Chip Butty

Chip Butty

Thoughtlessly he shoves a mouthful in. Then another on top of that. Cramming the cavern full to overflowing. An edge of a chip drops on to his shirt. His spare hand grips the shirt and brings it to his lips to scoop up the escapee. It’ll not be easy getting that grease out.

It’s probably the earphones he donned before he first lifted the bread to his lips that amplifies the mastication from his mouth. Maybe earphone-less ears would release some of the sound…. and make it less, um, directional.

It’s reminiscent of the sound we heard when we sat on the headland in Orkney. The cave beneath, with the water, slopping backwards and forwards. Those puffins. They made an unusual noise. Mate for life apparently. Wedded bliss, or just tolerant? So soothing. A lovely holiday. Peaceful. Gentle. Just nice.

I think about a kick to quieten him, but it might mar the atmosphere. I look across. He lifts the plate from his chest to his lips and tips the remaining crumbs into his mouth. His digestion seems to be functioning. He forces his right heel into the carpet to brace himself. It’s quite a trumpet. Then another from the top end.

I go into the kitchen to examine the scene. Frying pan is smoking. I turn the gas off and open a window. Those pots won’t wash themselves. I leave them. I can hear snoring. The plate’s slipped to the floor in the lounge. Tomato sauce sliding off it onto the carpet. I get a cloth from the kitchen then scrub the floor. It leaves a stain. I rinse out the cloth in the sink and stare out of the window at the rain. It drums incessantly out of a broken gutter onto a strewn metal bucket beneath.

I wonder where the step-stool is. I find it under the stairs behind his tools. There’s a clatter. I listen. He’s still snoring.

I’m just tall enough to get that suitcase from the top of the wardrobe. I stretch and swing it round, then drop it on the bed. I’m getting changed. Smart casual I think. It’s not a big case, just big enough for an outfit for all weathers. I think that bather still fits. I think that’s it then. Handbag, car keys, bank cards, glasses – oh, and a spare pair. Always losing them. Passport, yes, passport. Don’t need a passport for Orkney, but might go further afield. Should I write a note? Nah!

Right then, suitcase packed and in the car. Plenty of petrol, just checked. I close the front door. I think I turned the gas off! Got to be careful with chips – especially in wooden houses.