Arthur Branshaw: Penelope

By Elliot Braintree

1987, Oxfordshire, England, UK. Meet degree holding, 23 year old Arthur Branshaw who has a boring job as a senior claims handler in a large insurance company. Being a rather mothered boy as he grew up, he is still a Y-fronts wearing virgin and owns a well used Mayfair magazine which is at arms reach under his bed so he can while away his lonely evenings in his bachelor pad.

All that changes when a real girl, Penelope at his work, finally shows some interest in him, and going into work each day soon becomes a pleasure Arthur had never imagined possible.

Follow the humorous story of Arthur, when an insurance claim for a burglary and arson attack on a Judge’s house is dropped on his desk by his boss and he is left to deal with it. The Judge and his wife are sent to a hotel while their property is being reinstated and as the story unfolds they discover the hotel’s grizzly past. Enjoy the romantic, erotic tale, where the lives of the characters intertwine as their paths cross, and where secrets from the past are discovered that result in some unusual consequences.
Adult reading material.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elliot Braintree
• Release date: Sep 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301634965

Book preview

The author has asserted his right under the Copyright Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

‘All rights reserved’.

This novel is a work of fiction. Some of the historically referenced people are or were very real persons, Churchill, Thatcher, Fred Dibnah for example are referenced to evolve the richness of the work of fiction. The main characters, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination, or they are used entirely fictitiously, except in the case of historical fact and events, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Adult reading material

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Dedication

To all my readers who I hope enjoy the book and giggle as much as I did writing it. And to the mouse who lives under the sofa.

Description

1987, Oxfordshire, England, UK. Meet degree holding, 23 year old Arthur Branshaw who has a boring job as a senior claims handler in a large insurance company. Being a rather mothered boy as he grew up, he is still a Y-fronts wearing virgin and owns a well used Mayfair magazine which is at arms reach under his bed so he can while away his lonely evenings in his bachelor pad.

All that changes when a real girl, Penelope at his work, finally shows some interest in him, and going into work each day soon becomes a pleasure Arthur had never imagined possible.

Follow the humorous story of Arthur, when an insurance claim for a burglary and arson attack on a Judge’s house is dropped on his desk by his boss and he is left to deal with it. The Judge and his wife are sent to a hotel while their property is being reinstated and as the story unfolds they discover the hotel’s grizzly past. Enjoy the romantic, erotic tale, where the lives of the characters intertwine as their paths cross, and where secrets from the past are discovered that result in some unusual consequences.

Adult reading material.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Description

Chapter 1. Arthur’s Childhood.

Chapter 2. 1987 Present day, late April, Thursday (week 2).

Chapter 3. Thursday (week 2).

Chapter 4. Thursday (week 2).

Chapter 5. Thursday Lunchtime (week 2).

Chapter 6. Thursday (week 2).

Chapter 7. Friday (week 2).

Chapter 8. Penelope.

Yesterday Thursday (week 2).

Chapter 9. Friday evening (week 2).

Chapter 10. Saturday (week 2).

Sunday (week 2).

Chapter 11. Monday morning (week 3).

Chapter 12. Arthur’s Father.

Chapter 13. The Wilsons, Monday Late evening (week 1).

Tuesday morning (week 1).

Chapter 14. Monday morning (week 1).

Chapter 15. Saturday (week 2).

Chapter 16. Monday (week 3).

Chapter 17. Tuesday morning (week 3).

Chapter 18. Tuesday afternoon (week 3).

Chapter 19. Wednesday morning (week 3).

Chapter 20. 1945.

Chapter 21. 1987 Present Day, Wednesday later that morning (week 3).

Chapter 22. Wednesday afternoon (week 3).

Chapter 23. Wednesday afternoon (week 3).

Chapter 24. Wednesday afternoon (week 3).

Chapter 25. Thursday (week 3).

Chapter 26. Friday (week 3).

Chapter 27. Friday (week 3).

Chapter 28. Friday evening (week 3).

Chapter 29. Monday (week 4).

Chapter 30. Tuesday (week 4).

Wednesday (week) 4.

Chapter 31. Thursday evening (week 4).

Chapter 32. Friday (week 4).

Chapter 33. Friday morning (week 4).

Sunday morning (week 4).

