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entry 35 - 17th December 01
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a
Tim-Tom scene
I was at Brendan's earlier with Tony (who looks like Tricky). We were playing Everybody's Golf on Brendan's playstation. We were playing for money - and I was winning.
It was a par three, downhill, and it was windy. Brendan put his approach shot into deep rough behind a tree, and Tony overshot the green and ended up in the lake. I could win with a par. And that's when Brendan's doorbell went off. It was Tim-Tom. "Tim knew you were here, Tom saw you walk up the road earlier," he said, staring down at me. He was flexing his hands, making fists. I noticed the twin tattooed dragons were surrounded by what looked like cigarette burns; ten of them - five per hand. Self inflicted no doubt. "Tim says take your shot, take your best shot, then old Tom wants you outside." I'm not ashamed to say I was shitting my pants here. Tim-Tom's just plain evil. He's forcing himself into my life for god knows what reason, and he's capable of... well, anything. Why on earth is Angela with him? And if he was telling the truth the other evening then he's actually set someone alight and watched them burn to death. I believe him, I really do. Brendan and Tony were alarmed by Tim-Tom's presence
too, even if it wasn't them he was after: they'd gone silent and were
staring at the TV screen, waiting for me to take my shot. "Come with Tim, come out with old Tom now," said Tim-Tom, and, with a sinking feeling in my stomach and shaky knees, I followed him through the door and onto the pavement. Brendan and Tony were watching through the window. Tim-Tom turned to face me, spreading his arms wide apart, like a fisherman boasting of a large catch: like a praying mantis version of Jesus on the cross. "This one's from Tim," he said, indicating his left hand. "And this one's from old Tom, from poor old Tom." And then, in a flash, he swung his arms forward and brought his cupped hands together over my ears. Wham! I dropped like a stone and lay on the pavement in agony. The next thing I knew I was being helped back into Brendan's flat where I was given a can of beer. They were asking me stuff, but I couldn't hear anything apart from a high pitched whine. I tried to speak, but threw up instead. About an hour later I was pretty much okay again, just a bit of a headache. Brendan suggested we finish the golf game, retaking the hole that Tim-Tom had interrupted. "There's bloody five quid still up for grabs, mate," he said. So we retook the hole. Tony won the pot.
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I'd
already won £2.25, and the pot for the hole we were about to attempt
was worth another fiver.
