The Meaning Of Life
By RR Gordon
The Meaning Of Life
Edition 02
Copyright © 2013 by RR Gordon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover photograph is the copyright © 2013 of Alexandra Gordon.
All characters are fictional.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Matt Link, who was there with me.
We were going to Newcastle for a meeting, my colleague Matt and I.
Incredibly, the cheapest way to get there from Cheltenham, short of walking or riding a horse, was to fly. So we’d got some return tickets for sixty quid on EasyJet and now we were walking up the steps of the plane at Bristol airport.
After the plane dropping out of the sky, most people’s second greatest worry is that they will find themselves sitting next to an obnoxious, belligerent drunk who will talk to/at them incessantly throughout the whole flight (which at least takes the mind off the first fear slightly) – and that’s exactly what happened to us on this occasion. He was a pissed-up Geordie, who spoke loudly and swore a lot, but at the end of the flight I felt like I was saying goodbye to an old friend.
Underneath the loud exterior, he was … well … I’ll let you decide for yourself. This is how it went as the plane pulled back from the gate…
HIM: Wahay, we’re off.
ME: Uh-huh.
Silence for a minute. I’d got away with it. He hadn’t breached my defences. I was planning to do a bit of work on the short flight so I opened up my folder and took out a sheet of paper.
HIM: We might be on time nah but it’s gonna be layte by the tiyme we land. I guarantee it, man.
ME: Uh-huh.
HIM: I tayke this flight every other week, man. It’s never once been on tiyme yet.
ME: Uh-huh?
The question mark was taken as a sign of weakness and he was in like Flynn.
HIM: Aye, man. I’m workin’ on a job doon in Avonmouth an’ we’re two weeks on an’ then a long weekend off. I come up back home every other Thursday evenin’ and we get Friday, Saturday, Sunday and then we’re back doon again on the Monday mornin’. What you flyin’ up fer?
ME: We’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning.
HIM: Yer probably wonderin’ why ah’m gannin’ up on a Wednesday and not a Thursday? It’s fer a funeral. It’s me sister’s husband. He dropped doon dead last week. He was only 51. Can you believe it, man?
I put my papers back in the folder. I wasn’t going to be doing any work on this flight so I might as well sit back and enjoy it.
ME: That’s terrible. What did he die of?
HIM: It was hereditary. He just dropped doon dead one day last week, man. Can you believe it? He was only 51. Me sister’s in bits, man. He just said he wasn’t feeling too good and then keeled over. Me sister’s in bits.
ME: So what did he die of?
HIM: It was hereditary. He knew it was comin’. He’d been goin’ to hospital for a few weeks and they’d told him he only had three years to live. Three years. And then he keels over one day. Just like that. He was a big guy too. Six foot four. You know those guys that stand next to the prisoner in the court? Big fuckers, one either side of the accused?
ME: Yes?
HIM: That was his job. Big fucker, nobody would have fucked with him. You’d never have thought that anything would have got him. Me sister’s in bits, man. They’ve got two kids an’ all. I would have come up last week as soon as I heard but me Dad said he’d look after her. And me brother. You see, I’m runnin’ the job doon in Avonmouth. We’re building an Asda distribution centre and we’ve got nearly a hundred men on the job and I’m charge of the whole fuckin’ lot, man. Aye, I might be a thick Geordie, but I’m runnin’ the whole fuckin’ thing, man.
I just need to tell you something at this point: as he said the words “thick Geordie”, he leaned his head forward slightly and tapped the centre of his forehead a couple of times with his index finger of his right hand. And he did it every time he said these words throughout the rest of the conversation.
HIM: Aye, I might be just a thick Geordie – he tapped his forehead again – but I’m runnin’ these jobs all over the country, man. And abroad. In August we’re off to Norway to build some sheds. That’s just what we call them. Sheds. We just call them that cos they’re simple to put up, but they’re big fuckin’ sheds. Industrial units or something I suppose, but they’re fuckin’ massive. I’ll be workin’ three weeks on an’ one week off on that job.
ME: Sounds like hard work.
HIM: Ah, I’ve been doing it all me life, man. I don’t knah anything else. Couple of years ago, we built St Pancras station. Wey, not built obviously cos it’s been there a hundred years – it was a renovation job, but we had two hundred men on that job fer eighteen months and when it was finished the queen came and opened it. They had the Royal fuckin’ Philharmonic Orchestra there an’ all. Me Mam came doon from Newcastle for the ceremony cos she wanted to see the queen. And there’s me, this thick fuckin’ Geordie – once more he tapped the centre of his forehead – an’ I’m in charge of the whole fuckin’ lot so I’m the one that’s got to show the fuckin’ queen all the work we did.
