Alex Through the G-whole Glass

By Sam R Morris

Alex was always trying to escape from nearly everything. Escape from all the errors of his past, escape from his maladaptive way of dealing with things, escape from escaping. Always looking for a clean getaway, a fresh start which he normally failed to get meanwhile jumping from escape to escape plan to escape plan like some airforce Captain in Colditz.

 

This time though he has really managed the mother of all escapes. In this brave new world Alex sees a whole new set of challenges which he must overcome, a whole new set of ways of looking at the world, finds new allies to help him overcome these challenges and if not possibly escape with him instead.

 

Has he jumped out of the frying pan into the fire, should he go back to the frying pan? Should he buy a new frying pan from the supermarket because this one has lost too much of its non stickyness and that thought makes him a bit queasy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam R Morris
• Release date: Apr 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224641437

Book preview

1

Some things will never change

Oh! He so needed this! He weighed it in his hands. It felt perfectly balanced.

He gripped it firmly in his left hand and tore desperately at the wrapping paper until the cardboard-y goodness was revealed.

The brown box had layers upon layers of packing tape, making damn sure that the contents were never gonna get damaged, by falling out at least.

He knew how to handle this, though. He pulled out his favourite/only (kind of sharp) pair of safety scissors. They were called Montoya. Packaging, prepare to die.

Montoya did their thing, and he levered open the box of delights, only to be confronted by the next obstacle, the bubble-wrap.

Ha! Montoya laughed at this challenge, but Alex was subtly seduced by his satisfying siren memories. He indulged himself, and after three, or four, or thirty ecstatic pops later, Montoya took over and just ripped the remains of the bubble wrap apart.

Here it was, the inner box. Not the original, of course. It had been waaay too long for that. No, this was an almost unbelievably hard cardboard surrounded by fully three layers of taut steel like Sellotape. He could see it had been packed by an empathetic person, not a penny-pinching corporation.

He could have sworn Montoya trembled. He jabbed the pointy-ish rounded ends into the tiny gap. It did not yield. He tried again, this time pressure scoring the ridge with the full scissor blades. It was simply too strong. Inconceivable he thought.

There was a time when Alex Paine having seen his scissors defeated would conclude that he didn't need man-made implements to tackle this problem. He felt his chipped two front teeth with his right index finger and had to admit to himself those days might just be gone.

No use fretting. He knew what to do. He strode confidently out of the dusty, musty hallway and towards the kitchen. After one brave step, he immediately tripped over the hoover hose, but years of practice meant he managed to stop himself before he slammed into something. He snarled at the hose and tried to move it into a different position. It did, and he carried on, but he could hear it immediately readjusting itself back to its favoured location. Never mind, he didn't have time for stupid hoover games today.

He made his way to the magnetic knife strip on the wall. Which implement to choose? So many poor quality, different style knives. He thought about the bread-knife. No, wrong shape, what about the multi-purpose knife? No way too big.

No, it had to be the steak knife, properly pointy with tiny vicious serrations.

He lifted it off the magnet and weighed it in his hands. Yep, beautifully light with an obligatory black, cheap, plastic handle and the inevitably rusting blade. The rust was increasingly encroaching onto the text that mockingly said ‘stainless steel’. It would probably crumble if it ever came across actual steak, but for the taut Sellotape, he thought it would do the trick.

He made his way back to the hallway with the tired paintwork on both the walls and the wooden floors. He glared at the hoover hose, daring it to stop him in his quest again. The hose relented, or just ignored him really, bested.

He'd put the hard cardboard box on to the top of the mini wheely suitcase where his router lived. They jostled for position, and he grabbed the box, which of course meant the router fell on the floor. No time for that now. He would deal with it later, probably a week Thursday.

No, he needed his fix right now. There was no ceremony. He was totally ruthless and pried the sharp bit into the apparent gap of the box where the Sellotape was. The knife slipped and missed his thumb by about 10 centimetres. Not. Even. Close. Box.

