Bye Bye Scars

Sun Ra - Third Planet

That Gillick woman was at it again. The waiting room was spacious and yet she managed to puff up her cheeks, balloon herself to proportions that a hippo would be proud of, and launch missiles of invective at whoever was near. Clive was only there to receive his fourth and final dressing of the week, hopefully putting his weeping wound into the land of distant dreams. It was already there in one sense, as his thoughts were on his latest building project. An underground aviary-cum-observatory was an ambitious, almost persikovian folly, yet Mr. Tiplock had assured him that, with the materials Clive had provided, the work could be done on time and at minimal expense to himself. Mr. Tiplock had a bit of a reputation around these parts for being "an amnesiac miscreant with not even the slightest passing resemblance to a reputable builder" according to Mrs. Lipsink, Clive's next door neighbour, a fountain of knowledge and occasionally, tea. Such reports had led Clive to give grave consideration as to whether he should continue, but his midnight cravings to examine the wingspan of pigeons wasn't going to go away just like that. At least he could draw some comfort from the fact that any economic loss to Mrs. Lipsink resulting from defective work would not allow her to recover on the contract, even though she was repeatedly mentioned throughout the document. Ken was unsure why, but thought it had something to do with her legal demenour. On balance, Clive decided to jettison the idea, like so much piss opposite the platform. It was for the best, he pondered. After all, we didn't want a repeat of Brixton did we?