Primal Sneeze

A cold shower is never pleasant, especially on a November morning. But thanks to a powercut and the imminent arrival of Tara, to take me clothes shopping, it had to be done.

Hearing her footsteps on the gravel, I shivered my way into the hallway and unlocked the door. Com’on in. It’s open. As I turned I noticed the post on the mat. Bending over to scoop it up the towel dropped to the floor. Realising she was now being treated to a view of my cold hairy arse - a blue moon - I burst out laughing.

Tara wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t laughing because she wasn’t there. It was my elderly spinster neighbour, Nora - a 75 year old known as Nora the Explorer due to her penchant for snooping around other people’s houses. The intrepid Nora was holding a religious magazine and intensely exploring my floor and her shoes. Your father’s Pioneer, Primal. I’ll just leave here on the table. You can give it to him the next time you visit him.

I’ve never been on a nudist beach, but I’m told that once you overcome the initial apprehension it becomes liberating, enjoyable and perfectly normal. Like a first parachute jump, once you manage to coax yourself out of the plane you love it. Having taken that plunge and bared all, I was feeling brave. I had nothing to lose. By the end of 10am mass the whole village would know what had happened. Nora would see to that.

So I greeted Tara wearing nothing but a string around my hips with my wallet hanging from it strategically covering the twins. But shur we’re shopping for clothes aren’t we? And I need everything - shirts, jeans, shoes, socks, jocks, the lot. It’ll be handier in the changing rooms.

She called my bluff. Good thinking, Primey. Right. Put your keys in my bag and we’re off. The bravery was waning rapidly as I made my way to her car. I knew she wouldn’t go through with it. Or would she? Panic stations. How the fek would I get out of this? Plus I was freezing. Then I heard a familiar voice.

Better bring an umbrella, Primal. Rain on the way. The postman - standing on the road chatting with Nora and her sister. Tara locked herself into her car with my door keys, laughing convulsively while I hunkered down behind it for what felt like hours. The postman obviously spread the word about the performance art show as a half dozen other neighbours came around to borrow things, ask after my father or just to say hello.

That was six years ago. It took long time but I got my own back on each one. I have picked them off like a sniper. Just yesterday I got the last of them. But more about that later.