He levered the knife, so it was at 90 degrees to the tape and pushed. He could feel it penetrate and once it did, it was like the breaching of a dam and the rest just surrendered itself to him. Alex pushed the blade easily now around all the remaining ridges. The tape obstacle had been overcome. Soon he would have the real treasure inside.

He pulled up the front flap of card with his hand, and the other flaps followed. Now he could see its shape, its beautiful outline, but first, one last bit of bubble wrap to deal with. Again seduced he savoured the poppy wholesomeness and then just tore it open.

Enough games!

There they were!

Oh, wow!! They were so sleek, but also blocky and shiny and glassy.

This was it!

His very own pair of Google Glasses!!

At last!

He put them on his head. They fitted-ish, I mean there was the wonky-ness, but that was his bumpy nose bridge, which meant no glasses ever really fitted him. He looked in the mirror ‘Soo cool’ he thought. The naysayers in the outside world would probably not agree, calling him a sad glass-hole. They were so wrong, cool.

Should he try it?

What are the chances?

There might be some charge.

'Let's hope so, or I am going to have to wait however damn long this battery takes to recharge and I simply can't!

I need it now!

Right now!

I'm going to do it!’

He'd watched the videos.

All he had to do was tap.

He put his right hand up to the side of his head and tappied his mighty tap.

A SPARK! SEARING PAIN! BLACKNESS!!

The ground rushed up to hit him and his life flashed before his eyes, his last vague thought

‘God! What a fucking clichéd disappoin…’

Yesterday…

It was beautiful really, nature’s dawn chorus..the lark, or..actually he didn’t know, as he didn’t know anything about birds..It was just a chirpy, chirpy, effing bird waking him up at 5 am. As it did. EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING!!!

Alex wasn’t a violent man, but he would be happily tucking in to his third helping of lark pie if he could. He wondered if the lark was actually originally trained by the Security Services in a long study on sleep deprivation, just to test the reactions of the populace.

Tweet Tweet Tweet etc. said the lark.

Right! that's it! Mr Lark! prepare to get your OWN wake-up call!! Said Alex.

Alex crawled out of bed and opened the second drawer down in his bedroom chest of drawers. In this drawer there were technological relics from any time since the 1980s up to the present day. This could include things like graphics cards that could no longer be put in a PC as the slot was now a tenth of the size, or cables for some esoteric digital video format that disappeared before this millennium. He was hanging on to them, just in case they made a comeback.

He moved most of the technical items out the way and retrieved his drone. This was only a couple of years old. He even kept it in its box. It could take amazing 4k video of the city, the sea or the countryside that was genuinely beautiful to watch. But people tended to approach you when you had a drone, either to ask what you were doing inquisitively or threateningly, and who wants the hassle of that?

Alex had charged the batteries the other day, planning to put the drone up for new year and fireworks. He, of course, didn't in the end go out because he was middle-aged and friendless, but nevertheless the charging had happened.

The drone and controller were removed from the box. He switched them on and put his phone in the allotted bit with the springy arms, and he turned it on. The drone took off.

Alex was not actually going to go anywhere near the lark. Mainly because It's nasty to actually hurt a small bird but also because he would probably get arrested, and it wouldn't work anyway, the lark being a million times more agile than the drone.

No, the plan was to send the drone about 20 feet away from the bird and hover, in the hope that the lark would relocate to a tree further down the street. He thought this might work because, a few years back, when using the drone, the seagulls had constantly tried to attack it as they saw it as a threat. He'd discovered that if you put hawk eye markings on it; the seagulls give it a wide, wide berth.

Alex made his way from the bedroom through the musty hallway, into the lounge with the damp patch. There were an excessive number of chairs which he needed to clamber over, all the while controlling the drone. He got his keys out, lifted the handle, unlocked and opened the balcony door, whilst the drone hovered, menacingly.

