Still Waters

"By Caesar's ghost!" he blurted, almost causing an old fellow to spill his pint down the front of his trousers again. Keith had at that moment come across the final piece of an intricate mental flat-pack self-assembly scheme, finally allowing the whole towering construction to run like clockwork to a smoothly logical conclusion without all the hideous clanking, hiccoughs and grating noises that had been emanating earlier via Keith's involuntary spasms. The old man trying to have a quiet drink on the bar-stool next to him was still none the wiser as to how this series of grunts and whistles could so suddenly erupt into a second explosive gesture, seemingly timed to coincide just as he was unsteadily raising his glass.

Keith, now noticing this irritated old man peering at him over a glass held mid-sup, wondered what, in his concentration, he might have himself done to offend. It was not unusual, in Keith's experience, to find quite upset people nearby after a particularly good idea had settled in his mind, wondering usually when Keith was going to apologise or at least begin to acknowledge his actions. Keith had become used to being forcibly ejected from libraries, bakeries and cafes across town. He may have flung the odd reference tome, toppled one or two elderly ladies in the queue or absent-mindedly broken all the plastic spoons one after the other while wrestling a particularly difficult mental dilemma, but to Keith this was the everyday fallout from the white heat of inspiration - a few irritated shop assistants or a couple of hours spent sellotaping spoons back together equated to a trivial sacrifice for the revelatory results.

But the old gent voiced no objection, not even a small muttering, being content merely to glare for a calculated few moments before continuing the supping motion. Whistle wet and rightful warning issued, the fellow was perfectly happy to forget the incident as a gentleman should, and allow Keith, if he should wish, to introduce himself - Keith after all being the newcomer to the bar. However, Keith, looking unaccountably pleased with himself, was already leaving by the time the old man had resurfaced from the intimacy of his drink, and would never be seen again; neither by the old man nor in this pub. Lightening had struck once again in Keith's mind - a fine and powerful idea that would stand strong against every conceivable objection. His thoughts were concluded and he was resolute - affirmative action was the only resolve. It was definite. He would buy his booze at the supermarket and drink it at home.

Pablove Black - Paco Tempo (from Studio One Funk)