Da' Resistance

Da’ Resistance

Simon Carr

Chapter One

Eric

An Irish man wearing a green tweed jacket teamed with a grey trilby hat, walks into the South Timbriture veterinary surgery carrying a small cardboard box. The man takes off his hat to reveal bright red hair and walks up to the receptionist, “Top of the morning to you, Mrs. Delinky. Is he in yet?”

The woman looks up at him smiling, “Hello Mr. Delently, it’s good to see you. Go right on in.”

The vet stands up from behind his desk and greets Mr. Delently with a handshake, “Hi Drew, how have you been? What can I do for you?”

Drew places the box on the vet’s desk, “Hello Gary, it’s Eric again.”

Gary opens the box to see a large snail, “What’s wrong with him this time?”

Gary sits down on one side of the desk as Drew sits down on the other and folds his arms, “Well, it’s a very delicate matter, so it is.”

Gary takes Eric out of the box using the end of a pencil, “Go on.”

“He’s got himself a dose of that erectile dysfunction and he’ll be needing some of that old Viagra, so he will.”

Gary looks up at Drew as if he’s just spotted a unicorn in the corner acting out a mime routine, “How in God’s name did you find out he has erectile dysfunction!?”

“Well Gary, his racing days are over so I’ve been putting him out to stud, but he just can’t seem to get motivated.”

“Has he had this problem before?”

“How would I know that!? You have an odd idea about how I pass my time Gary, I’m not running some kind of mollusk den of ill repute here. Eric was a premiere athlete and I couldn’t risk having his performance compromised by him doing the nookie now, could I?”

“I understand, but we need to be sure it is erectile dysfunction and not something else. Maybe he just didn’t like the look of the lady snail?”

“Ah, see now, I thought of that. I put a drop of perfume and a skimpy little nightie on the female and there was no response! Eric remained indifferent to the entire scenario and nothing I tried could titillate the little fellow. I think he’s reached a peak of athleticism at the cost of his libido.”

“Well Drew, it could just be that he’s more interested in boy snails?”

Drew falls silent. He looks down at Eric and then up at Gary again, “He does really enjoy the Eurovision Song Contest, he claps the performers he really likes by bashing his eyes together.”

“Well, there you go. There’s no need for medical intervention at this stage.”

Drew deflates into his chair, “The stud farm is a no-go then?”

“You could artificially inseminate other snails using Eric’s sperm? That’s how we vets do it.”

“Ah, no! That might be how you roll Gary, but I couldn’t look Eric in the eye ever again. Sure, he’d come to expect it and that’s not a natural relationship to have with a snail. I’d worry about losing my place in the food chain, so I would. While I respect his life choices, I’ll not be participating in them. Thank you for illuminating the situation for me, Gary. Have you given any more thought about the other thing?”

“I have and I’m sorry, but I’m not qualified to tattoo a snail, it’s a cosmetic procedure, not a medical one. I don’t even know how to use a tattoo gun.”

“That’s a blow, so it is. He wanted one the same as mine.”

“Why would he want a tattoo of your mother?”

“No idea, he just keeps licking it.”

South Timbriture is a small town in the Yorkshire Dales with a population of under five hundred. We don’t know exactly how many people live there; it’s either four hundred and fifty-four or four hundred and fifty-five, depending on whether Mrs. Stapleton has thrown Mr. Stapleton out that week or not. The town of Dinkleton is having the same issue too, as that’s where Mr. Stapleton’s brother lives. Those two don’t know the mayhem they cause with the electoral rolls.

On top of a hill on the outskirts of South Timbriture, is the Golfing Badger tavern sitting alongside a small country road. Very few people still use it as a tavern, it’s more of a restaurant now that only ever gets busy at night when diners descend for their chicken in a basket and scampi and chips.

Two of the regulars who still frequent the tavern as a tavern are Sebastian Gatley and Shamus McNally. Sebastian is a well-spoken gentleman from Cambridge who’s never seen wearing anything other than a blue suit and tie, whether hot or cold, he’s always wearing a blue suit. Shamus moved to South Timbriture from Aberdeen after being left a sheep farm when his father passed away some ten years ago.

Sebastian sits on a tall stool at the bar next to Shamus and mumbles out of the corner of his mouth, “Look out, here he comes and he’s brought his limp snail with him.”

Drew slides onto a bar stool next to Sebastian. Shamus leans forward looking across Sebastian’s chest towards Drew, “Time you shifted in! We’ve been sat here in a state of suspended animation waiting to find out how Eric’s personal business has let him down this week.”

