One of our story slam entrants has very kindly given me permission to post his Endeavour story on the site. RJ had a really different spin on the theme and I’m thrilled he came along and read it out. There’s a link to more of RJ’s work below, make sure you read all the way to the bottom as this isn’t a story to be skipped over.
Me Mam, before she died, always used to say; ‘never get too into anything, our Tony,’ she’d say, ‘it’ll eat you up,’ she’d say. ‘It’s even in the word Tony, endeavour,’ she’d say, ‘en-devour’ see?’ she’d say.
I loved me Mam, really, but she couldn’t spell to save her life.
Thing is turns out she were right.
When I was thirteen, Martin Almsley took up train spotting. Got so into it he walked right under the X15 Leeds to Manchester (express), except it wasn’t that day – obviously – ‘cos they had to scrape Martin off the wheels. At sixteen Danny Bradley got obsessed with buying a moped, worked every spare minute he had to buy it. Then, first day, he rode it right under a truck taking pigs to Castleford for slaughter.
So when me Mam died and everyone asked me, ‘what would she want you to do with your life, Tony?’ I knew exactly what it was.
Not as easy as it sounds either, doing nothing. Requires real commitment.
Me Dad weren’t so keen on the idea but a quick trip to the woods and a mushroom stroganoff sorted him out. Also provided me a tidy little inheritance and a ‘let’s-keep-this-between-us’ payment from a large supermarket who I may have given the impression I bought me ‘shrooms from. Then I started affecting a limp in an effort to get a car from the DSS but they were annoyingly pedantic: wanting forms and visits to the hospital and doctors. Far too much bother so I hit upon a solution. Given a supply of illegally imported Russian novocaine and a dirty stick it’s surprisingly easy to get gangrene to set in. And as long as you can put up with the smell it’s not that bad, worth it in the end too. I mean, who’s going to argue mobility with a man with no legs?
Pedants, that’s who. ‘Oh no Mr Keely, we can’t move the toilet downstairs even if you do sit in your own faeces.’
Anyway, it’s amazing the damage a handful of glass will do to your innards and once I had a colostomy fitted I didn’t even need to go upstairs. Of course when I lost my right hand in a carving knife accident the nanny state started interfering and had me moved to a psychiatric hospital ‘for my own protection’.
Which was great.
Didn’t even have to cook then. Though those bloody people will not leave you alone. Try doing this, Tony. Try doing that, Tony. Keep yourself stimulated. Not even knitting needles in the ears will stop them. Then they start writing notes.
And the sun’s so weak now, what with global warming an all. I had to stare at it for hours before I went blind. Still all done now and here’s me living the life of Riley, no effort involved.
Though eating and talking’s a bit tiresome isn’t it?
Did you know you can chew your own tongue off?
Click here for more of RJ’s work