Chapter 34. Friday afternoon (week 4).

Friday evening (week 4).

Chapter 35. Saturday (week 4).

Chapter 36. Saturday evening (week 4).

Chapter 37. Sunday early morning (week 4).

Chapter 38. Sunday early morning (week 4).

Chapter 39. Sunday morning (week 4).

Chapter 40. Sunday evening The Wilsons (week 4).

Chapter 41. Monday (week 3).

Chapter 42. Thursday (week 3).

Friday (week 3).

Chapter 43. Tuesday (week 4).

Chapter 44. Saturday (week 4).

Chapter 45. Early June (1975).

Chapter 46. Early July (1975).

Chapter 47. Mid July Monday (1975).

Chapter 48. Mid July Friday (1975).

Chapter 49. End of July, Friday (1975).

Chapter 50. End of July, Saturday (1975).

Chapter 51. End of July Monday (1975).

Chapter 52. End of July Thursday (1976).

Friday 1976.

Chapter 53. 1987 Present day, Monday (week 5).

Chapter 54. Monday at the crack of dawn (week 5).

Chapter 55. Monday mid-day (week 5).

Chapter 56. Tuesday morning (week 5).

Chapter 57. Wednesday (week 5).

Chapter 58. Wednesday (week 5).

Chapter 59. Wednesday afternoon (week 5).

Thursday (week 5).

Chapter 60. Friday (week 5).

Chapter 61. Friday evening (week 5).

Chapter 62. Saturday (week 5).

Chapter 63. Monday (week 6).

Chapter 64. Monday evening (week 6).

Chapter 65. Tuesday (week 6).

Friday (week 6).

Chapter 66. Monday (week 7).

Chapter 67. Monday evening (week 7).

Chapter 68. Friday evening (week 7).

Chapter 69. Monday (week 8).

Chapter 70. Tuesday (week 8).

Friday morning (week 8).

Chapter 71. Friday Evening (week 8).

Chapter 72. Friday (week 11).

Chapter 73. Friday Evening (week 12).

Chapter 74. Edna’s visit, late July, Saturday (week 12).

Chapter 75. Edna’s visit, Saturday afternoon.

Saturday (week 13).

Chapter 76. Monday Early August (week 14).

Early August Friday (week 14).

Chapter 77. Saturday (week 14).

Chapter 78. Friday (week 15).

Chapter 79. Friday evening (week 15).

Chapter 80. Friday (week 5).

Chapter 81. Friday (week 16).

Chapter 82. Friday late afternoon (week 16).

Chapter 83. Saturday (week 16).

Chapter 84. Monday (week 18).

Friday (week 18).

Chapter 85. Friday evening (week 18).

Chapter 86. Saturday (week 18).

Chapter 87. Saturday late afternoon (week 18).

Sunday (week 18).

Chapter 88. Final Chapter.

Chapter 1. Arthur’s Childhood.

Well it was hardly his fault the way Arthur H. Branshaw had turned out as a twenty three year old single man who had believed in fairies and faraway lands till his thirteenth birthday when his parents, well his father in particular had said to him after Arthur had opened his presents, It’s about time you stopped believing fairies live down the bottom of the garden Arthur, and focus on something more meaningful in life with the aim of becoming someone when you grow up.

Why Arthur’s father had felt it necessary to say it out loud especially on his thirteenth birthday, the one where you are no longer a child but starting your teens all very grown up, and especially in front of all his friends at the party table. To say he got the mick taken out of him until he left school and met different friends at university would be an understatement. It seemed to Arthur that from his father’s publicly outspoken words of wisdom at his thirteenth birthday party not to believe in fairies anymore, Arthur’s life seemed to have not have just changed direction, but had taken a complete U-turn, gone up the side of a mountain and has been tumbling down the other side ever since.

Arthur as he grew up had lived with his parents in a large village located within the Oxfordshire countryside. They lived in their two bedroomed detached house, which was the smallest house in the street with its detached wooden garage, which by comparison to the house was very large indeed.

