The Heart

Bob’s heart was a tad annoyed.

If it could speak, it would probably say, “Bob, mate, I’m, well, I’m a tad annoyed!”

But Bob wouldn’t have listened. Oh, no. He was too busy concentrating on the final 100 metres of the race. However his heart was skipping like a newborn lamb on ecstasy.

I suppose you could say Bob’s heart was lazy. It never wanted to go anywhere, just wanted to sit around all day watching tacky game shows presented by comedians who were not funny, no matter how hard they tried.

80 metres to go.

Bob’s Heart was in the middle of a heated discussion with the East and the West. The Atriums wanted to strike but the Ventricles wanted to stay open for business.

Some terrible things had been said.

The Atriums had been very insulting and the Ventricles, well…they were hurt.

The B.H.A.B.T.U. (Brain Heart And Body Trade Union) were called in to settle it.

The Atriums said, and I quote: “We would like a working day of Eight ’till Ten. Oh, and Sundays off.”

The Ventricles were outraged: “Well, as Ventricles, we’re bloody outraged.”

They said. “Our Fathers and their Fathers before that and their Fathers, Fathers, Fathers had to work all day, all night, every day and every night just so the bloody body could enjoy itself. We Ventricles aren’t afraid of work and we’re not going to give up now!”

50 metres to go.

It had gone from a tabletop discussion into a full-scale war. The
meeting was going downhill…

Bob wasn’t, he was going uphill…very slowly.

30 Metres from the finish.

At Last! An agreement. This was the deal, ‘They would work every day of every year except for one (which was still to be announced).

Also Atriums were to get their fair share of those tacky Game Shows.

Finally they agreed on the day off.

The head of B.H.A.B.T.U., Litt L. Finger announced the day. It was to be the 11th day, of the 5th month. That was to be their Bank Holiday.

Oh dear…that was today. All of a sudden, Bob’s Heart, his Body, even his Little Finger went A.W.O.L.

The next thing Bob knew, he was lying on a bed, harder than an angry brick, with numerous pipes stuck up his nose, eyes, ears and elsewhere
watching a Game Show that was, well, rather tacky.

Hmmm, so is life…

THE END (Apologies)

Written by Shane Ferguson
On The 11th May 1996