seeing you here, Mr L … L …’
Then with a self-conscious gesture she held up the bright green dress, under her chin, in front of the mirror and asked with a giggle, ‘Does this colour suit me, d’you think?’
‘It’s too … green.’ It looked way too small; she would never get into it.
‘You think so?’
Our eyes met in the mirror. She blushed. Then she glanced down at the two carrier bags in my hand as I deposited them by the donations door.
‘Having a clear-out?’
‘Yes, just …’
As I let go of the handles the bulging bags opened up. A peachy silk lace-trimmed camisole slid out on to the floor. I picked it up quickly and stuffed it back in the bag. She was watching curiously.
‘… freeing up a bit of space.’
‘Oh, you have to, don’t you? When you live in a small flat?’ I thought I detected a touch of malice in her voice. She turned her back for a moment to hang the green dress back on the rail and I made a dash for the door.
‘Bye-ee!’ Her voice trilled after me. I responded with a quick backward wave as I exited on to the street, to find my bicycle had been stolen.
Berthold: George Clooney
After two hours at the police station, during which every detail of my ex-bike’s spec was minutely noted down, the bored woman in uniform gave me a crime number and told me that it was very unlikely that it would ever be recovered, and she hoped it was insured.
‘Thanks for that,’ I replied.
Waiting at the bus stop, fatigue overcame me once more and tears started prickling my eyes and nose – sniff, sniff. I recognised the warning signs. Depression. Thief of delight. Cries in the night – Stop. Always look on the – Meredith. Not my fault. The childhood stutter. Immortal Bard can help. ‘What a p-p-piece of work is a man.’ Say it again. Slowly. Again. ‘What a piece of work is a man. Noble. Infinite.’ But without Mother’s cheerful cajoling, which had saved my sanity as well as my diction, how would I ever get back on track?
A fine rain had started and the bus shelter was jammed with people chatting or absorbed in their cell phones. I ached with aloneness. The 394 bus, when it arrived, had a banner advert across its side for the latest film starring George Clooney. He looked so fucking pleased with himself. We can’t all be George bloody Clooney but, God knows, I’ve tried. In fact some people might say that I’ve followed Clooney’s career with a mildly obsessive interest. Look, I’ve got nothing against the guy personally. He always seemed a perfectly decent type, and not a bad actor. It’s the unfairness of life that was bugging me. While the bus juddered and swayed homewards between the long featureless streets and squares of local authority housing
that comprise this area of London, I drew up a mental balance sheet.
Similarities between Berthold Sidebottom and George Clooney
Profession : Actor. Eyes deep brown, with interesting wrinkles.
Smile : Clooney, self-deprecatingly lopsided. Sidebottom, passable imitation.
Date of birth : 6 May 1961. Yes, we share a birthday, and that’s what made the comparison so pointed.
Differences between Berthold Sidebottom and George Clooney
Hair : Clooney’s is dark, lightly streaked with grey, and waves elegantly around his rugged forehead. Sidebottom’s is largely absent – the hair, that is. The forehead is still there, thank God.
Height : Clooney, 5 feet 11 inches. Sidebottom, 6 feet. Ha ha.
Transport : Clooney (according to Google) owns a Piaggio scooter, a Harley-Davidson motorbike, a vintage Chevrolet Corvette convertible and a high-spec Tesla Roadster. Sidebottom until recently owned a bicycle. Now he is reliant on public transport.
Women : Clooney twice voted ‘Sexiest Man Alive’, twice married. Sidebottom? Well, you’d better ask his ex, Stephanie. There were of course persistent rumours that Clooney was gay, which he coolly batted away, refusing to confirm or to deny out of respect for his gay friends, he
Then with a self-conscious gesture she held up the bright green dress, under her chin, in front of the mirror and asked with a giggle, ‘Does this colour suit me, d’you think?’
‘It’s too … green.’ It looked way too small; she would never get into it.
‘You think so?’
Our eyes met in the mirror. She blushed. Then she glanced down at the two carrier bags in my hand as I deposited them by the donations door.
‘Having a clear-out?’
‘Yes, just …’
As I let go of the handles the bulging bags opened up. A peachy silk lace-trimmed camisole slid out on to the floor. I picked it up quickly and stuffed it back in the bag. She was watching curiously.
‘… freeing up a bit of space.’
‘Oh, you have to, don’t you? When you live in a small flat?’ I thought I detected a touch of malice in her voice. She turned her back for a moment to hang the green dress back on the rail and I made a dash for the door.
‘Bye-ee!’ Her voice trilled after me. I responded with a quick backward wave as I exited on to the street, to find my bicycle had been stolen.
Berthold: George Clooney
After two hours at the police station, during which every detail of my ex-bike’s spec was minutely noted down, the bored woman in uniform gave me a crime number and told me that it was very unlikely that it would ever be recovered, and she hoped it was insured.
‘Thanks for that,’ I replied.
Waiting at the bus stop, fatigue overcame me once more and tears started prickling my eyes and nose – sniff, sniff. I recognised the warning signs. Depression. Thief of delight. Cries in the night – Stop. Always look on the – Meredith. Not my fault. The childhood stutter. Immortal Bard can help. ‘What a p-p-piece of work is a man.’ Say it again. Slowly. Again. ‘What a piece of work is a man. Noble. Infinite.’ But without Mother’s cheerful cajoling, which had saved my sanity as well as my diction, how would I ever get back on track?
A fine rain had started and the bus shelter was jammed with people chatting or absorbed in their cell phones. I ached with aloneness. The 394 bus, when it arrived, had a banner advert across its side for the latest film starring George Clooney. He looked so fucking pleased with himself. We can’t all be George bloody Clooney but, God knows, I’ve tried. In fact some people might say that I’ve followed Clooney’s career with a mildly obsessive interest. Look, I’ve got nothing against the guy personally. He always seemed a perfectly decent type, and not a bad actor. It’s the unfairness of life that was bugging me. While the bus juddered and swayed homewards between the long featureless streets and squares of local authority housing
that comprise this area of London, I drew up a mental balance sheet.
Similarities between Berthold Sidebottom and George Clooney
Profession : Actor. Eyes deep brown, with interesting wrinkles.
Smile : Clooney, self-deprecatingly lopsided. Sidebottom, passable imitation.
Date of birth : 6 May 1961. Yes, we share a birthday, and that’s what made the comparison so pointed.
Differences between Berthold Sidebottom and George Clooney
Hair : Clooney’s is dark, lightly streaked with grey, and waves elegantly around his rugged forehead. Sidebottom’s is largely absent – the hair, that is. The forehead is still there, thank God.
Height : Clooney, 5 feet 11 inches. Sidebottom, 6 feet. Ha ha.
Transport : Clooney (according to Google) owns a Piaggio scooter, a Harley-Davidson motorbike, a vintage Chevrolet Corvette convertible and a high-spec Tesla Roadster. Sidebottom until recently owned a bicycle. Now he is reliant on public transport.
Women : Clooney twice voted ‘Sexiest Man Alive’, twice married. Sidebottom? Well, you’d better ask his ex, Stephanie. There were of course persistent rumours that Clooney was gay, which he coolly batted away, refusing to confirm or to deny out of respect for his gay friends, he
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