i was thinking
the other day about
how my grandfather
introduced me to a
lot of great films – weird
films, movies not meant
for me – at that age.
he took me to battletruck.
(i was about 6).
and we saw some tarzan movie
that wasn’t particularly
(i had an older brother, still do
in fact – so maybe that was part
of the reason, couldn’t be bothered
trying to pick the middle-ground –
or, shit, maybe he thought he
was picking the middle-ground…
he also had this trick. we would get
a rush munro’s ice-cream after
the movies – and my brother would
always choose chocolate. i would get
vanilla. that was the only
flavour you could get in
the baby-size. so he’d buy me the
baby-size. and one day, when i guess i
finally clicked, i ordered
chocolate and my grandfather was a
bit flustered – he’d probably packed
correct-change in advance).
one time we stayed
as their house – we would stay
there often on saturday nights if
mum and dad had “a function” –
and he was watching a
british drama; that dark sort
of thing, the type roald dahl used
to write. (as well as those books
and because he was watching
it, we were too…
and i remember it had a millionaire
guy, old guy, he had a trophy wife
and she had cheated on him, she had
boasted about being the trophy-wife too
and so he designed this special sound-room
and he killed her by trapping her in it and playing
ear-piercing frequencies. literally-so. her
he chuckled as she struggled and crumpled
to the floor, and he said something
like, ‘i shall dance on your grave,
selina’ (i am pretty-sure her name was
and then the next – and final scene – of the
movie, or tv-drama, or whatever, was a
limo pulling up to the gravesite.
a pair of black shoes and some business trousers
came into view. the chauffeur pressed play
on a boombox. the millionaire-murderer-man
did a wee soft-shoe-shuffle as the boombox
played polite jazz.
the camera confirmed that it was selina’s
grave. and that, yes, he was dancing on it.
and then the credits rolled.
“right, time for my bed”,
my grandfather said.