He made his way out onto the balcony, immediately regretting the lack of layers. He grabbed the controller, positioned the drone onto the balcony area about 4 feet up. He now scouted for larks. Although, he wasn't too sure what a lark looked like, he definitely knew its sound, though.

Of course, now, it was totally silent. He manoeuvred the drone around a bit, and he couldn't hear the lark at all. 'Job done,' he thought. Goodbye, Mr Lark. Enjoy your new home.

He brought the drone in and switched it all off, clambered back into bed and was soon warm again, quietly celebrating, a bit euphoric and finally just drifting off

When...

TWEET TWEET TWEET!!! said the lark

Alex desperately tried to cover his ears with the pillow.

TWEET TWEET TWEET!!! said the lark

Oh!! For earplugs that work, and will let you sleep too!! said Alex.

TWEET TWEET TWEET!!! said the lark

Eurghh!! Might as well get up and grab a coffee. Alex negotiated the hallway assault course and made it into the kitchen. He opened the fridge. Only enough milk for about 3 coffees! This meant shop, which didn’t open until 7! It's gonna be tight. The caffeine needs to be kept up to sufficiently not fall asleep at the desk levels. Important social media/news reading/doom-scrolling to be done!

The two hours of half awakeness actually flew by, unlike the lark, and the coffee had started to do its work. He was just about to get dressed for the shop.

When…

The buzzer went

"Seven in the morning!

SEVEN IN THE MORNING!

Who is calling at seven in the morning?

Could be the lark looking for final revenge.

THIS TIME IT’S PERSONAL!!!"

Alex made his way out of his bedroom/office and into his hallway, avoiding various shoes that were scattered about.

He then remembered he could have checked on the door camera who it was, but the trouble was he didn't like to use any of the popular door-cams because of his neighbour's privacy being uploaded to the internet. So instead he used a knock-off one that could store data locally, but also you could set up an app to check. But of course he didn't trust the knock-off company to know his Wi-Fi details, so when he wanted to see it, he used an old phone he had as a hotspot and put the camera app on that. He rarely however switched on the phone, and it wasn’t on now. So he had a door camera that his neighbours probably thought was nastily intrusive, but he didn’t really use, anyway. He thought at least he could check the footage after the fact of a burglary, as long as they didn't take the door camera that is.

He opened the Front door.

Hello Alex, just coming to see about the damp issue you raised, said Fred

It was Fred Butcher in his Kashmir coat, with his coiffured hair, his Rolex and his big gold rings. He just needed a cigar to complete his homage to 80s wide boy. Yep, Fred Butcher, Alex's Freeholder with his annoyingly disarming drawl, which was massively offset by his enormous ill-gotten bank balance.

Wow!! Good morning Fred, Great! Are you going to sort the damp? said Alex.

I need to have a look, Said Fred

OK, come in, sorry about the mess, this way, said Alex

Fred swayed in and they both stepped over shoes and the hoover hose. They made their way past the temporary clothes rail that Alex had put up in the hall when he first realised there was damp and needed to leave the bedroom. That was 5 years ago.

He put on a convenient Covid type mask that he had hung next to the bedroom, opened the door and ushered Fred in.

The room was awash with mould spores. Alex kept both windows open all the time, but it made little difference. Fred coughed. Alex coughed.

The entire south wall, the external wall, had enormous colonies of mould so advanced now that they had probably invented faster than light drive but just didn't want to use it, cos, you know, they were happy here.

So are you going to fix it? coughed Alex.

Well, you see, because of climate change and all the torrential rain, worst rainfall on record, you know, I have to prioritise, and I am afraid there are bigger priorities, coughed Fred

But it's been 5 years, Fred, Said Alex, not coughing now, having adjusted to the mould being part of his respiratory system.

Fred had embraced the concept of Thatcher’s property owning democracy, and he was determined to own, neglect and make as much money out of as much of it as he could.

Fred was what was known as a freeholder, and Alex a leaseholder. The freeholder owned the land and building and pretty much decided what would be fixed when or if at all. The leaseholder paid the freeholder to maintain the building, in theory.

