Sinister: I'm a Cuckoo, Get Me Out Of Here!

[robin stout]

Sinister darling, I've been neglecting you. Let me make amends.

You see on Halloween I met an old woman in a pointy hat. She stood in front 
of me in the queue at Tesco, where the conveyor belts are the fastest in the 
land, and though she only had tins of cat food on the belt they were flying 
off quicker than she could pack them. So I lent a hand. She said "Thank you 
young man" and added something about "such good manners" then grabbed the 
bags and dashed out of the store. I turned back to the landslide of cheese 
heading down the conveyor towards me and the impatient glare of the checkout 
assistant.

November the 5th, Bonfire Night, and I was back at Tesco again. I'd bought a 
box of fireworks to throw at the kids next door, and was just parking my 
trolley when the same old woman strode up to me holding a feather duster. 
Now, the last time a woman strode up to me holding a feather duster was a 
time I would sooner forget, and she must have seen me begin to back away, 
for she held the duster in the air and shouted "Stop!". I tried to run, but 
my feet were strangely stuck to the floor.

"I am a witch!" she announced, somewhat unsurprisingly, "and if it wasn't 
for your help with the cat food on Halloween, I'd have been late for the 
Welsh Witches' Coven and Bingo. I'd have missed the speech by the Witch with 
the Tallest Hat and if I had there'd have been hell to pay. Hell charges a 
lot these days, you know, so you really saved my bacon. In return, I'm going 
to bestow on you a wish. Anything you want can come true! How about that, 
eh?"

"Alright then," I said, "just after I've got this chewing gum off my shoes; 
it's making them all sticky. Bloody townies."

There's a snowman who we have on our Christmas tree every year, which is 
made from cardboard and cotton wool. If you ask my sister who made it she'll 
say that she did, but she's a stinkin' liar. I made it when I was four and 
at playschool, and I like to think that its jaunty pipe and devillish grin 
are signs of the creative genius that was yet to come. Of course, don't tell 
this to my sister or she'll bang your head on the wood-effect electric fire 
like she did to me in 1986. It's a tradition that every Christmas day she 
and I will have an argument about Who Made the Snowman.

It wouldn't be such an issue if it wasn't for the fact that the snowman on 
the tree is the only thing approaching snow that comes anywhere near 
Kidderminster during Christmastime. A week before Christmas Day, Katta was 
telling me stories of her snowmobile and delivering papers on crisp white 
Swedish mornings. I knew now what my first wish was going to be. I fished 
the witch's calling-card from my wallet and rang the number.

"Frobisher's Fancy Dress," she said, "how may I help?"

"Wilomena?" I said, "It's Robin. I've decided what my wish is going to be."

"Oh, thank goodness it's you," she said, "Some young scallywags have broken 
in and stolen all our Father Christmas costumes, and I've just been having 
an awful ear-bending from the head of the local PTA, who was going to be 
Santa at the Christmas fete. I was going to call up the real Santa to fill 
in - he's always at a bit of a loose end in the week before the big day - 
but with manners like that I've got a good mind to go round to the school 
and kick him right in the grotto."

I felt she was getting a little sidetracked.

"So, about my wish," I said. "What I really wish is that it would snow this 
year. That it would snow more than it's ever snowed before."

"Snow?" she said, and I'm sure I heard her sniff, "that's a bit unoriginal, 
isn't it?" But I could already hear the feather duster swishing its magic 
spell in the air, and with a "Snow it is then!!" the phone went dead.

And it snowed. It certainly did. It snowed and snowed and snowed. It didn't 
stop. It snowed more than I've ever seen before. It snowed all day and all 
night, but only on one street, my street:  the snowiest street in the West 
Midlands. In the morning I drew back the curtains and everything was white.

"Crikey Mum, look at all this snow!" I said, running into the kitchen. Mum 
didn't seem all that pleased.

"Wow!" I said, "Everything's white! It's almost as if the whole house was 
covered in snow!" My dad came into the room, wearing an Arran sweater and a 
look of doom.

