Chalk and Slate

Two elderly gentlemen are seated in high-backed armchairs; a log fire snaps amiably before them, illuminating their trimmed white beards like clouds at sunset. The proprietor of this homely room is a vicar in the Anglican faith; a doctor of philosophy; and a celebrated philanthropist. He is reading for the unknownth time his ragged copy of Mathew Lewis’s The Monk from which he extracts his inspiration to remain both erudite and humble. In his hand is a glass of brandy of the smallest measure and upon his lap sleeps a contented ginger tom. The other, a friend of the vicar’s of old, is headmaster of the grammar school; he is reading today’s copy of The Observer whilst worrying the end of a pipe: a gift from the vicar and what he names his true selfish pleasure, given that the only time he smokes it is of a Friday evening in the company of his old friend the Reverend Doctor George Slate and Dogberry, the cat.

           ‘I say, George,’ the headmaster says. ‘What are we to make of the way that every newspaper article makes mention of the “inheritance of debt” that this government has received from its predecessors? Surely the priority is not in the insufficiency of funds but the consistency of future resources.’

           The vicar carefully lowers his novel so as not to disturb his cat and pushes with his index finger the bridge of his glasses so that they slide to the top of his aquiline nose.

           ‘Well, Tom,’ said he, ‘as you’ve always known my concern has never been with the echoing of words from the mouths of politicians. Such things I have always felt to be propagandist repetition until they become synonymous with public sentiment. But you’re right, my old friend, what will become of the “green and pleasant land” that you and I knew in our youth if the children of tomorrow lie in their parents’ beds of a winter’s evening; entirely reliant upon their father’s arse-stinks for warmth?’

           Thomas Chalk contemplated the foresight of his friend the vicar for a moment.

           ‘Quite my point entirely. It’s not enough for our government to illustrate the shortcomings of its predecessor whilst concealing, or not yet realising, their own; particularly, I put it to you, George, when one man’s freezer holds not the sufficient amount of food for a week’s subsistence but instead contains several samples of his own stool, carefully wrapped in rubber johnnies for the purpose of bumming himself with them.’

           Slate nodded his head in agreement and uttered some sounds of deliberation. Following a brief reflection, he said,

           ‘Is it acceptable then for a man to be judged in the society of which he plays an integral part, be it for his wisdom gained through long-suffering or for the things produced by the work of his hands, by the means by which he exists? For example, should the punishment for kicking one of the Queen’s swans in the balls be the same whether the perpetrator is a lord, a doctor, or a milkman?’

           ‘I witness in your example, George, the frustration inherent in modern society. Truly we have all been tempted to kick a swan in its balls or put baby pandas in microwaves. The point is that, intrinsically, man is conditioned to associate these things with evil-doing; regardless of his financial security or his economic status, any man would much prefer to yank one off in a public toilet than disgrace himself by doing a shit on our humble hedgehog and laughing as it waddles away with its spikes piercing the poo on its back.’

           ‘That reminds me,’ the vicar said, ‘of the words of Jesus Christ: “Consider the birds of the air, and grieve not when one shits on you, for ‘tis lucky”.’

           ‘Indeed. It beggars belief how long our compatriots will tolerate being shat upon by men in suits. Of all the things that I believe will bring our nation back into prosperity, the one that ranks highest is the belief that man has the God-given right to fart into the back of a hair-drier and aim it at his wife. Only then will the politicians of the world unite in the name of considering not how their country looks in the eyes of other countries, but how it looks to itself and how it feels within itself.’

           ‘An excellent point, old man. And when the people of the world unite behind one great leader, the togetherness of spirit will return them to the bosom of religious enlightenment, brotherhood, and the freedom to express themselves via the medium of hilarious bum-noises.’

           With that, the cat lifts its ample body up onto its four paws and, after stretching, jumps down onto the rug.

           ‘Oh God!' says the vicar. 'That stinks!’

           The teacher laughs until the pipe falls from his mouth and tears roll down his jowls.

           ‘Dogberry one, Slate nil.’