In Which McShandy Becomes McAngry

This is me, at the moment

All the loveliness of spending nine hours on a train, reading Andrew O’Hagan, Allan Massie and an old edition of Jeffrey’s criticism, and maybe even going to the restaurant car as if I were a character in a 1920s novel, and even the joy of meeting Dave Eggers this afternoon has just evaporated. I am currently sitting in Doncaster station, having had to change trains (just at the moment when my dinner should be arriving) because of some unspecified fault on the train. I’m now counting down the minutes to when they legally have to give me some money back. Frankly, East Coast Staff might as well wear ski-masks, the way they behave. I will probably post some more later, when we’re actually moving towards Scotistan again. And in the name of all that’s holy, they’re using the word “de-train” instead of “alight”, In the meantime – the next clue:

“Things have been disappearing – from the kitchen and the storeroom in the basement. More than Bridget thought. It seems Mrs. Malone has been missing things as well, and didn’t say anything about it. There are always fewer potatoes in the sacks than there should be, and there was a sack of flour she thought the rats had been at, but there’s no sign of rats. She put poison down, and nothing happened. The bait wasn’t taken up.”

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2 Comments

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2 responses to “In Which McShandy Becomes McAngry

  1. John

    …Mrs Malone eventually consulted the master of the house about these mysterious disappearances. She didn’t like to disturb him unless it was important as he spent so much time hidden away these days. An interminable heat flooded from his room as he opened the door, a fresh, thick, doughy sort of heat. The sweet scent of boiling fat hovered in the air. The matter was put to him in no uncertain terms, but his answer was hard to distinguish with his mouth so full of soggy crisps. Mrs Malone coyly mentioned how even the rats could not be blamed on this occasion. Shaking a fine dust of breadcrumbs from his beard the man replied quizzically that rats are notoriously intelligent creatures, and not even he would be foolish enough to eat blue food – even if it was so enticingly laid out in shallow porcelain dishes for anybody to take.

  2. tsrosenberg

    Until the next morning, when Bridget danced time steps into the kitchen only to find young Master Malone stretched out on the floor in a catatonic rigour of ecstasy. One hand was clenched around a half-gnawed potato.

    “Shite,” Bridget growled, dragging the stiff little corpse towards the cellar stairs. “That’s me needing a new position, then.”

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