THE HOLLOW TREE

What job seems to attract the least sane amongst us?

When I got to the place in the woods that had been marked on the map Benjy had given me I sat down, exhausted, and wondered what had become of him. But that was Benjy, here one moment and gone the next. But he had given me this scrap of paper, pushed it into my hand when I wasn’t looking, and flittered off like the flitterbug he liked to be.

“Janie,” he had scribbled, “follow this trail to the hollow tree and we can talk.”

And I needed to talk to him because I knew something that would put things right between us.

Not that things were that bad, but the other night I had dreamed something that had upset him. There we were, at a party hosted by an actor friend of mine, the bloke who plays Basil Brains in a police drama series in which more murders are committed than you would believe possible, and he solves the whole lot, being a basically clever bloke, and I had let it slip that Benjy thought he was rubbish.

“That’s not right, Janie,” he had said, frowning, appearing as was his wont out of thin air, “I never said I thought he was rubbish! I said the plots of his series were rubbish, and that’s a very different thing.”

“Have no fear,” grinned our host, “I don’t write the stuff!”

Then I was home, the party faded out of being with the rest of the dream and Benjy was lying in bed next to me, his right hand dangerously close to my left breast, which felt a bit sore.

“You shouldn’t have told him that,” he moaned, and rolled over until he was teetering on the edge of the bed.

“But you did say it!” I protested, I heard you quite plainly. You said that the whole series was rubbish and the character he plays is most unbelievable.”

“We’ll sort this out some other time,” grunted Benjy, and as he flittered off he slipped this piece of paper into my hand. The one about the hollow tree where we could meet and sort things out.

I didn’t really think we had much to sort out, but I climbed out of bed, put on my best mini-frock because I knew that Benjy thought my legs were to die for, and sprayed my armpits very liberally with Tincture of Asphalt because I had the idea that he sort of liked it. What a girl will do to please the man in her life!

Not that he was exactly in my life, though we did occasionally share the bed I was lying in. I don’t actually have anyone I my life at the moment even though I do my best to please the few blokes I chance to meet. I mean, I actually bought breast enlargement (and it hurt, I can tell you) because Pippy let it be known that he rather liked me, only to watch in despair when Officer Blenkinsop came along and arrested him for treble murders because he had done away with three little pigs. They were female little pigs in their frilly frocks, which made it seem particularly cruel.

Now don’t stop reading this thinking it to be airy fairy rubbish because I’ve not reached the old hollow tree yet. And you must know that there’s more to life than what seems real. There are fairies to start with!

The route to the hollow trees, according to the google map Benjy had carefully traced on his piece of paper wasn’t too far away. I started off turning right out of my front gate, then I did a three hundred and sixty degree turn because I should have turned left, and walked slowly towards the cross roads and the river that ran by the side of it. I liked it down there, and even tossed my pony tail casually into the air to show how happy I was. A passing pigeon cooed his approval.

When I came to the bridge marked on Benjy’s map I made my way across it very, very carefully. It was a rope bridge and I had to hold on tightly and swing across, hoping my mini frock didn’t show too much that it shouldn’t to any chance passers by.

“Nice knickers!” hooted an owl, and a ginger tom cat frowned and said he could do with a pair like mine and if he had some he wouldn’t be so lonely. I promised him mine if he called round later. I’ve got plenty of spare knickers.

“They’re cheap enough in Woolworth’s,” I told him, but he had no idea what I meant because Woolworths closed for good before his grandfather was a twinkle in an old cat’s eye.

Once on the other side of the bridge I straightened out my clothing and bitterly resented the breast enhancement I had suffered because I started aching in the you-know-where region, and carried on. The map suggested there might be a hostelry just past rthe end of the bridge, and there it was: The Turgid Nook. It was still open despite the hour,, so I bought myself a Babycham for refreshment before I carried on. That drink put a sparkle in my head and I laughed rfor a moment at absolutely nothing because there’s nothing more worth laughing at when it comes to feeling dizzy than nothing.

And there was the hollow tree, right where Benjy’s map said it should be, but no Benjy.

Before I carry on I’d best explain about me and hollow trees because otherwise you might think that there’s something wrong inside my head, and I can assure yout that there isn’t. I’m really one of the brightest women on the planet. I invented sarcasm when I was only five and irony a year later. I graduated from grammar school with more “A” levels than anyone else and went to work in local government where I got a fine reputation for wearing short skirts and seducing elderly male bosses.

I then moved on to politics and in no time at all I was made a candidate in a general election, where I won my seat in parliament. So you see, there’s nothing remotely wrong with my brain power.

But back to Benjy. He wasn’t here at my hollow tree, and his note said he would be.

There was only one thing for me to do and that was burst into tears, so I did just that. I’ve learned over my years on politics that a few tears at the right moment can work miracles.

“Noe do stop bawling!” came a voice from inside the tree, “it’s most unbecoming!”

It wasn’t Benjy, so I ignored it.

He’d better hurry up, though, it’s an important day at work tomorrow, and I’ll need all the powers in my brains that I can find.

“I’m here!” squawked Benjy out of the blue, “I’ve got instructions for you, how to vote and so on, in your major debate tomorrow.”

“Thanks for being here,” I said to him, “I was beginning to worry. Oh, and you do look sort of blurred and faint!”

“That’ll be put right pronto,” he frowned, “there are some men in white coats who want to take you away before the last medication wears off. You’ll need to be fully medicated when they make you our new Prime Minister tomorrow, won’t you?”

© Peter Rogerson 02.04.23

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