Waves

By Mark Paige

This book is a humorous look at 30 something people living their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291983760

Book preview

Waves

‘Waves’

Part 1

Mark Paige

Copyright © 2014, Mark Paige

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-291-98376-0

Dedications

To Nick. 

Acknowledgements

To everyone/anyone I’ve ever met as you all contributed.  Naturally, this attributes the fault to you and not me.

Foreword

Throughout this novel, brackets and sometimes even brackets within brackets have been used.  This shouldn’t cause the reader undue concern unless of course, one of the brackets is followed by; h (∂ψ/∂ t ) = H ψ, in which case, I’d tend to worry – but only slightly, as you probably already know, there are really two Schὅelinderger equations – one time dependent and the other not.  The latter, obviously being based on a dynamical configurational space, is maybe or even, (possibly) more correct than the one that is usually stated. And obviously, depending on Heisenberg’s ‘Uncertainty Principle’, either may (or may not be) be totally right – or wrong.

Despite the uncertainty of the ‘fuzzics’, on a totally different approach, and on the assumption that there may be one or (hopefully more), foreign readers of this book, the author has in the following gone to great pains to explain certain attributes of Australian culture and the Australian language.  Hopefully, this won’t bore any local Oz reader who naturally is totally familiar with the wonderful traits of Australia and therefore, its vast richness of Australian language and... culture.

Owing to constraints imposed by my ‘publishers’ it should be noted that this is part one of a three part novel.  The rest has already been written and will follow as soon as funds allow.

Incidentally – the music mention herein has also been ‘de-composed’ and will be available for download as soon as the author can find a site that allows ‘noise’ to be up and downloaded but if interested I can be contacted at [e-mail].

1. Super Nova

‘Dreams’

He was tall, dark haired, chisel-chinned and despite his being fully attired in a tailor-made, well-fitted suit, his proud manhood was obvious.  And when he spoke he did so with an authoritarian tone; ‘A schooner thanks mate – poured but not foamed.’

Hearing this, the young female trembled with anticipation.

‘Sure!’ the young, highly attractive, elegant (and modern) brown-haired woman said firmly closing the book and despite wanting to throw it though the nearby closed widow, instead, calmly and logically put it on the table next to her empty bed - not that this is strictly literally accurate as the young, highly attractive, elegant (and modern) brown-haired woman was obviously occupying it.

The fact that the book had been loaned to her by one of her colleagues - who coincidently happened to be blonde, and was also her best friend, precluded it being shredded – by a broken window.

‘Reality’

Instinctively Peter ducked as a massive detonation suddenly erupted in the immediate vicinity of himself - the loud explosion being attended by a bright light and an extremely loud whooshing sound that was accompanied by loads and loads of acrid smoke and a searing red light in the sky.

The combination of the explosion, the bright light, and the rocket sound combined with the nearly asphyxiating smoke and Peter’s adroit manoeuvre (as at that particular instant Peter was desperately trying not to be hit by another guest), caught the attacking yob (backwards for undeveloped ‘boy’) by total surprise which meant the yobbish yuppie missed his target (Peter) and instead, landed his intended punch in the air and his body, fairly and squarely in some shrubs surrounding the lawn. This naturally (or unnaturally) made one hell of a mess of the potential assailant’s stylish slacks and jacket – not to mention, a couple of the host’s and hostess’s decorative shrubs. 

Amazed how life and living always seemed to be a challenge Peter shuddered and sighed with relief after adjudging that the attempted physical assault had, for the moment, had little direct impact upon himself.

Being perspicacious and therefore, having foreseen an oncoming ‘squall,’ the host of the party, Simon, had thoughtfully retired to his house where he quietly retrieved a distress flare gun, loaded it and, when the time was right, had triggered it. 

The ignited distress flare was now purposefully following an upward arc and outwards toward the nearby Port Hacking River - the location of which, will be explained very shortly for those not living thereabouts.

