Maxwell Samson..

Hello, faithful horde of blog-readers. As I haven't posted anything for a while, here is a short story for your momentary entertainment.

Enjoy..

Maxwell Samson (I), by the esteemed Andrew Kerr

Maxwell Samson was your average sort of guy. He had hair, and a nose. Everything else was also more or less where it should be. This month, he had decided to sport a moustache, but that’s his decision.

It was just another Saturday in the month of June. The day was a mild one. Most people would have stayed indoors and watched the television, but not Maxwell. He decided that finally, today, he would take back that bloody library book. Almost exactly a year ago Maxwell had visited his local library. He was never much of reader, but on that day he happened to be in the mood of taking a book out of a library. It’s not a very common mood for non-readers like Maxwell, but it is legitimate. Most people, when confronted with a mood like this put it down to having had slightly too much bacon in the morning, or to smelling the petrol as they filled up their cars, and dismiss it. Anyway, as he was perusing the wide selection of reading material that his local library had to offer, he noticed that there was a brand new book lying on the shelf, still wrapped in plastic. This was an opportunity not to be missed! A chance to be the first person to read a book, to claim its virginity! Maxwell was not a perverted man, but he knew that opportunities like this don’t occur everyday. As he thought this he could see the infamous “library-prowlers” looking along all the shelves, trying desperately to seek out new books for the plucking. Surreptitiously placing the book beneath his cloak, he casually walked up to the check-out desk. The lady behind the counter was plain, and as he had a more important thing to contemplate, he did not dwell, or even comment on, her complexion.

“Which books will you be taking out sir?” asked the girl, speaking plainly. Carefully, Maxwell slipped his hand inside his cloak. He could feel the grip of the plastic under his fingers. He slowly pulled it out, savouring every moment, and placed it very carefully on the counter. With very little concern for the gem inside, the assistant ripped off the covering. Maxwell could not but let out a little yelp of disdain, but he held his tongue after that. This was too important to screw up, and he was so close now! As she clumsily stuck a “Date of withdrawal” list in the back of the book, the prowlers had caught the scent. Leaping ferociously towards Maxwell, in their elderly sort of way, he could see that in a more primal setting he would have been less likely to be leaving the library, and more likely to be herded off the cliffs with the other mammoths. But it was too late! With a triumphant stamp the book was his! Oh the sweet victory! He could feel it seeping through his body like a burst gasket in a syrup factory. After taking a brief moment for himself, he turned around, book in arm, and proudly walked out towards the exit. All eyes watched him go, and the crowd slowly parted for him as he drew near. The sunlight caught him square in the eyes, and as he turned to give them a cheeky smile, he promptly fell down a rather substantial hole.

Maxwell was used to falling down holes. I guess that’s what comes with having a terrible sense of gravity. But he quickly realized that this kind of hole had never had a Maxwell grace it’s presence before. “Two virginities claimed in one day. Not bad Maxwell, not bad” he thought to himself. For the readers at home, Maxwell is not the sort of person who immediately sees all the problems he may or may not have gotten himself into. In the same way he doesn’t see the positive side. He merely sees that, in this case, he is in a hole. He is not, like many of us would be, asking himself, “I’m sure the hole wasn’t here earlier. Can people dig holes that quickly these days?” No, troubles are not something that Maxwell has ever been troubled by. It wasn’t a particularly terrible hole to be in. The sky was still blue, the grass (he presumed) was still growing. He even went so far as to remind himself that he was still in fact down a hole. He stood up, and dusted himself off. Having been in holes before, he realized that if he was to get out of it he would either have to call for help, or try and get out of it himself. As the only people who would have been anywhere near this hole were still furious with him, he would have to make do with what he had. After looking around the hole for a while, he soon found the ladder propped up against the side. Maxwell was most pleased with this discovery, and he told himself this as he climbed the steps to freedom. At the top of the ladder, he noticed there was a sign saying, “Look out for the hole.” Maxwell noted this and walked home.

And so now, a year down the line, we return to Maxwell as he is walking towards the library with the very same book. You may well be asking the important question, “Why has it taken him a year to return it?” To be quite frank, I would have to say mind your own business. But it has rather a lot to do with a cheese sandwich and a large spade. If I were to explain all this to you in detail it would require an awful lot of creative thinking, and Maxwell is a busy man so I don’t want to keep him waiting. Maxwell was now nearing the library. A breeze caught his attention, and he looked around only to see that the day was progressing into a chilly one. It was now only one step away from being a cold one, and Maxwell quickened his pace. Upon reaching the library he stopped, took a deep breath, and walked inside. He had hoped it wouldn’t have to be like this, but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom that seems to envelop most libraries, or at least the ones I go to, he could see them. It was as though he hadn’t even moved since he was last there. Their envious and judgmental eyes followed him all the way to the counter, almost willing him to crumble in fear. For old ladies they certainly had a cruel gaze. Maxwell had made it to the counter without incident. “Slow reader are we?” taunted a mocking voice. Maxwell, completely missing the cynicism in her voice replied quite truthfully, “Yes. I am rather slow at reading. And so is my spade.” Taking a bite out of his cheese sandwich he paid the R60 late-return fee. He boldly walked back towards the door. The ogling masses, still flummoxed by his retort, soon realized that the once-virgin book was ready for another reader. A surge of ancient bodies pulsed toward the counter, leaving a rather terrified, but certainly satisfying, look on the assistant’s face. And just before Maxwell made his hasty escape, he shouted over the pile of fighting women, “Thomas is the murderer, and the little girl shoots him in the end.”

Maxwell knew this probably wasn’t the best thing to say to an already angered throng of seniors, but he reckoned that he would get away with it. He reckoned that, right until he fell in the hole. Maxwell noted that in the future he should always carry a ladder with him. As he looked up the sky turned grey, and smelled faintly of old perfume...

Well I hope you enjoyed that. Now, go on, get back to the normality of your life..

Toodle-pip

andrewthekerr

Germans, and Measles..

As I am writing this blog entry, I am acutely aware that I have in fact contracted German Measles. Not one of the most pleasant things to have happened to me in recent times, but nontheless, certainly something that fills me with intrigue.

Why intrigue? Well, why are they called "German Measles"? I mean, there is already a simple bout of "Measles" one can obtain, and not having had it myself or having any physical discomfort-measuring device at my disposal if I had, I cannot inform you whether German Measles is worse than Measles. Let us assume, for the sake of giving me maximum sympathy, that the one involving what used to be a rather invasive country is less desirable.

But this evades the question. Again I ask, "Why did Germany take the fall?" We don't go around saying , "Blimey, Steve's gone and caught Welsh Pink-eye" or "Bruce, do you have Australian Disease". (Well, I do actually sometimes use the latter, but you get the point).

Whatever the reason for naming it "German" Measles was, I'm sure it was absolutely innocent, and had absolutely nothing to do with past grudges whatsoever. To be fair though, I think the country that's having a disease named after it should get some say in the matter. Imagine if you woke up one morning, opened the paper and discovered that the prime minister had died from South African Syphilis! (That prospect is a lot more disturbing if you live in South Africa, like me (hence the foolish Australian dig earlier). Especially since we don't have a prime minister..)

Yet again I appear to have asked more questions than answered. Oh who cares, I've got German Measles I can do what I want. As long as it's in the confines of my home, so that I don't inadvertently infect anyone.

So, people of the world who name diseases after countries, be more wary next time, because if any Germans learn English, they might get a little annoyed. And who knows what might happen if a German get's a little annoyed..
(If it's anything like their Measles I want to hear nothing about it!)

Toodle-pip
andrewthekerr