Arthur’s father’s name was George; he was the Bank Manager in the village until just before Arthur’s twelfth birthday. Arthur’s father was a short man with brown hair, short back and sides, balding on top. It made him look like the old English gentleman he was. He had a fat stubby nose above a small well-trimmed, almost rectangular shaped moustache. He was always smartly dressed as you would expect from a Bank Manager and always wore a clean shirt with his waistcoat, and time piece attached to a gold chain to the waistcoat pocket. Whether he was going to work at the bank or was at home in the armchair he wore his waistcoat. A true, if slightly overweight, English gentleman in all his glory.

Arthur’s mother’s name was Jean, who was a few inches taller and three years younger than his father, who wore long flowing flowery dresses with high neck tops on her slender frame. She had a happy warm face, with thin pink lips and a small sharp pointy nose with hazel coloured eyes, and black wavy curls of hair, and for her height moved graciously through the house doing the chores a housewife does. It seemed to Arthur his mother spent most of her days dusting her china and crystal ornaments along with the house, and drinking copious amounts of tea with friends.

Arthur had many fond memories as a little boy playing in their large back garden running around wearing his favourite bow tie, as the dog Scamp chased him and the fairies around. Ever since watching a magician on the television one day who wore a spinning bow tie, Arthur had badgered his mother until he wore her down and she had bought him one. Arthur would come in from school every day and take off his school tie and replace it with his bright red bow tie. Arthur just loved to wear his bow tie all of the time.

The garden to Arthur as a small boy seemed a hundred times larger than the house he lived in as it seemed they were always struggling for space as the living room was only just big enough for the small two seater sofa an armchair and a tiny coffee table.

Arthur was always encouraged by his mother to play to his heart’s content in the garden to free up a bit space in the living room to keep his father happy, especially at weekends so his father could get his clocks out to polish and tinker with without the fear of Arthur knocking them over accidently, when running around the room with his imagination in full swing chasing fairies. With Arthur in the garden his mother could quietly bake some bread without the whirlwind of Arthur, Scamp and the fairies suddenly running through her kitchen, as they did on one occasion nearly knocking the mixing bowl from his mother’s hands.

Arthur was truly free when he was in the garden wearing his bow tie chasing the fairies around for hours on end with Scamp the dog.

His parents didn’t use the garden much and seemed to prefer to stay in the cool house on a summer’s day and peer out at the garden drinking tea from the Sunday best china set in the cover of shade, eating the freshly baked bread. Arthur and Scamp would smell the fresh baked bread aroma as it wafted through the house and into the garden. They would go indoors worn out and hungry, Arthur and Scamp would sit with his mother and father quietly in the living room and eat a few slices of the delicious fresh wholemeal bread, with lashings of marmalade on. Scamp wasn’t left out either; he always got a corner of Arthur’s bread with a good blob of marmalade on too. Then it was back out into the garden to race around again with the fairies.

On rare occasions they went on a summer holiday to the beach and stayed in a caravan on one of many holiday parks dotted around the south coast which incidentally the caravan seemed almost as small as their house back home.

Arthur really enjoyed the trips to the beach, where he could play in the sand, his mother wearing her large tortoise shell sunglasses under her straw hat that would often blow of her head if the wind caught it, still wearing one of her long flowing flowery dresses to keep from catching the sun while she read a novel.

His father would fidget. His father would get quite restless just sitting in his deckchair on the beach. Having read the newspaper and eating his cucumber sandwiches which Arthur’s mother had got up at a silly hour in the morning to make for the picnic would then out of boredom end up sleeping in his deckchair with his handkerchief knotted in each corner aloft his balding head to keep it from burning.

Arthur wearing just his small red swimming trunks and bright red bow tie loved to play in the sand with his bucket and spade digging holes and building castles for the fairies to play in as Scamp helped dig to. Getting bored of building fairy castles the next best thing was rock pooling, with the fairies helping him to spot fish and squiggly things that he was too slow to catch with his net that lived in the rock pools.

Once Arthur found a massive starfish that filled his net, Arthur was so excited with his catch he ran with his net as fast as his little legs would carry him with the catch of the day, back to his parents to show them how clever he was at catching a starfish. But as he got nearer to where his parents had pitched up, he tripped in one of the holes he had half dug earlier in the sand and fell flat on his face sending the starfish flying through the air for his gaping mouthed mother as she looked up from her book, surprised to see a starfish flying through the air and landing squarely in the face of his sleeping father.