Initially shocked by the detonation, the majority of the party goers momentarily froze – that is, they stood immobile and weren’t suddenly overtaken by a particularly immediate cold spell or worse, by a sudden physical transition - like water turning into ice or to steam, to watch the un-seasonal firework display, a single white smoky trail followed by the searing red light of the slowly dropping flare.

Seeing an opportunity, Peter silently nodded meaningfully across to his mate John, who, in between quickly finishing his current drink and being amazed (although, as we shall later see, he shouldn’t have been) by the antics of Peter, had also been showing a distinct, albeit ‘distant’ male interest in the attributes of a certain strikingly attractive female blonde. Whom, it must be said, though she was both female and ‘distant’ was fully aware of John’s ‘field survey’ and whilst quietly enjoying his attentions, was becoming somewhat impatient that the aforesaid male hadn’t as yet, made any move.

Unfortunately, this he would shortly do, but which, owing to Peter’s recent contact, or to be slightly more acurate – near contact, with his fellow guest, would be - in a totally opposite direction. 

His move left the striking blonde somewhat surprised and saddened, angry, bewildered and frustrated.  All at the same time.  Which is apparently is what women are amazingly adept at doing.  That is, feeling all sorts of emotional things whilst undertaking other practical things.  Like holding a conversation on their mobiles, ironing, replying to messages on their I- something or others, cleaning the house, giving birth, watching DVDs, listening to their partners (well, at least partially and usually catatonically), raising children and scones, eavesdropping on countless nearby conversations, cooking, feigning an orgasm, eating mainly sweet things whilst simultaneously losing weight, drinking and breathing and generally looking absolutely fabulous.  But naturally, being female, all concurrently.

Wow.

Obviously, although the author finds the above truly amazing he wouldn’t like to dwell on the above too deeply as being a simple male, he’s hard pressed to remember what he was about to write next... I know… I think...  Got it... a much-needed exclamation mark.

!

That is; ‘Wow!’

‘Any chance that one evening we might finish attending a party along with the rest of the guests?’  John casually asked as they both gently and carefully, albeit hastily, hoisted their invalid friend, Lee from the bench.  ‘Any possibility of us ever saying ‘goodnight’ to everyone, or possibly, even anyone?’ John continued whilst shaking his head in mock disgust.

‘We’ll see!  What has happened has happened.  Consider this just as another Now.’  Peter shrugged although he was still slightly shaking with anger. And, to be honest, which, for the most part of this novel, the author will (almost) try to be, Peter (and the author, having to try and write a little more than a few pages) did so with more than a touch of fear, dread and trepidation.

Then Peter thought again. ‘Reverse the word ‘Now’ and...’ he had...  ‘woN’ – that is, survived which is probably just about as good as good as it gets if into furthering the survival of the fittest – not that Peter was all that particularly fit.

‘Things were just starting to get interesting.’  John said somewhat ruefully as he glanced back at the striking blonde whom he noticed just so happened to be ‘almost totally disinterestedly’ glaring at him.

‘I think if we don’t get out of here pretty soon they’ll be more than interesting.’  Peter grunted as he waved a forlorn ‘thank you’ back to their host, Simon and purposefully steered Lee out through the gate.  Past experience had told Peter that whenever life started getting ‘back to normal’, it was probably a sensible time to leave wherever he and that ‘life’ happened to be.

But far more importantly, so had his two mates, John and Lee who gently nodded in agreement with each other.  As quietly did the their host Simon.

In the distance, the approaching sirens of three familiar major emergency services blended into a (familiar) rising and cacophonous crescendo.

Meanwhile...

Looking down at her stunned, frustrated and fuming colleague in the flattened flora then across at the three rapidly departing figures, the young, highly attractive, elegant (and modern) brown-haired woman considered the situation for a few seconds (or more likely less as we shall shortly see) then made a quiet, but calculated decision.  Now was a time for a change.  A pretty serious variation to her existence. Which being a woman she instinctively knew that may involve an alteration that... well, might be pretty severe – and also quite decisive.

Although, (and this is strictly between the author and the reader), the young highly attractive, elegant (and modern) brown-haired woman was slightly apprehensive as to what that change might bring.  But at least it shows that she was quite bold, courageous and probably just as wayward as regards her intended target. 

