Ep1: Big Reg and the Slap of Consequence

Episode 1. Harold needs a slap, but Big Reg has got serious anger issues. Particularly as regards birds. Can Reg get over his fears and give Harold a slap that will change a man’s life forever? Or will his bird-rage win and cause his heart to fail?

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Chapters

• 0:50 Birds and Harold are a problem
• 4:55 A Pleasant morning until Bad Gopal ruins it
• 9:27 Journey to see Beth
• 14:10 Remembering Uncle Stuart and becoming Big Bird
• 18:22 Meeting Cobra and readying yourself to face the Garden
• 21:18 Getting to Harold
• 23:26 The Showdown

Transcript

Hello, my name’s Donald, and tonight, we’ll journey together into the criminal underworld of East London. But, please be warned, this story is intended for adults, as it contains violence, hatred of birds and swearing. But not too much, cause you need your sleep. Now, let’s begin our tale: “Big Reg and the Slap of Consequence”. 

It’s morning time in the East end of London. Sunlight streams through the blinds, as you yawn, and stretch. Outside, a bird sings. The sound, makes you angry. You always hated birds, perhaps it’s why, you became a gangster. A second bird replies, to others the sound would be magical. But rage overcomes you, you grab a teddy and rip it’s head off. Then roar, at the living room ceiling. A neighbour asks you, to keep it down. 

This is no good. Your heart is pounding. The doctor said, you must control your anger. Or join your Dad, in the grave. You already collapsed once, at the penguin enclosure, in London zoo. You jumped the fence, to attack the birds. But they ran away, to their pool. And you fell over. 

The police therapist told you; no one hates birds this much. And she taught you breathing exercises, you use now. In, out, to your surprise it works well. And you remember she said; you must find the peace inside, and embrace it. And at the time you thought, what bollocks. But now you wonder, what could it mean?

You keep up the breathing while you check your phone. There’s a text from Cobra, a friend of yours with a penchant for snake names. He calls himself your ssss-sidekick, and you’ve wondered about killing him. The message tells you, Harold, hasn’t paid. In, out, you fill yourself with positive Chi. 

It’s not easy, he’s clearly taking liberties, and needs a slap. But it’s important you don’t go too far, you’re too old for prison. And, anyway, your Guv’nor said: we’re professionals. Not wankers who get nicked, cause they think a penguin’s waddle, is out of order. 

But then you imagine talking to Harold, listening to his excuses. He’s invested in crypto, or his wife, needs a new leg. And a primordial rage seizes you, you bellow once again at the ceiling. A neighbour shouts; ‘what the hell is going on down there!?’ 

So you breathe again. But now you’re worried. Can you give Harold, just a slap? So you focus, and try to search inside for peace. An image comes; of a small, white flower. Peace radiates from the flower, and your rage ebbs away. And you feel hope, if you can keep your energy positive, then everything will be okay.  

Harold lives only a short drive away, so you dress, and head out. It’s a beautiful morning and, as luck would have it, your car has been sitting in the shade. The driver’s seat is nice and cool. It feels perfect, and you wait a moment just to relax. But as you pull out, a car cuts you off. “Are you going to sit there dreaming all day you nonce!?” Says the driver.  He looks like an office worker and is clearly in need of a slap. 

You pause, what would Doctor Olive say? But you still feel peaceful, so she probably wouldn’t mind. You enjoy the look of terror on the man’s face, as you unfold your massive frame, from the confines of the car. “Who’s a nonce?” you ask. And you stare at him, like you might pull off both his legs, and eat them in front of him. “M-Me. I am” he stammers, and you realise his fear is enough. So you let it go. Because violence would disturb this new inner harmony, and you don’t want to get blood on your car. 

You set off again. The sun shines as you drive down Stepney alley, past the old Covent market, and then down puddings-mill. Finally you turn right on Thug’s whistle, and stop at number twenty-five. Two doors down, is Harold’s. As you walk up his curtains are closed. You knock, and there’s no reply. You ponder what to do; ask a neighbour if they’ve seen him? Maybe, post on social media: “anyone seen Harold? I have a special package for him”. And only you will know, the package, is actually a slap.