ME: The queen?
HIM: Aye, I might be a thick Geordie – tap of the forehead – but I’ve met the fuckin’ queen. They were all there, man. The Royal fuckin’ Philharmonic Orchestra, the queen and Prince Philip. Any road up, I’ve got to finish this job in Avonmouth first before I can go oot to Norway. And I’ve got two weeks holiday booked at the end of July. I’ve got a villa over there. I’m takin’ me sister and her kids out with me. And me Dad. But he can’t walk so good now so we’ve got to go to the one doon the hill.
ME: Down the hill?
HIM: Aye, he can’t go to the one up the hill any more, cos of his hips. So doon the hill it is.
ME: Are these villas yours?
HIM: Aye, man. I might be a thick Geordie – tap of the forehead – but I’ve got a villa in Tenerife.
ME: It sounds like you’ve got two?
HIM: No, man. The one up the hill is mine, but the one doon the hill is me mate’s. But me Dad canna walk up the hill so doon the hill it is. I’m lookin’ forward to it. I could do with a holiday after all this work doon in Avonmouth. We’ve been doin’ it for about nine months now.
ME: Have you got family yourself? Wife and children, I mean.
HIM: Aye. Wey, ex-wife now. She got pissed off with me bein’ away all the time. What could I fuckin’ do about it though, man? You’ve got to work though, haven’t yer? And it’s not like I could say to me boss that I wanted to stay in Newcastle. You’ve got to go where the work is.
ME: True.
HIM: I still get on alright with me wife though. Ex-wife I mean. Ah, I can’t get used to calling her that. We went oot for a curry last time I was up. That’s how we met. And how we split up.
ME: Pardon?
HIM: We got together in a curry house and split up in one as well. Different ones, mind. I was about twenty and me and me mates had been out in the Toon and we went for a curry. Must have been just before midnight. There was aboot eight of us and we were all pissed up but they’d knew we’d give them a big tip even if we did take the piss during the meal.
ME: Right.
HIM: And Suzanne – that’s me wife, bollocks, ex-wife I mean – she was there with some fella on the next table. They were just finishin’ but they were havin’ a big row. She told me after that he was wanting her to pay half. Can you believe it?
Tight bastard. You canna take a lass oot and make her pay half, can yer?
ME: Er, no.
HIM: She would’ve paid half, she said, but it was just the way he told her to that got on her nerves. They’d been goin’ oot fer six month and she were pissed off with him before that night. Anyway they were shoutin’ at each other aboot the bill and then all sorts. How he was always goin’ oot with his mates, how she was always naggin’ at him, the usual stuff. Meanwhile the waiter was stood there next to the table, waitin’ to be paid and wonderin’ what was gonna happen. So I stood up and sorted it oot.
ME: Oh, yeah?
HIM: Now, I can see yer thinkin’ that I took the fella ootside and kicked his fuckin’ head in – and, to be honest, that’s what I was thinkin’ mesel’ when I stood up. But then I had this sudden thought and I just gave the waiter fifty quid and said, cool as yer like, ‘that should cover it’ and went and sat back down.
ME: Really?
HIM: Aye. Me mates couldn’t believe it. Suzanne told me after that she thought I was like James Bond or somethin’. All cool and, what’s the word … aye, suave, she said. She never fuckin’ called me suave again, mind. Plenty of other things, but never suave.
ME: Well, I didn’t think you were going to say that.
HIM: The fella she was with then stormed over and started shoutin’ at me, pointin’ his finger in me face. And then he made a big mistake: he tipped me plate of curry onto me lap. Chicken madras. He stood back and laughed. So I stood up, dragged him ootside and kicked his fuckin’ head in.
ME: Ah.
HIM: Aye, I can tell what yer thinkin’, but it’s completely different, man. He made the first move. Fair’s fair.
ME: And what did your wife do?
HIM: She went home, but I made sure that I got her number first. I called her up the next mornin’ and we went oot to the pictures that night. I’d been goin’ oot with another lass but I kicked her into touch a couple of days later. I was in love, man. I knew Suzanne was the lass fer me. We got married aboot a year later.
ME: How long were you married for?