Around about the Same Time...

Around about the same time, in the search and rescue operations centre, things were in a state of organised chaos - phones were incessantly ringing as innumerable calls had been placed to report the floundering of a tinnie (an aluminium pleasure craft)/a cruising yacht/fishing boat/coastal trader/oil tanker/super liner/container freighter/a Russian tycoon’s private yacht...  The size of the distressed vessel clearly being in directly proportion to the number of alcoholic units that had been consumed by each caller - allied of course, with the observer’s personal pessimistic dispositions.

Police, fire and ambulance services, sea patrols and a helicopter were scrambled. Along with the Air Force and Navy.

Sydney’s media, especially its radio and television stations, were likewise inundated with calls describing variously;

Flashing silver/gold/green/rainbow coloured (but definitely not red),lights that obviously signified an alien spacecraft coming in from the east and landing to the south of Sydney(which issomewhatsurprisingly close to Sydney Airport);

Sexual experimentsthat were being undertaken by monstrous smellyalien hairy beasts - which is quite plausible, it being a Saturday night- in Sydney.  Andpossibly, the world in general.

Complaints regarding various election promises being broken by politicians- which is more than likely,well simply... a plain fact.

Aided by such extremely reliable sources of ‘information’ - mobiles, IPods, YouTube, Twitter, Facebook and various internet boards most of which cater for alienated beings, the news spread quickly and was rapidly embellished.  Although, in fairness it must be said – those monitoring all communication in the world at the NASA centres yawned - their spy satellites, drones, stealth surveillance planes, microphones, feeds from I-something or others, taps of the global internet, mobiles, and land lines (via technology from Israeli companies that had been set up by ex-Mossad operatives) having already established that a flare from Simon’s house had been fired.

But without such a deep knowledge and understanding, for most of Australia this was; ‘The start of a New Dawn’, even though it was night (although to be totally fair, it was probably dawn elsewhere on the planet), ‘the second coming’, which some of the aforementioned hairy beasts were apparently still attempting to and for the most part, unsuccessfully achieve, owing to an excess of brewers droop. (Which for the foreign reader is a simple male birth control system deployed in Australia - by Australian breweries.  A little like anti-Viagra – but far cheaper and enjoyable – until the morning after - or so a good (childless) friend of the author had once explained to the author – the latter who had obviously showed a sympathetic but total lack of understanding.)

Such highly inaccurate and totally uncorroborated information naturally had triggered general hysteria - both locally and nationally, as reports of fleets of extra-terrestrial craft ‘as numerous as the stars’ were reported over Bundaberg, though between the reader and the author, this was more than likely attributable to the alcoholic rating of the local produce which you, being an astute reader, probably already know, can be under-proof , in-between under and over-proof, or even (heaven forbid) over-proof, Bundaberg Rum.  The over consumption of which, usually results in the adoption of a prone position which allows an uninterrupted view of the sky – and the vast canopy of the Milky Way and beyond - to the edge of the visible universe - unless, of course, the imbiber happens to be prone and positioned face down.  In which case, it tends not to be and Cane toads may become extremely inquisitive and friendly.

An invasion by ‘aliens’ was also reported in Alice Springs, although this turned out to be no more than a bus load of ‘Asian boat people’ who were surreptitiously making their way across the continent to the safe haven of Adelaide where they would try to blend in with the well-established German wine-growers. ‘Von Ha Ho.’

Not to be outdone, some Western Australia residents reported seeing a strange golden glow descending far to the West.  And although pretty harsh, it must be said, many brutally hardened sceptics in the East suggested, that, given the five hours’ time difference between the West and the East coasts, it was quite possibly a daily event called ‘sunset’.

Several South Australians (mainly wine producers), announced whilst toasting each other, that owing to the unique ‘glowing globes’, the Barossa was likely to have the best vintage ever... plus additional cheap labour based on as yet unsubstantiated reports of a bus-load of ‘tourists’ passing through the Alice.