"It *is* covered in snow," he said. "We won't get out of here for weeks!"

"Oh well," I said, as my sister came downstairs looking confused, "at least 
that snowman I made won't be the only one we'll see this year."

"That snowman YOU made??!" shouted my sister, picking up a frying pan.

It's a wonder what food they can put in tins these days. We wouldn't have 
survived at all if it wasn't for all the tins my dad had bought in 1999, in 
case all the computers went barmy on millenium night and tried to take over 
the world. For Christmas Day we had tinned sprouts, tinned potatoes, tinned 
turkey and tinned mince pies. You'd hardly know we were buried under a 
hundred foot of snow. For New Year's Day we had tinned cheese and tinned 
biscuits. But despite this delicious food we were all glad when the snow 
finally began to thaw, and we could see the trees and sky again.

The phone line had been down the whole time we were under the snow, and the 
telly hadn't worked either, although Grandad had switched it on every 
evening and said "It's still snowing!" So I hadn't had a chance to speak to 
Wilomena the Witch to tell her what had gone wrong.

"Well you asked for it!" she said when I finally did. "I tell you what. To 
make up for the, um, inconvenience, I'll give you another wish. A 
replacement, if you like, for the one that got broken."

"Thanks," I said.

"Now be careful what you wish for."

"I will," I said, but I already had a good idea. The next day was my 
birthday, and the week after that the new Belle and Sebastian single, "I'm a 
Cuckoo" would be out.

"A wonderful birthday present," I said, "Would be if I could have the 'I'm a 
Cuckoo' single on my birthday, before everyone else."

"Eh?" she said "I'm sorry, the line's a bit bad"

"'I'm a Cuckoo'," I said, "for my birthday."

"Well, at least it's original," she said, somewhat dubiously, then hung up.

The next morning I awoke with a strange craving for worms. I hopped out of 
bed and blinked in the mirror. I was four inches high and covered in 
feathers. I was a cuckoo!

You wouldn't believe the trouble I had getting past her fat cat Clarence and 
convincing Wilomena that I wasn't just any old bird, but Robin J Stout, and 
I demanded, or rather twittered, to be turned back into a curly-haired young 
man right away! She finally did, of course, which is how I'm typing here 
tonight, but it took a while to convince her.

So that's why I haven't posted anything for such a long time. I just thought 
you might like to know.


+++++++++++++++++++

Belle and Sebastian were on the radio tonight. I can't have been paying 
enough attention to the email that Banchory sent, because I was expecting to 
hear the new single, but instead I heard a whole new song altogether. It was 
called "Your Secrets", was sung by Stuart, was absolutely delicious and went 
something like this:


Your Secrets
============

Step out of your cradle, it's like coming down
I just heard somebody tell me I was introspective to a fault.
I'll be a doozer if I can,
But I will contented be right now,
If I could keep our secrets.

You could tell me all your secrets,
All you want to do is run and hide.
You'll keep it inside.

If you tell me all your secrets,
All you have to do is let it ride,
And keep it inside.

But if it's as it seems, and I keep having dreams,
About the two of us,
Then it's obvious.

You should stop treating me like I was just a child.
You should stop treating me like was just as wild as you.

Instrumental

Step out of your cradle, it's like coming down,
I just heard somebody tell me I was introspective to a fault.
I'll be a doozer if I can,
But I will contented be right now,
For us to keep our secrets.

We could get a little closer,
The mystery you're trying to preserve,
you're going to need in reserve.

We could get a little closer
Cos intimacy has a greater charm
And it would do no harm,
To give a little way,
A la la la la la..*
You could even bring me your poetry..

If you could stop treating me like I was just a child.
Stop treating me like I was just as wild as you.
Stop treating me like I was just a child.
Just a child..
Just a child..
Just a child..
Just a child..
Just a child...

++++++++++++++++++++

Bye bye,

Robin xxx

* I couldn't work out this line. It sounded like "A piece of Howard's Way", 
but that can't possibly be right.

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