HIM: We split up just a couple of years ago. We always used to fight, but never fer long, but fer aboot a year she’d been naggin’ at me to get a job in Newcastle. Turns oot she was thinkin’ that I was shaggin’ other lasses all these times when I was workin’ away.
ME: And were you? Actually it’s none of my business.
HIM: Nah, I never did, man. Wey, just once with this lass when I was workin’ on a job in Chester, but I’d had aboot twelve pints and I just fell asleep in her bed, man. I’m tellin’ yer, I loved Suzanne.
ME: Why did you split up then?
HIM: She didn’t believe me. She just got it into her head and there was no tellin’ her. We went oot fer a curry on our anniversary and she started tellin’ me to pack in me job and work in Newcastle, but I told her that I was on good money and I’d only be on half that in Newcastle. We couldn’t buy a fuckin’ villa in Tenerife if I started again in Newcastle, man.
ME: There’s more to life than money.
HIM: That’s what she said, an’ all, but she still wanted the fuckin’ villa in Tenerife an’ the nice house in Jesmond. Anyway, she stormed oot and took the kids to her mams. The divorce only came through a couple of months ago and it was only then that she started believin’ me about not shaggin’ around. She’d asked some of me mates from work.
ME: Do you think you might get back together again?
HIM: I don’t think so. Mind you, she was goin’ out with another fella fer a few months, but that’s finished now.
ME: Do you have any children?
HIM: The kids are both teenagers, but they’re not stupid fuckin’ teenagers. You knah what I mean?
ME: I guess so.
HIM: We brought them up right. A couple of years ago, me son says to me that he wants a new xBox or some fuckin’ thing. I told him to stop bein’ so fuckin’ soft, but he says ah come on Dad or something. We were in the car and I blew me fuckin’ top and drove over to The Ridges. You know The Ridges in Newcastle?
ME: Is that a shopping centre?
HIM: Ha! Shopping centre. That’s a good one. Our kid’ll piss himsel’ when I tell him that later. Maybe you’re thinking of the Eldon Centre, mara. No, The Ridges is the rough part of Newcastle, they have riots and shit there. Whenever they have riots somewhere else like Toxteth in Liverpool or that place in Manchester, The Ridges do an even bigger fuckin’ riot, man. Anyways, I took me kids to The Ridges and we were sat there in between two burnt oot cars and I pulled the handbrake on and turned round to me son and said “Do you want to live here, son? Do yer? These people have got fuck all and there’s you goin’ on about a fuckin’ xBox.” He didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t ask for an xBox again.
ME: I bet he didn’t.
HIM: I tell me kids that you’ve got to graft if you want to have fuckin’ xBoxes. Graft. Here’s me workin’ all over the fuckin’ place so they can have a nice place to live and do they appreciate it?
Just then the air stewardess came past with the trolley.
AIR HOSTESS: Drinks, snacks.
HIM: Aye, pet, I’ll have one of them cans of lager for a pound please. You’ve got a special deal on for Geordies, haven’t yer?
AIR HOSTESS: I’m afraid –
HIM: Don’t worry, pet, I’m only fuckin’ aboot with yer. I know they’re thirty quid each. I’ll take two please.
AIR HOSTESS: Actually they’re four pounds each or seven pounds for two.
HIM: Aye, I knah. I bought four cans for me and me mates last week and it cost us fourteen quid. I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. I told the lass that I didn’t want to buy the fuckin’ plane, I just wanted a little drink.
AIR HOSTESS: Here you are, sir. Two cans.
HIM: Thanks, pet. Four quid each. Look at the size of these cans, man.
ME: It’s the same size as a Coke can, isn’t it?
HIM: Aye, you could drink it in one mouthful, man. And it’s four fuckin’ quid. Now, what were we talkin’ aboot? What you flyin’ up to Newcastle fer? Football, is it?
ME: Football? No. We’ve got a meeting tomorrow.
HIM: Wey, it’s Newcastle-Sunderland at the weekend, man. Everyone’s talkin’ aboot it. Me sister says she doesn’t want any talk about football at the funeral and that’s fair enough, but me and me Dad’ll be goin’ to the match and I hope that fuckin’ Paolo Di Canio is cryin’ at the end.
ME: I play football, actually. For a veteran’s team. It’s –
HIM: I used to play, but I can’t any more with work. Must be ten or fifteen years since I played football or ice hockey.
ME: Ice hockey?