His father was none too pleased to be awoken, let alone by a starfish landing on his face and trying to latch on. After a brief struggle to prise the starfish off his face his angry father told Arthur to put it back immediately where it came from and ordered his mother to pack up the picnic as they had spent far too long at the beach and were going back to the caravan for the rest of the afternoon.

After an unhappy Arthur returned his prize catch back to where he and the fairies had found it, he followed his parents back to the car park to put everything in the boot of his father’s cream coloured Austin 1100.

His mother on the walk back to the car had calmed Arthur’s father down enough to persuade him to go and look in the gift shops instead of going straight back to the caravan site. For her it was her highlight of the holiday, searching for new talking pieces to add to her growing china and crystal ornament collection proudly showcased back home in the dining room display cabinet.

The dining room at home was twice the size of the living room and this was where Arthur’s mother could show off her best china ornament’s to her coffee and tea drinking friends who she’d invite over regularly to gossip about posts offices and problems with refuge collections which Arthur thought was very boring.

After a couple of hours of looking in the tourist gift shops, many of which made Arthur chuckle when he saw those comic picture postcards that were in every other shop along the sea side front, showing a man on holiday at the beach with his noisy family in the background, because Arthur’s father looked just like the character in the postcard including the rolled up trouser legs and sunburnt balding head with knotted handkerchief and red sunburnt nose.

Years later just before Arthur’s thirteenth birthday, Arthur’s father had asked Arthur’s mother to buy a special joint in for dinner, as he said he had an important announcement to make that evening at the dinner table. Arthur’s mother had thought it must be the bank taking her husband back after realising he was such an asset to the bank and the bank just wasn’t functioning properly without him. Also she hoped for more housekeeping money as since his sudden early retirement was forced upon him completely out of the blue a year ago, Arthur’s mother had to spend wisely when she was in the supermarket each week. Arthur’s school trousers were turning into shorts at the rate Arthur was growing and he desperately needed a new pair.

That evening as they sat down to roast pork belly with all the trimmings, the long-awaited announcement Arthur’s mother had been building up for all day came as a complete but even better surprise. Arthur’s father as he carved the pork joint into slices at the dinner table, then served each slice onto their warmed plates told Arthur’s mother and Arthur the good news. He said that he had been contacted by a solicitor recently acting on behalf of a long lost Great Uncle who had lived in Australia and had sadly passed away, but who had bequeathed Arthur’s father a considerable amount in his Will. And that they would soon be moving into a larger house in the same area as soon as the right house came along.

Arthur’s mother was delighted as she envisaged her china and crystal ornament collection getting much bigger, and the possibility that she would actually be able to entertain her women’s guild in a normal sized living room as her other friends’ houses had. Arthur didn’t really know what to think apart from a bigger bedroom would be rather nice.

Six weeks later, the Branshaws were unpacking the boxes in their new house which by chance ended up being in the same street, many houses further along. Their new home was a very large five bedroomed detached house with three extremely large reception rooms downstairs and a massive conservatory on the back opening out to a large expansive mature garden with a huge ornamental fish pond filled with koi.

To the front of the property there was a white picket fence and a large rectangular area of grass. Adjacent to the lawn was the long tarmac driveway leading to a detached double garage next to the house. Ample room to polish his car inside if he didn’t want to start the car up to move it the twelve feet outside to do it, Arthur’s father had considered when viewing the property with the estate agent six weeks ago.

Yes Arthur’s father had snapped it up when it came on to the open market, as he had his dog walking routine twice a day which he still enjoyed. Scamp had passed away sadly a few months back due to old age and the heat wave, he was nearly seventeen years old; he had a very good life and was loved by the whole family. Arthur’s father had decided to get a puppy as he had never experienced owning a dog from a puppy before, the companionship and fresh air was most agreeable with all his free time on his hands having been retired early, and he knew the area well for the puppy to do his business on their evening walkies around the streets.

It was by chance one afternoon going on a walk with the new puppy named Jasper, he was a small white and brown Jack Russell cross breed of sorts, with his little ears that pricked up when it was time for fun or walkies, that George had spotted the For Sale board being hammered into the lawn of a property in the same street as he lived. As soon as he got in from walking Jasper, he rang the estate agents and arranged a viewing that evening, and offered the full asking price with the condition that the sale board was removed and the house was off the market forthwith. The current owners accepted these terms gladly, as they were moving to France partly due to the downturn of the economy. They had found a property over there, and had hoped their house would sell quickly so they didn’t lose out on their dream home. For them it couldn’t have been better, and when the estate agent had told them his client was a cash buyer so no chain complication, that was the cherry on the cake for the Sellers.