Not that such upstanding citizens would ever employ illegal immigrants... unless really pressed - to produce extra wine that is – obviously for the benefit of wine connoisseurs. At a reduced rate.

And Yowies were understood to be now in control of Canberra.

Apologies.  For the overseas reader, a ‘Yowie’ is a mythical hairy beast which possibly has a limited intelligence and is similar to a Yeti or a Bigfoot... but is Australian, and should, therefore, in no way be confused with a Bunyip... which is also Australian and has a limited intelligence but tends to live in swamps. 

Therefore, differentiating between a Yowie and an Australian politician may sometimes be more difficult than distinguishing between the subtle differences between a Yowie and Bunyip... or a Yeti or a Bigfoot... but with a little effort, it is just about possible.  Yowies live in remote bush land and Bunyips live in swaps – Australian politicians tend not to (and between the reader and the author, sometimes they have paid accommodation close to where they work, enjoy unlimited chauffeur services or, at worst, massive taxi allowances, flights and expenses to weddings...) though like Yowies, Yeti’s and Bigfeet, they sometimes appear to have limited intelligence.  Which Peter (but obviously not the author) seemed to understand.

Only the residents of the Australian states of Victoria and Tasmania seemed to be blissfully unaware of the threats to their nation, though it must be said that there were seventeen sightings of the Tasmanian Tiger in the latter state, which between the author and the reader was only two more than was usual for a Saturday night.  (Apologies – for the foreign reader, the Tasmanian Tiger is a dog-sized animal that is striped (in black and white as those are the only photos the author has seen) and nowadays is believed to be about as numerous as the Dodo.  Although they are apparently sometimes seen late on Saturday nights and very early Sunday mornings.

More worryingly, based on such over-reactive and totally unsubstantial reports, the RAAF had scrambled (not eggs) a squadron of jets just in case Sydney really was under a terrorist attack.

Far below them, the well-trained fighter pilots; ‘big stick forward – big house... big stick back – small house’, life appeared to be relatively quiet.  Apart of course from the sound of their screaming jet engines close to the ‘big and then small houses.’

Strangely, despite several visits to houses in the area by the local constabulary comprising an older and a younger police officer, which included a call to a continuing but suspiciously subdued barbeque in Lilli Pilli which is or was, just before Peter moved in, a well-healed southern suburb of Sydney, no one had managed to identify the source of the strange light. 

Apart, of course, from the helpful host of the said party who had; ‘Noticed a firework or something which seemed to come from the Burraneer Bay area’ and who, had waved in the general direction off to his left whilst deftly kicking a spent flare case into some recently squished shrubs. 

Equally unsuccessful were the offshore patrols and the helicopter armed with infrared sensors, the off-shore search and rescue ship, the inshore ribs, the fire departments, the RAAF flight, the ufologists and political commentators, the last of whom believed it might by a stunt to gain support for a waning party. Which as the reader already knows, was possibly the reverse.

Earlier, a clear...

Earlier, a clear and relatively warm spring Sydney Saturday had dawned following a recent cloudy working week and a seemingly endless dismally wet winter.  The morning had been spent at the beach and three men - John, Lee and Peter - were all set for a hopefully entertaining evening. 

In the interest of achieving total truthfulness, the author must point out that although the term men has just been used to describe the three individuals, this was meant to be a vaguely ‘generic’ description and refers more to their physically age rather than to any particular sense of their mental maturity.  Apparently, this is a paradox to most women but it shouldn’t be, as women seem to know that men always to ‘grow down.’ That is, having reached some sort of apogee, they always seem to approach puberty – albeit, from the wrong direction.

Anyway...

Knowing he would be partaking ‘(glugging’ in Australian parlance) of a drink or two or, to be slightly more realistic... ten or, given any opportunity, slightly more, rather than drive, John had prudently decided that he would take a local taxi and pick up Lee from Gymea Bay on his way round to Peter’s place in Lilli Pilli.

