Disco Ball

Calum Cumming 
Author of The Beat

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​DISCO 2000

by Calum Cumming 

My mother and I had heard the news on BBC radio 4. Time was running out. I had to deliver the parcel that afternoon. The Chief Postal Officer Peter Morrison had left the vacuum pack sitting in it’s jiffy bag at the kitchen door in the morning. It was a special delivery to “Valtos Uig Royal Navy Depot.” It was the Sabbath day, no kind of time to be entering the barrack of the major camp.

I said to my mother, over coffee, looking out the window at Sparkle sitting on the pine tree.

-Why should a colleague behave towards me in such a way?

 Janice Wood replied pointedly, raising her mug with cat like hands partially obscuring her face, and looked directly at me, from her stool, as she took a sip of her coffee.

-Journalese are set out to be made darling, we have both signed The Official Secrets Act like Peter; you in the Royal Mail Crown street Post Office in Aberdeen in 92’, Me in the British Council Elemental School in Port Sudan in 61’

-I had better set out now Mum for soon it will be dark; almost now, at 4PM. The night will swoop black on the North by South West Atlantic effluvium swell.

He had replied in a voice that echoed the sentiment of the Broadcast. The pips once again sounded.

It was 4PM. The bulletin that Charles Carroll had now delivered on the Bush Radio is,

 

-Today at 8 AM, Her Royal Highness, Her Majesty The Queen, had a fall in her Private Flat at Buckingham Palace and broke her left ankle. She has had an operation at The Royal Marsden Hospital, and has had her ankle pinned and she is in a cast. She has been visited in Hospital by     Prince Harry 42. At her age, 100, this can have serious mobility consequence and ergo she has decided to accede the throne to her rightful Heir apparent Prince Charles 77. The monarchy will remain autocephalous until the Lords sit early in the New Year.

 

The seeds of change had been sown by Elizabeth herself after the second world war with the beginning of the Commonwealth of Nations, and quite literally that was to ensure the last detail.

And by the time of her Coronation in 1952 it was time to look ahead to the great devolved hot revolution in technology that would shape the world in the 60s’.

It was the last sailing of The Hebrides Ferry. The winter sky was azure blue. Ken had noticed the girl in the lounge of the deserted vessel as they left Port. She was sitting with her back facing him. She had on Tiger orange striped and black leather upper and rubber soled shoes and was wearing a yellow transparent rain jacket. The girl had tresses of golden blonde straight hair cascading down the back of her black cashmere roll neck sweater as she wrote a terminal ‘dear John’ postcard to her opposite sex. She laughed to herself.

 

Ken sat down in a central sitting place and reflected, wondering what she looked like. Of course she was beautiful. They were visiting Lewis, The Long Island, for like the Queen who she admired, it had a long Celtic history that spanned many thousands of years and suddenly as Ken looked at the girl’s golden hair,  her hunched, scribbling a card, he wondered what was the meaning of the circle on the Celtic cross: E=MC2?

For all circles had a beginning and odds on an end too.  And only in the East the Eye Peninsula; the dog’s head confined her reason.