This long lost Great Uncle must have left Arthur’s father quite a lot of money as Arthur’s father was able to keep their old house too and rent it out. Arthur’s mother had never had so much housekeeping money before. She was able to buy the thick cuts of meat now without worrying if she would have enough money at the checkout to buy her fully loaded trolley. Arthur’s father had told Arthur’s mother when she enquired how much was left to him in the Will, simply said that if they were careful then the money left to him would see them out if they weren’t too extravagant, which satisfied Arthur’s mother no end as her husband used to be a Bank Manager and shrewd with his money and investments. Satisfied she would never have to scrimp and save anymore, she didn’t pursue the matter of knowing the figure her husband inherited.

The following year aged fourteen it was the first time Arthur had been abroad for their summer holidays. His mother had eventually got her own way and persuaded Arthur’s father that it would be wonderful to spend a week in the south of France as Christine from her guild raved about her holiday’s there.

Arthur tried to spend as much time on the beach as possible while his mother dragged his father around the towns looking in all of the shops buying figurines, china dogs and crystal for her display cabinets back home. If George had the same taste as his wife he would have collected garden gnomes, thankfully he didn’t, and he despised the pixie elf notion as ridiculous putting them all over the garden as some of his neighbours did. His passion was for clocks and had a growing collection, now he had money.

Arthur’s mother now had three large display cabinets one in each of the reception rooms of their new home. So when her guild visited there was always a talking piece in every room depending where she decided she would entertain her guests in her beautiful extremely large house.

Yes Arthur loved the beach and spent most of his time there on that French holiday. Not to play in the sand as he was past that now. No he now enjoyed very much reading a book or newspaper wearing his favourite new light brown corduroy bow tie, white shirt and white shorts, socks and trainers lying comfortably in the sun on his lounger watching all the topless women walking past as this seemed to be the norm in France.

Arthur especially enjoyed watching the all-women’s beach volleyball matches, wearing only white bikini bottoms, breasts bouncing around everywhere as they ran and jumped for the ball. Wearing his sunglasses, Arthur was pretending to be reading his book, while the opened up newspaper across his lap was hiding his enormous erection from anyone who passed by his lounger.

He could tell the English holidaymaker a mile away as they strolled along the beach with all their white bits on display, and why do fat English people think everyone else wants to see their rolls of fat on display? The husband’s pot belly dragging in front of him in the sand creating a furrow behind him, like a farmer ploughing his field, while the wife with the rolls of fat drooping down walks next to him. Arthur had to do a double take to make sure the Trog wasn’t actually completely nude walking past him, it looked like she wasn’t wearing a bikini bottom at all, as her enormous bottom seemed to eat the bikini bottoms up as her belly and hip flab draped over the strings of the bikini. And her naked breasts on display are only confirmed by Arthur to be breasts when he looked at the two long drooping rolls of fat and saw two hairy nipples on the ends, getting a tan. Apart from the English the French beach was an enjoyable place for Arthur to relax.

Yes Arthur thought this was his best holiday ever. And whenever he could he would over-compliment his mother back at the hotel in front of his father at what a splendid idea it was of hers for all the family to come abroad on holiday to experience a little culture and fine cuisine. Yes Arthur would keep watering this seed throughout the holiday in a hope that his mother would persuade his father to go abroad every year. Arthur grinned to himself as he wondered whether Spanish women played topless volleyball on the beach too, maybe he would find out next year!

Chapter 2. 1987 Present day, late April, Thursday (week 2).

It was to be just another ordinary work day in 1987, of an ordinary week at work with the prospect of the weekend just around the corner.

At least that was what Arthur had thought as he tumbled out of bed of his bachelor pad having been awoken by his Big Ben alarm clock at 6:30am. Today was going to be one of those clumsy mornings Arthur could tell. It started by Arthur getting out of the preverbal ‘wrong side of the bed’ that morning and with a slight giddy feeling as he stood and wobbled to steady himself, felt like his brain was still trying to spark and turn over like a car’s engine trying to start.