You’re interrupted, by a footstep, behind you. You turn to see someone you know well, a prominent member of the Indian mafia; bad Gopal. He’s a thug, troublemaker, a goon or ruffian. You smell violence, and with it, comes anger. “You looking for Harold?” he enquires. And you know this could mean a rumble, a skirmish, quarrel or slap-off. “I am”, you reply, breathing deeply and resolving to keep things calm, perfectly reasonable. But then a chaffinch lands, on Gopal’s shoulder, and starts to sing. 

You can’t help it, your heart begins to pound. “Are you okay?” asks Gopal. He leans towards you, and suddenly you see the Teddy bear from earlier. But now you imagine ripping Gopal’s head off, and eating the chaffinch.  In the vision, blood covers your face, then you clutch your chest. You know that way, is death.

So you breathe deeply and the flower appears again, this time it speaks: “Provide more information, be reasonable, you’re imagining the bird”. And you see it’s gone. Your heartbeat lowers, and you manage to ask Gopal; “Harold owes me money gambling, what about you?”. “I sold him a rabbit and he never paid” he replies. And your anger, fades away. Cause your beef is clearly more important, and Gopal knows it. He turns to leave; “Well then see you around”. And you know he’s right, because he lives very close. 

Now you’re alone, but suddenly you’re glad Harold isn’t there. You nearly attacked Gopal over nothing. What would you do when Harold gives his pathetic excuses? You imagined the chaffinch, but what if Harold’s at the zoo? Or an owl sanctuary? You’ll murder him, or die of a heart attack, potentially both. Doctor Olive told you to work out where the anger is coming from. So you text Cobra, to look for Harold. Then text your sister, and ask to meet. She says; is this about the zoo? You text back; yes. She says come over. 

Beth lives on hangman’s drive, about twenty five minutes away, on the north circular. Traffic is heavy, so you visualise the flower, to help you drive. A Mercedes cuts in front of you, but you breathe. It’s probably a Doctor on the way to an emergency, you tell yourself. You see a teenager speeding, in a vauxhall corsa, with a bath-tub, tied on top. “It’s not your concern” says the Flower. And you feel peace, giving you strength. But then a truck comes past, carrying Albatross beer, on the outside lane. 

The beady eyes of the massive Logo, bore into you. Your mind screams. You lose control of the car, swerving off the road, and into a field. Trying not to get stuck, you put your foot down. Too late you see a chicken coop. The farmer dives out of the way, but you burst through, sending feathers everywhere. Now there’s a chicken trapped in your windscreen wiper, and another loose inside the car. You want to re-join the road, but a group of cyclists is blocking you. They’re out for charity, dressed as clowns. So you head down the sidewalk, and toot your horn, to get their attention. Ten comedy horns beep back, as a thanks for your support. You wave, clearly in distress, ten clowns mime crying and do sad face. Suddenly the chicken inside, finds an open window and escapes. You slam on the brakes, and screech to a halt.

Your heart is pounding, you try to think of the white flower. But the chicken on the windshield, keeps flapping and the image won’t come. You see yourself turning red in the wing mirror. So you run the wipers. The chicken is dragged, in a ninety degree arc, before getting stuck. You stare into it’s eyes. And suddenly it’s not rage you feel, but terror. You crank the dial to high speed. The machinery whines for a moment, then the wiper, slips off. And the startled bird looks at you gratefully. Before being catapulted, into the hedgerow. 

You turn off the wipers, and breathe deeply at last. The white flower comes back. Luckily you’re close to your sister’s. She sees your pale face, and asks; what happened? You tell her birds, are trying to kill you. She says come inside, I’ll make some tea. And Beth says “how about a slice of malt loaf?”, you say; okay. And you take a bite, then it all pours out of you. The rage at the zoo, the imaginary bird on Gopal. The sessions with Doctor Olive, and how the white flower helps you embrace peace, but the birds are stronger. How Harold needs a slap, but you‘re scared you can’t be professional. And how, when you stared into the eyes of a chicken, you didn’t feel anger; but fear. 