Well yeah I know, but its climate change though, isn’t it. You should do what I said and use a de-humidifier, Said Fred.

Right, so, you want me to use a de-humidifier. A de-humidifier that will cost me loads of money to run the pointlessly wasted energy that it consumes. Thereby pushing more carbon into the atmosphere, for future all-time records! You haven’t got shares in the energy companies, have you Fred? Either way, it doesn’t work well enough to allow my bedroom to be liveable and then there's the black mould that is making it difficult to breathe and the fact I can’t rent or sell the flat at all said Alex.

Well, what can I do, we ALL have sacrifices to make. When I were in Davos the other week with Lady Agentaline Clematis-fernley. Lovely lady, used to be the MP, member of the GBBB and the Cutters, like religions you know. We flew over in her private jet. Ah wonderful memories.. When I were in Davos me accountant called, and he said Fred, Fred I am sorry to say you can only use the yacht for 300 days this year, 300 days!! I nearly wept, but I said to me-self, Fred, me old chum, you are saving the planet. Still, I am going to miss it. You know how much I need that! said Fred.

Oh, I am sorry to hear that, but I still need to know. Are you going to do anything about the flat? said Alex.

The government are bringing in new regulations, and I am afraid I have got to prioritise them! Said Fred.

Are you going to do anything about my flat? Said Alex.

I NEED TO MAKE A LIVIN..anyway I must go, said Fred

SO ARE YOU GOING TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT MY FLAT? said Alex

A pause whilst everyone calmed.

I will talk to Halo Dell for you. Now Alex, can you come and 'ave a look at somethin' for me? Said Fred.

Well, not really Fred, I need to go to the shop, and work starts soon, Said Alex

Oh shame, you know what they say. One good turn deserves another, said Fred.

Sigh OK Fred, what is it? said Alex

Just follow me, said Fred

Fred took Alex back out of the mould room, clambered past the temporary clothes rail, avoided the shoes, and the hoover hose, opened the front door, and they both exited into the interconnected communal hallway with the half finished paintwork. They opened the door to the back stairs, where there was vintage dust and spiders’ webs from when the building was originally constructed in 1962. They went down the stairs and Fred pulled the door open, the door closer meant that you had to have the strength of Hercules to open the door now. This was after 3 years of Alex complaining that there was no door closer and the door was being left open for assorted burglars and others to enter at will.

They made their way out on to the cratered, neglected, weed strewn tarmac and Fred took Alex over to his gold Rolls-Royce which was parked under his sign that said We will fine you £1000 if you illegally park here

Alex, my eyes are going a bit. Can you have a look at my tire pressure? I am a bit worried it's too low, Said Fred.

Erm, wouldn't you be better off not driving or at least going to a petrol station and using a pressure gauge said Alex

I am gonna do that, but I'm worried I won't make it, said Fred

Alex checked. All the tires looked fine.

They all look fine to me, Fred, said Alex

Fred was on the phone. No, buy a million shares of CardinalSock and Scam Hard

Fred stuck his thumb up at Alex, started the engine, and drove off.

Evil old Twat Alex said.

'I am such an idiot for having bought this bloody place. I want to get out, but not get ripped off! I need a new start somewhere better,' Thought Alex.

Fred, unbelievably, had used Alex as apparently a free counselling service for his own issues in the early days. Telling Alex about how hard it was being a freeholder and how much hassle. This was what Fred was referring to when he said he only had 300 yacht days this year. The poor lamb. Alex had figured that if he befriended Fred, things might go better for him. Eventually, he realised it was more likely Fred was just shit testing him.

Alex got the feeling Fred had no real friends. Mind you, Alex had no friends either, but he didn't even have any money to compensate. Given the state of Alex's reality, he sometimes needed to escape.

2

Going Down Down Down

Alex’s main method of escape was in his head, nothing as exciting as drugs, well not since he was much, much younger. Sure wine got consumed, but he hated the 3-day hangovers.

