Zigzag Street Read Free

aphrodisiac? Day of Celibacy 169. I can vaguely remember what an erection was. In my life an aphrodisiac would be as useful as the Swiss Army knife option that removes stones from horses’ hooves. And what sort of a concept is a Swiss Army knife anyway?
    More about the Swiss Army knife
    So how does the Swiss Army get to be the arbiter of standards when it comes to the multi-function pocket knife? What great claims can the Swiss Army make? It’s ducked every war for a hundred and twenty years and it didn’t do that by displaying its knife options. The Swiss Army had carrier pigeons until 1994. A Swiss Army knifeshould be a complete joke. Like an Austrian aircraft carrier or Nigerian thermal underwear or an Antarctic flower press. Swiss Army and knife should go together like safari and suit.
    Buses head into town along Waterworks Road every couple of minutes at this time of day, so when I’ve eaten some cereal and already bored myself with the concept of work I walk up the hill and catch the next one that comes along.
    The rest of the unit is already in the office. Deb, our admin assistant, says, Hi Ricky, how was your weekend babe ? when I walk out of the lift.
    Fine, I tell her. The usual. Bit of renovating. Tennis.
    I’m still not used to ‘Ricky’, even though she’s called me Ricky from the moment she decided she liked me. My name seems to be treated as though it has an almost infinite capacity for abbreviation, and this is not something I welcome. It does not help my sense of identity. Particularly ‘Ricky’, but this goes back to my childhood, when someone else was Ricky, not me.
    The Ricky Kid
    The Ricky Kid, the only kid I knew who was called Ricky by anyone, was Ricky Balaszwecki (pronounced Bal-uh-shef-ski). He was the tiniest kid at school when I was about nine, and whenever anyone had a birthday party Ricky’s parents slicked his hair back (in the years when the wet look was dead) and made him wear a bow tie and blazer. And no-one talked to him because he looked so fragile, like a doll. So we’d play football and cricket and Ricky got into the habit of not being picked for a team and just sitting and watching, looking pale and sad and eating tiny sandwiches and talking to someone’s mother. I expect by now Ricky has learned to accept the role of the complete micro-nerd, wearing bow ties to this day and thinking of them as some personality substitute, and telling himself he would be nothing without them. Alternatively, he mayhave long ago taken to his parents with an axe. I’m sure it’s kids like Ricky who either pass through life completely unnoticed, or become mass murderers, and the line is probably finer than we realise.
    So I’m still not used to ‘Ricky’ when it comes my way, even when it seems to be meant with some affection, and seems not to mean, Hey micro-nerd, love the tie, kill any parents on the weekend ? But maybe I did in fact have the kind of weekend grown-up Rickys have. Maybe Ricky Balaszwecki sat round doing fuck all in the name of renovation, ate half a takeaway meal and talked to a ginger cat. Reminiscing, with the fondness of hindsight, about tiny sandwiches and birthday parties.
    Deb’s weekend was not like that.
    Well, I got really pissed on Friday , she says when I ask what she did, and Saturday I got a new tat. Look .
    She hooks her index finger into her top and pulls it down, proudly revealing the sun rising from her cleavage.
    Did that hurt? I ask her.
    Less than most .
    It’s very nice, I tell her, and the nerdy inadequacy of this remark closes around my neck like a Ricky B bow tie. It’s a good piece of work. Nice use of the contours.
    Thanks babe , she says and grins. Knew you’d like it .
    Hey Rick . Hillary’s voice, coming from her office. She beckons me in and signals me to shut the door. Did she show you the new tattoo ?
    Yeah.
    She laughs and holds her head in her hands in mock