For the confused reader, Google Earth might help locate any or all of the abovementioned places... but to save time – they are all suburbs located just to the south of Sydney in a place called ‘the Shire’ (try typing in; ‘Cronulla NSW’) and then move to the bottom - but don’t zoom out (or in) too much... there you go...!) which obviously requires a far better explanation than a dependency on an online application (which it must be said is superb) and, therefore, it will be, in due course.

There, they would have ‘one or two fortifiers’ before undertaking a short trek up and across the street to Peter’s older neighbour called Simon, who was putting on a barbeque for all of his employees and their partners, a small number of close neighbours and a few friends who, actually numbered less than one as Simon appeared to be either immersed in his business or enjoying a tranquil domestic life.

Exactly why Simon had invited Peter and his mates is an unknown.  Even to the author, which is rather worrying... but never the less he’ll do his best and try and improvise... given that most neighbours had learned over the twelve months of Peter’s residency that any form of contact with him usually led to one form of disaster or another. 

Then again, in the interest of openness and honesty (which, after all, is what this story is nearly all about), the use of the word ‘disaster’ is perhaps a little too harsh, as it wasn’t meant to imply that as a result of mingling with him, people actually died, were mangled or severely injured - although it must be said that Simon’s Red Setter once came within a millimetre of becoming deceased when Peter’s self-repaired boundary fence collapsed following what most local conversations later unanimously agree was a zephyr breeze but which Peter adamantly maintained was a fully-fledged southerly buster... augmented by a pretty serious cyclonic tornado. 

Again, for the overseas reader, a ‘southerly buster’ is a strong, cool wind that originates in Antarctica and which often creates a welcome respite from sultry, summer Sydney weather, provides an ability for those inhabitants of Sydney who aren’t fortunate enough to own reverse air conditioning systems, to sleep at night and real-time practice for the offshore rescue services, along with confused, rapidly displaced yachtsmen and penguins – the last of which, may, or (depending on the author’s memory) may not, make an important appearance later...  Actually they do – the author has checked ahead... he can guarantee that later on penguins really play a significant role – at least for a moment or two.  Once the author has managed to work them in somehow.

Nor was the use of the word ’disaster’ meant to suggest that houses were destroyed.  That near incident had been promptly and efficiently contained by the local fire services and only resulted in the reduction of another neighbour’s garden shed, a couple of non-descript albeit highly flammable shrubs (and the neighbour’s fence) to a smouldering pile of ashes.

Instead, the above was meant to indicate that his neighbour’s lives didn’t seem to flow smoothly as they would have liked nor follow the normal and relaxed pattern that most Australians seemed to enjoy.  That is, their lives seemed to move to a high state of entropy – that is a chaotic state - far more rapidly than is normally and humanly expected.

Rather than take pleasure in a quiet morning coffee, a friendly chat over a fence (one that was preferably still remaining upright, not totally alight nor still smouldering), or enjoying one or two casual beers/wines/coffees, since Peter’s arrival, things tended to ‘happen’ in the neighbourhood.  In addition to falling/burning fences, large branches of gum trees had been known to land within a metre of parked cars and passing pedestrians, sometimes accompanied by a tardy call of ; ‘timber’ but more often by a shout for ‘help!’ as the tree lopper discovered that his route back down had disappeared - along with the removed limb (which, for greater clarity, means the limb of the tree.)

Local disputes had also occurred especially if Peter was being kept awake.  However, his depth of immersion and concentration often led to a scant regard for his or other’s sleep whilst he remained up until two a.m. trying to compose a ‘difficult’ part of his ‘music.’ That is, any attempt by him to use more than one matching note after another.  The intricacy of the music usually being directly proportional to the volume.  Especially, where things called ‘chords’ were involved – then it tended to become very loud.

And any visiting car parked too close to his driveway or indeed, on any approach roads, stood a fair chance of inadvertently having its bodywork remodelled owing to Peter’s somewhat erratic driving.   

It was possibly because of this litany of local ‘colourful events’ that Simon, his neighbour, saw in Peter his lost youth, an alter ego or, something that, at the sensible age of sixty -three, he knew he would never be capable of recapturing. 