HIM: Aye, I played hockey nearly every day for twenty years and now I haven’t been on the ice for ten years at least. Funny. We used to live round the corner from the skating rink at Whitley Bay and me mates all played ice hockey, so I did too. I loved it, man. Flyin’ around the ice, all that paddin’ so you couldn’t really get hurt. I played for Great Britain an’ all. When I were nineteen. Or maybe twenty.
ME: Great Britain?
HIM: Aye, man. I might be a thick Geordie – tap of the forehead – but I’ve played ice hockey for Great Britain. I bet you didn’t think I’d done that, did yer?
ME: Well …
HIM: Nah, but I canna blame yer. I’ve been all over the country playin’ ice hockey. And also coachin’. Me and me mate used to run coachin’ schools for kids in the summer holidays and stuff. Did it fer aboot four years. Loved it, man. Watchin’ the kids get better, playin’ a bit mesel’ and then goin’ to the pub in the evenin’ when we were stayin’ away in Birmingham, London, Bristol. It was great, man.
ME: Mmmm.
HIM: But then I had kids of me own and I thought that I should be back home with them in the summer holidays. I thought I should spend time with me own kids not somebody else’s.
ME: Yes, it’s important to –
HIM: Me sister calls me the blac
k sheep of the family, but I knah what’s right. You haven’t got anything if you haven’t got family.
ME: Yes, my wife –
HIM: Me and me sister weren’t speakin’ fer aboot five years. Just cos of a stupid fuckin’ thing.
ME: Really?
HIM: Aye, she and Wayne – that’s her husband, the fella whose funeral it is tomorrow – they went away for the weekend on their weddin’ anniversary and she left her kids with me and Suzanne. This was before we’d had kids and theirs were six or seven I think. So anyway we looked after them for the weekend, but on the Saturday night we fancied goin’ out.
ME: Right …
HIM: So I got me mate Kevin to come round and babysit. He’d broken his leg playin’ football and couldn’t go oot anyway so he said he’d come round.
ME: Okay …
HIM: I went and picked him up and we got him a few beers from the offy, but he drank them all and fell asleep in front of the telly. Anyway, me sister rings up to see if everything’s alright and Kevin’s fast asleep so one of her kids answers. She has a chat with him fer a bit and then asks to talk to me, but the kid says we’ve gone oot fer the evenin’. Doesn’t fuckin’ say that Kevin’s there or anything.
ME: Oh dear.
HIM: Oh fuckin’ dear is right, man. Me sister goes fuckin’ mental thinkin’ that we’ve gone oot and she and Wayne drive all the way back from Edinburgh or wherever the fuck they were and get to our house aboot midnight just five minutes before me and Suzanne get back. As we come back into the house, me sister’s takin’ the kids oot, puts them in the car and then comes back and shouts at me for aboot half an hour, man.
ME: Oh dear.
HIM: Aye. I told her to shut the fuck up, Kevin was babysitting and she says you were meant to be babysitting, man. What the fucks it matter who’s babysitting, I tell her, Kevin’s a good lad. And she says she doesn’t know who the fuck Kevin is and her son had told her that there was no-one in the house and anyway Kevin was completely pissed and asleep in front of the telly and he had a broken leg and how was he goin’ to save her kids if there was a fire.
ME: Fair point.
HIM: Aye, wey, I knah that now, man. When you have kids, it changes yer perspective, doesn’t it? You want a fuckin’ qualified nurse lookin’ after them or something. Not some pissed up Geordie, asleep on the sofa. Fuckin’ Kevin.
ME: So what happened? She stormed off and didn’t speak to me for aboot five years. When we had family get-togethers she would fuck off if I turned up or just not speak to me. It was only when I had kids of me own that I realised why she’d got so pissed off. I apologised to her aboot ten times a week fer aboot a year and she finally started talkin’ to me again when me Dad persuaded her. He told her I’d grown up now that I had kids of me own. Me sister said I would always be the black sheep of the family, but that she would consider – just consider, mind – talking to me again.
ME: That’s good then.
HIM: It was all me mate Kevin’s fault though. Fuckin’ dickhead, fallin’ asleep. And I don’t think it’s fair for me sister to call me the black sheep, do you? I wasn’t goin’ to start another fight aboot it though. That’d’ve been another five years doon the drain, man. Black fuckin’ sheep. I like a pint, but who doesn’t? I might enjoy mesel’ after work, but I’m not afraid of hard graft. Take this job doon in Avonmouth, we work hard durin’ the day and then we have a few drinks in the evenin’. Nothin’ wrong with that is there?
ME: No.