Drew puts the box on the table and then tips it over so the lid’s facing side-on with the bar. Eric slowly emerges causing Sebastian to gasp, “Why’s his shell painted in rainbow colors!?”

Drew takes a deep breath, “Now I don’t want any bigoted opinions flinging at me or intolerant rants from either of you! Eric’s coming out.”

Shamus answers Drew, “We can see that! Why have you painted his shell with a rainbow though?”

“Not coming out of the box! Although he is currently coming out of a box. No! Eric’s coming out as a homosexual, he’s been living a lie as a straight snail. Well no more! He is what he is and what he is needs no excuses!”

Sebastian contorts his face as he lets this information sink in, “What on earth has led you to make such a bizarre conclusion about Eric’s erectile dysfunction?”

Drew sticks his chin out as he announces, “He was diagnosed as gay just this morning by a professional.”

Shamus shakes his head, “A professional you say? How does one find themselves slipping down the road towards counseling snails on their sexual identities for a living?”

Drew snaps back, “It was the vet who diagnosed Eric!”

Sebastian looks down at Eric, “How would a vet know if your snail is gay?”

Drew hands over a fiver to the barmaid who already knew to pour a pint of stout. He takes a sip of his drink before answering, “They’re trained to spot these things, Sebastian. I had suspicions myself, Eric’s always had a thing for cushions.”

The already contorted face of Sebastian contorts even further, “Cushions!?”

Drew nods, “Aye, the gays love a cushion.”

Shamus tuts in dismay, “I like cushions!”

Drew looks ahead as he drinks his stout then talks over the descending pint glass, “No one here is judging you, Shamus, it’s your life, live it how you best see fit. We’re not festering in the dark ages anymore, so we’re not.”

Sebastian asks, “So where does this leave your stud farm enterprise?”

“Well, it leaves it getting soggy in the crapper Sebastian, I won’t lie to you about that, but who am I to push back against progression? Eric’s done good for me over the years, so it’s time I did something for him. I’ll build the ultimate racing snail retirement village, one that’s conducive towards his modern lifestyle, so I will.”

Shamus orders another pint of bitter before turning to Drew, “Oh aye? I think everyone at some point has mused over what a retirement village for a gay ex-racing snail comprises of. It’s kept me awake many a night, getting the décor right must be a challenge all of its own. I mean, it’s not like Eric can tell you if he prefers art deco over modern contemporary now, is it?”

Drew turns to Shamus, “Sure, I won’t be doing anything as silly as building Eric's furniture now Shamus, he’s always made do with the Sylvanian Families stuff anyway. No, I’ll be selecting companions of a romantic persuasion for him to party his twilight years away with.”

Sebastian puts his pint down while giving him a stern look, “Where on earth are you going to find a load of gay snails Drew?”

Drew holds his forefinger aloft, “Ah! Well, see now, I’ll use a trusted technique that I’ve already been using to murder slugs.”

Sebastian leans his elbow across the bar as he turns to Drew, “There’s a method for murdering slugs that also works at locating gay snails?”

Drew nods, “Aye to be sure! See, I defend my cabbages by putting out beer traps filled with stout. I play some Neil Diamond to get them in the mood for a party, they get drunk, fall in the beer traps, and drown to death. What I shall be doing is replacing the beer traps with wine glasses filled with Prosecco and playing some Erasure or them their WHAM boys to draw out the gays. I might even hang a little disco ball off my Brussel sprouts.”

The three have their conversation interrupted by a woman with blonde hair tied tightly into a ponytail and pushing a buggy with a small baby inside that looks surprised at the discovery of its own fingers. The woman barks at Drew, “Can you take that disgusting thing outside? People are trying to eat in here!”

Drew looks at Shamus, “Did you just hear what this woman said about you!?”

She sighs and snaps, “The snail! Get rid of it outside!”

Shamus swings around on his stool to face the angry woman, “Oh hen! We’re trying to drink our beer in peace here, why don’t you and your ugly baby be getting yourselves off?”

The woman screams in ultra-offense, “MY BABY ISN’T UGLY!”

Shamus looks down at the baby making string patterns with its own nose mucus, “Look at it! The thing looks like a blobfish.”

The woman’s face poaches in its own outrage for a time before she screams at the girl behind the bar, “I WANT TO SEE THE MANAGER! NOW!”

The barmaid calls over the Shamus, “Shamus, this woman wants to see you.”