PINS - Rule Fifty-two: Resurrection

(Standing at the bus stop, while she ate stones from the ground. Oh, he was so patient.)

In PINS the idea of resurrection happens when you start a new game. Get the pieces out of the boxes and remember to put the ensign and the mounted officer and the drummer boys at the front. But remember at four o’ clock you’ll have to clear the table as you’re making a mess with these silly games and it’ll be tea time and I can’t be running between the three of you being big and clumpy all at once - and just keep out of the kitchen until I say so.

Don't worry about the noise, it's just my old mother moving the furniture around, it won’t harm you. I wish she’d give it a rest.

I look up at the front bedroom window of the house we’re renting, and I see what I take to be a little girl, she seems to be a Black girl with pigtails, and she’s looking out of the window. It's hard to see any features on her face clearly, but she is definitely there. That’s why the floorboards have been creaking and things were banging and crashing at dusk these past months since we moved in. When the owners of the house come and take their belongings, they leave the room unlocked and we can go into the room. And we immediately notice there is a lack of any feeling at all around the room now. It’s like a new place. We celebrate and go to the chippy.

Don’t you worry Mrs P, I know exactly what to do. Been here before with wet sheets the morning after. Have them dry in no time. 

I was in bed and suddenly I saw my sister at the bedroom window like Kate bloody Bush with that big white gown on. I thought she was a ghost but she was just trying to avoid waking me mother up by climbing up the pipes.

Caught it square on the temple, that corky, went down like a log then stood up, the daft oaf, and said, “can’t put me down,” and then he fainted, out cold. Like that time he fell down that bloody sump hole, daft beggar. 

Oh he was such a lovely man, it was a lovely way for him to go, peacefully in his sleep. I’m glad he was my gentleman friend.

Anyway I woke up and I thought, I was dead because there were two small blond angels babbling on to me, you see, and I was in this white space, all shining and glowing with a strong light it was and I couldn’t understand these two beautiful creatures. I thought, this is it, I’m in heaven now, you’ve done it now, boy, must have drunk myself to death, but I hadn’t, I had got into next door’s chalet, see, and they were a Swedish couple and these were their kids saying “You’re not our daddy”!

I heard you’re into music now. Remember when we left you tied upside down on that lamppost down the estate?

Oh yes, he hated school but when the sixth form and college started with all those girls, that changed him.

A clear blue sky that stretches forever upwards, towards where? What looks like a buzzard circles overhead. It probably is a buzzard but you’re in the southwest of Scotland so there is also an outside chance the monstrous bird you saw earlier - certainly not this one  - was an eagle. You think, “this is a nice spot to lie in and daydream”, this burial chamber that’s open to the sky. The capstones rise like huge fangs out of the ground all around you, they look black and mouldy against the dazzling blue of the firmament. The tourists are startled to see you rise up out of the grave, but then you can’t take these things too seriously, you remember that daft beggar getting stuck as he tried to pass through a hollow stone in a ceremony once, down in Cornwall. Load of bunkum. Still it’s a good way to cure being lovesick, lying on old burial mounds. Fuck this love business, it chews you up, always burning through you and your emotions. You’re too soft, too open. Only thing to do is to drive around hundreds of miles and sit in stone circles and burial mounds for no reason you can work out. Your mother said you’d never meet anyone worthwhile after university and you get the feeling she has a point.

Amazing, he’s eaten a fag to sober up! We found him in the lift, going up and down, and he got out with us. I think he was trying to get to his room and taking pot luck he’d find someone on the same floor.

Went on a weekend and had to do an ancient rebirthing ceremony in Anglesey and we were wet through and he only brought one pair of socks! Oh, I was ashamed.

Passed out in a creche at an afternoon jazz club - after drinking with an old Polish fellow.

The ward isn't on this floor it’s the next one, your father is waving his right hand in a timid gesture, signalling for attention like he’s wanting to get permission to say something, for someone to stop and help and you really don’t know how you can help him, he’s looking from left to right for a nurse to help him out but he’s not taking things in - his cussed side is kicking in and he won’t bloody listen to anyone. And he’s not looking at anyone. He just wants to find your mother. But you feel an awful fake and a fool, too, for thinking such things. You realise your own emotional barriers are kicking in to stop you showing your worry or emotion, you curse yourself for being such a lame, sardonic, broken up bastard. You father: too much faith in things going well, that’s what your mother says. Too much trust in institutions. “Hospitals kill you”, that’s the family motto.  But this time it’s alright, things are alright, and we go home, jubilant, mother on a drip, holding on to it in a car, the sister be damned she says, she’s puffed but alright, let’s get some fish and chips and open that Cava, and sing a happy tune, this’ll do!

Every year when summer comes round, off to the sea I go.

I don't care if I do spend a pound, I'm rather rash I know.

See me dressed like all the sports, in my blazer and a pair of shorts.

With my little stick of Blackpool Rock, along the promenade I stroll.

It may be sticky but I never complain, it's nice to have a nibble at it now and again

Every day wherever I stray the kids all round me flock.

With my little stick of Blackpool Rock,

Along the promenade I stroll

In the ballroom I went dancing each night

No wonder every girl that danced with me, stuck to me tight

Every day wherever I stray the kids all round me flock.

A fellow took my photograph it cost one and three.

I said when it was done, “Is that supposed to be me?”

“You've proper mucked it up the only thing I can see is

My little stick of Blackpool Rock!”

Nearly killed hisself at t’funeral, overdid it, missed the end of that pew by inches, he’d have been a gonner - glad there were a bunch of first responders that ran over - good to see so many young folk serving - anyway I went over and said come on cock, giddup, all the mob’s here, just like in Africa and Cyprus and Aden, his sons were holding him and he came round. Later he carried on and went to the graveside. Didn’t want any fuss. Carried on as normal. Stand down, soldier! He’s a bloody tiger!

An accompanying post to this Rule, with relevant illustrations, can be found in the Museum of Photocopies.