It felt like his left side of his brain was controlling his left side and his right side his right, which all we clever people know it is the opposite way around controlling your motor functions. For instance Arthur cleaning his teeth, a relatively simple ritual that his mother instilled in him as a child which should be done twice a day if you care for your teeth, Arthur like many people had been doing this for years and years so really his subconscious should be able to remove the toothpaste cap apply a little toothpaste onto the brush and clean his teeth without any thought really.

Well not for Arthur not today, the simple task of unscrewing the cap from the toothpaste tube which had been done successfully many times before was going to be a task in itself Arthur knew as he could still feel his brain was still trying to turn over and start up and that he would have to try extra hard to hold the small fiddly cap of the toothpaste tube to prevent dropping it onto the floor. Because Arthur was feeling so clumsy and was trying so hard not to drop the toothpaste cap on the floor, that was exactly what Arthur butter fingers ended up doing.

The cap landed awkwardly between the sink and toilet coming to rest behind the U-bend of the toilet in a layer of thick dust that had gathered there since Arthur had moved in over a year ago. The hoover can’t reach those areas and to faff about with the hoover attachments for a few square inches didn’t seem worth it to Arthur, so there the cap lay in the thick layer of dust behind the toilet.

Not a problem Arthur thought reaching down to pick it up but completely misjudging distances in his inactive sleepy state whacked his forehead hard on the edge of the wash basin with quite a thud as he heard the bowl and pedestal creak as the mating surfaces ground together.

Cursing the stupidity of what just happened and looking at the offending red mark now on his forehead in the bathroom mirror above the basin, Arthur was feeling a headache coming on. Arthur was undeterred to be outwitted by a simple toothpaste cap, so slowly he reached down again.

The toothpaste cap was typically just out of reach, like everything seemed to be for Arthur. For instance when Arthur still lived at home and helped his father mow the lawn or help his mother with the hoovering, the electrical lead would always get snagged or twisted up so much that it reduced the length of the cable so the full travel of the machine was impeded no matter how hard Arthur tried to push the machine to get the hoover right into the corner of the room or the lawn mower to finish the last little bit of lawn. No in a huff Arthur would have to waste his time unplugging the machine untwist the cable which seemed to be knotted up by a professional fisherman while his back had been turned mowing or hoovering, and spend five minutes undoing it, plug it back in, switch the machine back on for thirty seconds to finish the job!

So to retrieve the toothpaste cap without having to get on his hand and knees, Arthur bent down a little further and this time slowly and carefully making a purposeful controlled contact with his forehead on the basin and stretching his right arm and fingers out as far as they would go, he could just feel contact with the tips of his fingers and the toothpaste cap. A little further Arthur thought, as he pushed and stretched a bit more, his forehead pressing a lot harder now up against the rim of the basin, Arthur’s neck now tilting sideways slightly to give a few extra millimetres of travel for his arm and hand to reach the offending cap, pushing, thinking to himself, he can do it, just a little more hopefully before it hurts his head too much before he will have to stop and get on his hands and knees defeated.

Then Arthur felt the cap again, got it! Just! Held precariously between Arthur’s middle and index finger, Arthur didn’t grab it too tightly or it might have pinged off somewhere from his chopstick finger grip never to be seen again. All going well Arthur started to raise up feeling clever that he hadn’t been beaten by a stupid little white plastic cap, Arthur human conquer of all species on the planet. Albeit with a red impression on his forehead and a headache, but his trophy now firmly held in his hand, a dusty trophy with what looks like a pubic hair inside the cap now. Now held between his thumb and index finger in a vice like grip, there’s no getting away from me now Arthur tells the cap.

A quick blow inside the cap and wave about in the air to encourage the pubic hair to dislodge from the cap, voila magic no germs. Arthur wondered if he could bottle that and make millions instead of using all those earth destroying germ killing detergents, just blow the germs off, well that’s what burger places do if they drop a burger or bun on the floor, the seven second rule it’s called isn’t it?

