He stretched out in the First Class seat. The Afghans had proved to be shrewd negotiators but they had finally signed up to the deal. Five years supply of wind, hedged against minimum temperature guarantees for Florida Citrus growers. Twenty five million a year profit guaranteed. He was good for fifteen per cent of that. He was a genius deal maker.
The cocaine rush was falling away and now yielded only an edgy neurosis. He scanned the carriage and saw men, all with a position in life, hunched over laptops peering at spread sheets of incalculable pointlessness.
“Doo Dah, Doo Dah”.
He stood up and walked to the toilet. Making sure the door was locked he retrieved from his wallet the small sachet, bought from Glenn the barman in the Champagne Bar. He laid out a line on the toilet seat and knelt down, unaware of a urine puddle and snorted the coke.
Immediately he felt alive, strong and able to enjoy the Deal once more. He wiped his nose, flushed the toilet and returned to his seat.
Nearby a banjo was playing a familiar tune. He sang along.
“Goin’ to run all night
Goin’ to run all day
I’ll bet my money on the bobtail nag
Somebody bet on the bay”
“Quiet Carriage!” a man of position snapped.
“Sorry”
He looked for the source of the music and then saw him. Banjo Gibbon. The fabled pickin’ primate. He was hanging from the luggage rack, effortlessly strumming with his feet.
It was rumoured that Banjo Gibbon has sold his soul to the Devil for a Tyre Swing at Chessington World of Adventures and the ability to play the banjo like no other. In return he had taught the evil one how to eat an orange whilst swinging upside down. A fair deal.
Weather Trader’s Pa had warned of this moment, “When you see Banjo Gibbon, time to put down the pipe and pick up the Holy Scriptures.”
However his father also a passion for verrucas. “Somebody has to love the little critters!” He questioned Pa’s judgement from that day on.
He sang along to the next song,
“Oh Susanna
Oh don’t you cry for me
For I come from Alabama
With a banjo on my knee”
The guard was called and he was put off at Stonehouse. Banjo Gibbon was bundled into Standard Class for the rest of the journey to Gloucester. He decided against playing any more.
Even Satan couldn’t help him in the face of First Great Western’s conditions of carriage.
Banjo Gibbon - Boy He Can Pick!
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