As Simon’s wife kindly said.  ‘No one around here would have anything to talk about if it wasn’t for the likes of Peter,’ but to hedge her bets, she quickly added, ‘and anyway I’m sure he means well.’

Possibly it was also Peter’s intenseness and depth of thought which appeared to be constantly engaged in trying to understand life - a life apparently made ever more complex by both his total impracticality and by his attempted analysis.  Maybe it was both of the above and the significant fact that Peter had single-mindedly and resolutely taken it upon himself to look after his old schoolmate who was physically impaired. 

Whatever.  There seemed to be an affinity between the older family man and his somewhat maniac and slightly erratic younger neighbour.  

Nearly Back - to the Beginning...

‘Got your bullet proof armour?’  John asked good-naturedly, as he met Lee at Lees’ parent’s front door.  ‘Think Ned Kelly must have known Peter in a past life.’

For the overseas reader, Ned Kelly was an Australia bushranger (outlaw) who around the 1850’s killed three policemen and who used to wear plated metal armour and who, depending on your point of view was either;

a)      A hero for the oppressed masses;

or,

b)     A psychotic killer. 

Alternatively, he might have simply been slightly mentally under-developed and into dressing up as a knight in armour and stuff.

‘I’ve got my sticks.’  Lee replied, wielding first one crutch and then the other.

‘Might not be enough.’  John chuckled and carefully led him to the waiting taxi.

John

At thirty-two, John was the youngest of the trio and had first ‘encountered’ Peter in an IT software solutions company where they had both been employed.  Initial contact had been limited to professional but heated discussions or, more accurately, as described by their colleagues - blazing rows, arguments, major ‘stouches’ (an Australian term... for pretty severe bust ups) that strangely, to frightened onlookers, soon turned into a mutual respect, a deep friendship and prolonged sessions in any pub or bar that happened to be open in the near, intermediate or distant vicinity (or to be more honest, usually, any, and all.)

Although diametrically opposite, both somehow appreciated the other’s viewpoint and realised they could each learn from each other.  Although for the pair, the ‘how not to drink so much’ would possibly (or not) come much... mmuch... mmmuch lllll..l...ater.

That had been some seven years ago.  And since then, John had progressed steadily through the ranks of his organisation and reached a plateau of comfort where any further major promotion would inevitably require an expenditure of far greater effort, longer working hours and a potential sacrifice of his own time and his personal beliefs. 

Rather than spoil what he considered to be a reasonable person and life – that is; a balanced guy who enjoyed drinking, smoking, watching any and all sports on TV, drinking, smoking, playing an odd round of golf, drinking, travelling, smoking, drinking and the occasional dalliance - though not necessarily in that order, John had chosen to stay within his comfort zone and had few illusions about moving further up the corporate ladder.

Similarly, he had adroitly managed to avoid any long-term relationship and/or attachments, and whilst not a confirmed bachelor, he was happy to continue as he was unless of course the ‘right’ person came along.  Although it must be pointed out that his definition of ‘right’ was not yet exactly set in concrete and was, when necessary, viscous enough to include ‘right for the night.’

When John was twenty-five, Peter had quit their mutual employer and headed over to Europe - primarily to see the world or, to be more exact, specific and precise, Europe, and whilst ‘over there’, had, more by luck than by design had landed several successful and highly lucrative IT consultancy jobs. 

For six years John had heard nothing from Peter but then contact had been abruptly re-established when Peter had accidentally and only ever so slightly rear-ended John’s new company car in Cronulla (which the reader, if you have used Google Earth will now recognise – especially if you have used ‘Street View’) one Saturday morning. 

This wasn’t so much of a big bang – rather it was a small crunch.

Despite the sun shining brightly, after a slightly frosty detailed exchange of insurance details and addresses, the two had renewed their friendship. 

However, remembering past times, John had worriedly shaken his head as he had walked back to his now ever so slightly less than pristine car and wondered how he could attribute this to Peter’s no claim insurance - which he guessed probably would be just that - non-existent.

Their friendship resurrected, John’s hitherto relaxed life had quite suddenly in the last year been punctuated by three friendly cautions