Nor did he like some people escape via gaming. This was because video games were no longer about flying a blocky sprite round to save the world, or becoming an intergalactic freedom fighter/trader. No, video games wanted to preach at him now, so it wasn't so much an escape as it was just a stressful extension of the real world.

No, Alex’s escape routes were via the programming that he tinkered in or the gadgets that he played with.

He had a nearly never-ending array of gadgets that definitely made him a novice hoarder, but he was rapidly moving up the ranks. Not just gadgets either, he would hoard pieces of cardboard just in case he could do some YouTube-y art project, that obviously never happened.

When he went to his local park, he was eyeing up the squirrels to see which ones he could entice to live in the damp bedroom. So that when his remains were found he would get a tick on all the hoarder boxes. Cardboard, check, piles of gadgets, check, rodents nesting in a corner, check!

Work was about to start, but Alex still needed to go to the shop. He loved coffee; he hoarded coffee; he had so many varieties, loads of them stale now, which he had tried and not liked. He wasn’t going to the shop for coffee, though, just a milk run this time. He would pop to the local co-op express 5 minutes away. Or, if he was feeling adventurous, the slightly further Tesco express.

This was nearly the total extent of his socialising most weeks. He was single, of course, but he was just about still a sexual being. He was a straight white working class middle-aged male, which meant society was lining him up for assisted suicide one way or another, and it took most opportunities to convince him he was clapped out.

Nevertheless, unfortunately he still found some women attractive, so he tried to catch their eye when out and about. This occasionally used to work when he was younger, not that he did much about it in the past, but it made him think he was attractive in turn. The problem was they no longer returned his gaze.

His now socially unacceptable male gaze was ready, but it was early morning, and it was basically him and the wildlife. He walked past the bins and looked out for the increasingly aggressive youngsters, who he hoped saw him as a silver-back not to be messed with. But probably just spotted a loser who they could intimidate. Thing is, they were right, because Alex had the middle-aged curse of things hurting after the most minor movement, so the idea of getting into a confrontation at this age just made him imagine seizing up whilst being filmed for teenage TikTok fame.

There was no gang of kids today though, there was just the flock. Alex liked to watch the flock as he passed by. They were a bunch of pigeons, just standard pigeons, grey ones with purple breasts and a couple of not so standard, not purple breasted, but had clearly seen plenty of action ones. Alex had taken to throwing bread out for them. I mean, he probably wasn't supposed to throw bread anymore, but if he didn't, the seagulls would just break into the rubbish bag and take it anyway. So he thought, why not? The purple breasted ones invariably beat the others to the bread through sheer numbers. In fact, worse than that, they not only beat them to it, they snatched it off of them. He tried to position the bread throwing, so the grey breasts got a chance, but no joy, and day after day they got beat and beaten up. He started to root for them and named them Steve and Kev. Today, only Steve showed up and he was looking in dire straits. Alex threw the bread and Steve missed out. Bloody nature, bloody, bullying, purple breasted, snidey nature.

He got to the shop and the security guard eyed him up. They always eyed him up. Alex, of course, wore a rucksack because he told himself, and about 20 years ago, society had told him that he was environmentally aware. Which he obviously wasn’t really, but he knew he would forget a plastic bag, and end up paying 50p, just to increase his plastic bag hoarding stash, check.

His rucksack certainly didn’t help, but the truth was he was eyed up by security long before he had a rucksack. Most of his life he thought it was his gait that had marked him out as looking like a criminal, well apart from that one time when he was much younger and the security guard had harassed him because he fancied him.

Now he was getting on a bit he finally understood that people actually weren’t on the whole very nice, he realised that the security guards, like the kids and the purple pigeons saw someone they thought they could intimidate to make them feel better about themselves. Or maybe they were ALL attracted to him, he should probably believe that.

The security guards would normally follow him from aisle to aisle, and so it was today, watching him as he picked up things from the shelves and then really