Could we imagine that?, he would ask, and his servile flatmates would answer simply "No, oh great one, er sorry....sir...." and things like that. That morning, Tad and Lynden had what Lynden later described as 'quite a pleasant chat really,' and all seemed well. But was it? It had become apparent that even those who seem terrible and frightening most of the time can actually be not such a bad bloke at times, perhaps especially when making tea, but other things were afoot; and not just the bottom of a mountain. A door opened out in the hallway.......
© 1999 Vance Productions. 'The Flatmates' is a work of fiction. All characters portrayed herein are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental. Flatmates cuddly toys are now available at special price to all subscribers. Enquiries, and all correspondence should be by email to VanceProductions.