Well Arthur knew it was not really clean but the visible dust and pubic hair was….. was still lodged in the cap! A quick rinse under the tap should do it. No it was in there for good now, nothing for it but to use a small implement to remove the hair. Arthur thought he would try the bristle of his toothbrush which only seemed to push the hair deeper into the toothpaste laden cap, not even contemplating that his toothbrush now had germs on it and it had touched a pubic hair which had been lying in a bed of dust behind the U-bend of the toilet for who knows how long, and was it even his hair and not the previous owner’s!

Suddenly Arthur had some inspiration, if I were a surgeon he thought I would use a special tool not to remove pubic hair from caps of toothpaste as toothpaste caps aren’t alive and they wouldn’t need saving but a surgeon would have a special shiny tool for every job.

Tweezers now at the ready Arthur goes in to remove the foreign item. What a successful operation doctor, said the anaesthetist looking wantonly flashing her long eyelashes at him. Mind wandering again back to the job in hand Arthur told himself. I wonder if I’ve got time for that too! No don’t want to be late for work and have sticky Y-fronts for the rest of the day, wait until tonight and invite the anaesthetist with her long lashes, thought Arthur.

Arthur placed the cap down on the bathroom windowsill then squeezed some toothpaste from the tube onto his toothbrush then tried to replace the cap back on to the toothpaste tube, but it started to cross thread and was wonky. Backing the cap off a bit to retry screwing the, anaesthetist, oops mind wandering again, in a vice like grip so as not to drop it again. It happened like a greyhound released from its trap, the cap was launched into the air at lightning speed, the now pristine clean and pube free cap did one of those things in life that if you stood in your bathroom until you died trying to do it again you would never be able to do it.

The toothpaste cap was launched up and sideways as it bounced off the rim of a glass of water on the windowsill then ricocheted off the window to fly through the air for what seemed like ages back towards Arthur and if Arthur had Bruce Lee or even Daniel-san for that matter, quick enough reactions, he would have been able to react with lightning speed and catch the cap, but no, gotten out of the wrong side of the bed, Arthur, half asleep just watched the act unfold in front of him, as the cap did a hole in one straight into the toilet bowl with a satisfying plop and a small splash back of urine and probably microscopic poo infested water droplet from the plopping action jumped out of the toilet bowl and landed on Arthur’s pyjama leg.

Not only had Arthur lost his recently surgically operated on patient, but now he had the germs from the toilet bowl on his pyjama leg and touching his skin as it soaked through the thin pyjama material. Probably wouldn’t have felt it Arthur thought to himself if he was wearing his winter pyjamas which were made of thicker material to keep those winter draughts out. So the next decision to make even before his busy day at work started was, does he change his pyjamas later at bedtime or just dab the offending watermark with a bit of tissue and by the time it’s time to go to bed the germs will have magically died and gone away, added to that a little blow and a shake, that should be fine.

Then it struck Arthur, was he even supposed to still wear pyjamas? A young man living in his bachelor pad, he’d never really thought about it until that moment. His father wore pyjamas when he was growing up at home, but then come to think of it his mother wore those hideous nighties like Barbara Windsor wore in Carrying on Camping, although it looked fantastic on Barbara. Those Carry on films were like soft porn when Barbara was on set, at least to an adolescent teenager called Arthur who awoke every morning with a rock hard penis and needed to urinate to make it go floppy again. Very embarrassing walking not quite upright past your mother and fathers’ bedroom in the morning, not daring to acknowledge them in case they saw he had an erection.

Arthur was sure that his father had seen once he had an erection as he could feel his father’s eyes burning holes into his back as he walked what seemed the very long eighteen strides to the safety of the bathroom from his new bedroom not daring to acknowledge anyone or anything was there apart from the void of the landing and the door to the bathroom at the end of it. At least in his old house his bedroom was next to the bathroom and he could have gone to the bathroom quite unnoticed with his morning erections.

Arthur was sure his father knew that Arthur knew his father knew, that Arthur in all probability had unwanted morning erections as young men seem to get, at least Arthur assumed most young men must get them as he did. Arthur for that very reason never stayed long in the bathroom when he lived at home in case he was wrongly accused of masturbating, although he was sure his parents would never say it outright. His mother was a member of a woman’s guild and went to flower arranging, coffee mornings and afternoon tea parties where they used proper flowery cups and saucers and used large silver tweezers to plop in brown or white sugar cubes. Yes Arthur remembered those long boring mornings and afternoons being dragged to them as a small child in the school holidays as his mother didn’t know what to do with him.