HIM: We’re stoppin’ in a guest house in Weston-Super-Mare. There’s three of us. Only takes aboot twenty minutes from Avonmouth so I don’t know why the other lads are stoppin’ in Avonmouth itself. It’s a shithole. It’s all docks and industrial estates, which is alright for work, but why would you stop the night there, man?
ME: Mmmm.
HIM: So what you flyin’ up to Newcastle fer?
ME: Er, we’ve got a meeting there tomorrow.
HIM: What’s yer name, mara?
ME: Nick. Nick Jemand.
HIM: Pleased to meet yer. I’m Sven.
ME: Sven?
HIM: No, course I’m not fuckin’ Sven, man. Do I look like a Sven? Ha, I got yer there, didn’t I? Nah, me name’s Ian. Feels like the plane’s started to come down now, but it’s been good to talk to you. Yer a good lad. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit nervous. That’s why I’ve had a few drinks.
ME: Nervous? About the flight?
HIM: Nah, man, not aboot the flight. I fly up and doon all the fuckin’ time, man. It’s the funeral tomorrow. I don’t like funerals.
ME: Not many people do, I suppose. But, by the end, people are normally laughing and joking like any other family gathering. Are you going back to a pub or hotel afterwards or back to your sister’s house?
HIM: Back to me sister’s. I don’t know what that’ll be like. Me sister’s in bits, man. Me brother-in-law was a big fucker, you‘d never have thought anything would knock him down.
ME: Did you say they had kids? How are they taking it?
HIM: Me Dad says they’re okay. Well, considerin’.
ME: How old are they?
HIM: Ah, they’re both early twenties now, man. Me sister’s older than me and they had their kids young. I wonder if they’re thinkin’ that they’ll get it when their older? I told yer it was hereditary, didn’t I?
ME: Yes, but what was it exactly?
HIM: It was hereditary, man. He was told he just had three years to live. That’s bad enough, but then he just fuckin’ keels over a few weeks later. It makes yer think, doesn’t it? You think about stuff when somebody pegs it, don’t yer?
ME: Yes.
HIM: I’ve never been one fer talkin’ aboot the meanin’ of fuckin’ life and all that shit. That’s soft. You live and then you die. That’s all there is to it and you might as well enjoy it while yer here, man.
ME: True enough.
HIM: What do you think, man?
ME: Me?
HIM: Aye, what’s it all aboot, man? You sound like a clever bloke. I bet you’ve been to university, haven’t yer?
ME: Yes.
HIM: University of life for me, school of hard knocks as me Dad says. You think about stuff when somebody dies, don’t yer? Meanin’ of fuckin’ life and all that bollocks.
ME: You do.
HIM: And?
ME: And what?
HIM: Have you got any answers? Yer a clever bloke.
ME: I think you summed it up just now. You live and then you die – and you might as well enjoy it while you’re here.
HIM: That’s what I tell everyone. Fuck it. We’ll bury me brother-in-law tomorrow, poor bastard, and then life goes on for everyone else. People go to the supermarket, they go to the pub, they go to work. Life will carry on like he wasn’t here. That’s the hardest thing, I think. You want the whole world to stop, but we’re all just tiny specks and the other tiny specks just fuckin’ carry on.
ME: You’ll celebrate his life though and you’ll remember him. Anyway he would want you continue to enjoy life.
HIM: Yer right, man. It’s been good to talk to yer, Mick.
ME: Nick.
HIM: Yer a clever bloke and I’m going to take your advice. I’m going to get completely fuckin’ pissed after the funeral.
I almost said “that’s not quite what I meant, actually” but then I thought why shouldn’t he get drunk after the funeral? Like we had both so eloquently put it, you live and then you die and you might as well enjoy it while you’re here.
I really liked the Geordie and when we got off the plane a few minutes later he gave me a big hug and it felt like I was saying goodbye to an old friend. I think he would have been a good person to go out for a drink with – you need people like that when you’re out on the town. They make things happen, they keep the conversation rocking along – until they go home with a beautiful blonde – and there are always some good stories when you’re having breakfast the next morning.
All the other people on th
e plane were probably thinking that he was an obnoxious, belligerent drunk and were thanking their lucky stars that they weren’t sitting next to him, but he was just a normal man with the same hopes and fears as everybody else. Probably more so.
The End
-o-o-o-
We hope you enjoyed this book.
You may also wish to read other books by RR Gordon,
including Meaningless which continues the story of Nick Jemand.