And Beth says, I had a feeling we’d talk about birds, so I had a look through the old photo albums. There’s some of your fourth birthday you might want to see. Dad was saving money, and got Uncle Stuart to provide the entertainment, do you remember? But you don’t, so she gets the album and opens it. “One of his friends had this cosplay outfit, thought it would be perfect”  she’s saying. But you can’t hear her, you’re transfixed. On the page is the image that haunts all your darkest nightmares; your Uncle Stuart, dressed as Big Bird. 

And suddenly it’s your fourth birthday. Your Uncle staggers about, as an adult you realise he’s drunk, and not the least bit convincing as Big Bird. But back then, he seemed real, and he’s already punched one adult. You’re crying, and begging him to stop frightening your friends. He leans in close, and tells you, you’ll never amount to anything. Then throws up on your bed, grabs your television, and leaves. “That’s right”, says Beth, “he stole our stuff so Dad banished him. He lives north of the wall, I never saw him again.” Your phone buzzes, it’s a text from the Guv’nor. He wants to know if Harold, ponied up. You tell him he’s taking liberties, but you’re on it. But it’s a lie. You tell Beth you’re scared. It’s one thing knowing how this fear started, but how do you get over it? Beth thinks for a moment; “Become the Bird.” she says, ”Wear the costume and neutralise the memory”. And you know it’s your only chance. And just round the corner, is Marvin’s costume place.

Beth stops you; “Before you go, take this. Mum left it to me, but I think she’d want you to have it.” She hands you a small jewellery box, and kicks you out. Your phone buzzes, it’s the Guv’nor again: Harold’s been seen in the pub, what the eff, is going on!?[problematic Volume] You run to the costume shop. At the counter the man says; my name is Marvin junior, how can I help? You say I need to hire a Big Bird cosplay. He says we’ve only got a  mascot outfit, for sale, they’re three hundred pounds. It’s a lot of dosh, but you pay, and tell him you need to try it on. No problem he says, there’s a changing room, in the back. 

You strip to your underwear, and put on the giant costume.  Everything except the head. The belly bounces as you look into the mirror nervously. But it’s just you staring back. You pick up the head-piece, and the eyes loll weirdly. You know you must put it on. Your hands tremble, the unit is heavy but it fits snugly. You open the hatch in the neck, and look in the mirror.  And as your eyes meet your reflection’s; the white flower springs instantly to mind. You look silly but you now understand your memory; it was a twat in a costume. You feel strong, peaceful. And able to cope with birds. 

Doctor Olive said positive energy manifests, and at that moment Cobra texts; Harold is just round the corner. Could this be, what she means? He’s in a pub, on old Putney lane. You scroll the epic text, apparently he’s attending a fundraiser, for the Thanksgiving Turkey Appreciation Society, U.K. Branch. Everyone’s dressed as turkeys, and they’ve got some aggressive pet turkeys, that forced Cobra to retreat. And you smile, this is your moment. You know exactly what you must do. You close the neck-hatch and head out.

You walk to the pub, and duck to get inside. Cobra is at the bar, his face is pale. What happened you say? “Who the f**k is asking!?” he says. Relax, you say, opening the neck-hatch. It’s me. “Reg?” He says. You’re a genius, Harold’s hiding behind hundreds of turkeys, and people dressed as turkeys. And you try appear relaxed, but it’s a lot of birds. “And that’s not the worst of it”, he goes on. They’ve got a flock of geese, and a couple of ostriches. They chased me, but you might get through. And you gulp; or your outfit might incite them. You start having second thoughts, but then your phone rings. 

You slide off the costume glove, and fetch it from your underwear. It’s the Guv’nor; “Is it facking done or not?” He says “I hear that prick is having a party, with a bunch of turkeys, what the bollocks is going on?”. You say I’m here now, handling it. And he says “Fine. Get it done, I can’t have anovver fack up like the zoo. Alright?”. And he hangs up. And suddenly you’re terrified again, you’re going to get pecked to death.  

