The Trap

“A man of 35 who has never worked complained yesterday that the £30,000 he received each year in benefits was insufficient for a proper family holiday. He complained that this was a major abuse of his human rights, and was considering an appeal. His father, who is also unemployed, said his son was unavailable for comment, because he was resting.”
“I wish somebody would turn that radio off!” I shouted down the corridor.
My head throbbed again, and for a few seconds I felt strangely disorientated, as the hospital colours swam around me, and an eerie whispering filled the corridor. I was unaccountably tense, and I instinctively turned towards the bathroom for a moment’s peace and quiet. At first this helped, but then the room began to turn and warp, a growing tide of nausea threatened to engulf me, and…….

“Bang! Bang!”
A sudden tattoo on the door brought me back to my senses, and as I stumbled across the room to see who it was, the door opened.
“Oh, there you are” said Sidney, looking at my white face. “Are you feeling shite…er….alright?”
“As always, you got it right the first time” I muttered.
“Ah…well…cheer up…. I’ve made some ‘soup for a mug’ downstairs if you want it.
“You mean ‘soup in a mug’?’
“I know what I mean” he answered.
(pause)
“It’s cock-a-leekie I assume.”
“What else, old mate?”

I really had to get out of this bloody awful place. It was just a shift work version of Hades, and yet the chains were so very strong. The chains of age, mortgage, kids, habit, fear, convention, and marriage.

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