The women would listen to guest speakers as they were called and talked about the most unusual subjects Arthur thought. Like the Australian shrew and how it would hibernate nine months of the year as it couldn’t cope with the heat, stupid animal for living there in the first place Arthur had thought as a small boy. Another speaker spoke of monkeys that sneezed on tourists on a jungle expedition and these people came back home and sneezed on other people and all the people that sneezed would be dead as the cold was called Aids or something like that, which for a small boy half listening and half daydreaming while his mother and the other women listened intently nibbling at their biscuits, frightened poor Arthur.

Arthur had been very worried when he went back to school after the school holidays were over and a girl in his class called Helen had a cold and was sneezing. So Arthur feeling sorry for her quite innocently while keeping his distance so not to be sneezed on, asked her how long she had to live and was sorry she was going to die. Helen only being eight like Arthur had took what Arthur repeated he had heard at his mother’s guild meeting word for word as the total truth as any little eight year old would, and abruptly burst into tears and went running to the teacher. Mrs Princely tried to calm Helen down to see what all the fuss was about. But poor Helen was inconsolable and was coughing and sneezing all over Mrs Princely in between huge uncontrollable sobs. Arthur thought there goes another one.

Arthur’s mother was called into school at the end of that day to try and see where Arthur would have got such a ridiculous story from. The Headmistress couldn’t have been a member of a woman’s guild Arthur had thought to himself, as she had never heard of a cold called Aids. However after an awfully long time sitting outside the headmistress’ office while his mother was in there with her, his mother eventually came out with the headmistress behind his mother holding up a handkerchief to her mouth with a very worried expression and look of fear in her eyes. Arthur was told by his angry mother that Arthur was to shut up in future. And not scare his classmates and not to talk about things he didn’t know about, and that was the end of it. They walked home in silence; he didn’t get any spotted dick and custard at the dinner table for dessert that night.

No his mother would probably knock on the bathroom door and ask Arthur if he was all right, Do you need more toilet paper dear? What are you doing in there? Asking what you are doing in the toilet was perhaps as blunt as it could get to being accused of masturbating.

If Arthur ever got constipation he would hum a tune, to let his parents know he was actually using the bathroom for what it was designed for and not going in for a secret wank as his friends called it at school.

Arthur did try to hum a tune while masturbating once but he ended up rather sore and nothing happened, as the tune was very off-putting, he supposed the Great Escape perhaps wasn’t the best tune to hum while trying to masturbate. At least he knew he had proved to himself that it was quite alright to hum on the loo to show others in the household that you weren’t masturbating.

Yes Arthur knew there was a time and place for that sort of thing, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons where usually a good bet as his mother and father would do the grocery shopping in town. If they took the bus, Arthur knew he’d have at least a good hour while his parents were in Waitrose. Arthur would make up some excuse not to go, even offering to hoover the house, which he could do in twenty minutes flat which left him plenty of time to indulge in his natural teenage urges, by being alone with the women of his teenage fantasies and his well hidden and well used Mayfair magazine.

Arthur thought to himself that maybe he would rethink about his night attire just in case he did one day bring home a lady friend who might stay the night. It would be all well and good after hopefully doing the business, a pleasure he had no experience of with a lady as of yet. And to date, could only rely on his faithful ‘right hand man and five sisters’, he also discovered due to over use of his right wrist one week when his parents for one reason or another had been out the house together daily for a whole week that his ‘left hand man and five sisters’ were a totally different experience.

Using this technique occasionally if he had been overdoing it too much, his more uncoordinated left hand actually felt like someone else was there doing it for him, which really did heighten Arthur’s afternoon pleasure. But it was a little more time consuming so he wouldn’t use his left hand if he had offered to hoover the house just in case his parents came back and Arthur hadn’t finished, which brought his wandering mind of happy past time pleasures back to his present thoughts about whether he should still wear pyjamas.

Arthur pictured having actually brought a real woman home with real breasts who had a real hairy vagina, as he recalled his favourite picture of Rachael in his Mayfair magazine, spread-eagled on the bed looking back at Arthur with those eyes that screamed out come and take me big boy, which he had done so many times in