Then you remember something else in your pants, the box Beth gave you. Inside is a brooch; in the shape of a white flower. You pass it under the waist band to Cobra, “pin this on the front of my outfit, then I will be ready”. And when he does, you feel as if you become the flower. You radiate peace, and no bird can defeat you.  

At the back door you see the garden, it’s heaving with turkeys of all sizes. Cobra is too freaked, you feel his discordant energy, and tell him to wait. Then you breathe deeply, and move calmly through the crowd. You gently wave the real turkeys aside, and make it through the main crowd. But as you emerge, you freeze. A male Ostrich is glaring at you. Without warning he charges. But, acting on pure instinct, you grab two bread rolls, and move them back and forth, playing with them, like David Bowie in the movie ‘Labyrinth’. The motion mesmerises the bird.  You throw the rolls, and quickly move away. There’s no sign of the other ostrich, but you see Harold. He’s just past the geese, well known, as the angriest of all birds.  

The flock spots you, and clearly see you as a threat. They fan out, honking angrily. You feel your blood rising. You spot a baseball bat, someone’s left behind, and reach for it - but suddenly you know that will destroy the flower. So instead you breathe in, and think about projecting peace. With your outward breath, you rise on tip toe. The geese halt, watching your outstretched arms. Gently you bring them down. Then pretend to ball up the anger in your giant yellow hand-claws, and disperse it. The spell is broken, the geese mill around. Everyone is looking at you.

Harold gets up, he applauds, and others follow. You turn to face him, degenerate gambler, infamous liar, bad debtor. You must be professional. You steel yourself for his excuses, then open the neck-hatch. He staggers back terrified. “Now wait Reg, I’ve got your money. ’fing is, my wife’s leg had a software update and went haywire. It sent her spinning down Walthamstow high street”. And you grab his collar. “That’s just an excuse” you’re about to say, when the flower speaks again: “what was on the news?”. 

And you remember something on the car radio, about a woman kicking four cars, and hospitalising a group of scouts and you realise he’s telling the truth. And you see his eyes are sad, he’s had a terrible day. You look down at your yellow gloved hand, then at Harold. Every instinct says he needs a slap. But you can’t do it. You realise you can’t exist in eternal harmony, and go round slapping people, professionally or otherwise. The white flower nods, you understand at last. It’s time to retire, from being a gangster. You take the cash from Harold. “Going forward, stick to the agreed payment schedule, okay?” he nods. 

“is that it!?” says a voice from over your shoulder. It’s the Guv’nor. You give him the money from Harold, and tell him you’re retiring. (boss) “Bollocks you are, that twat needs a slap, and you’re going give him one now, or else”. And your blood begins to rise - but you say; “No, he’s paid, and he had a terrible day with Sandra’s leg, it was on the news”. (Boss) “he’s dressed like a feathery nonce, and he’s having a fucking party!”. You look at Harold, and it’s undeniably true, but you radiate peace and say; “Sandra and he probably committed to the fundraiser together, he didn’t want to let anyone down”. Harold nods. She told me to come while she rests”. “See?” You say. 

But the Guv’nor comes in close. “I’ll make this easy. You slap him right now, or I’ll slap the pair of you”. But you grasp your brooch and say “No, I choose a path of peace”. “Right you tart -“ and he draws his fist back, but the blow never lands. The ostrich is back, and it batters him to the ground. His mate flanks you, and kicks the Guv’nor in the head. He tries to get up, but then the geese descend on him. [No one survives goose-ma-geddon. Soon, all the birds join in. You reassure the horrified onlookers, the Guv’nor was a terrible person, and they shouldn’t help. By the time the turkeys are done, he’s just a stain on the patio.] All the geese, Ostriches and other birds bow to you, they are miraculously unharmed. You raise your big yellow arms aloft, and now there’s a new Lord of the Manor. And he’s opening a bird sanctuary. But that’s a story, for another time. 

This is Donald McSnooze signing off. Please be nice to each other, and birds. Good night, wherever you are.