The Plan

“It was a lesson I was to learn many times in subsequent casts; the dice can show almost as poor judgment as a human.” – Luke Rhinehart, The Diceman.

 

 

          We woke up after midday today, hungover as hell. Ed dragged me straight out to his local greasy spoon café for a massive fry-up. Half way through Ed suddenly looked up at me with a gleam in his eye.

            “Hey, Tom, do you remember The Plan?”

            “What plan?”

            “The one we came up with last night, assisted by the Envious Tonic German?”* Ed is always making up cryptic clues for ordinary language. He thinks it’s funny.

            “There were hundreds. No, I can’t really remember any of them specifically.”

            “I’m talking about The Plan. The one that’s going to change your life.”

            “Really?” I sighed sceptically. I still felt a little sick.

            “Really. Here’s how it goes. Once we begin we listen out for the first song we hear and then we set ourselves an adventure based upon the song. It’ll be inspired anarchy. It’s the perfect way to get back into the swing of things after our break-ups.”

            If just anyone else suggested this you’d know it to be a flash-in-the-pan moment of silliness. I knew Ed would follow through. I considered the idea.

            “I’m not sure, Ed. I’ve got a serious career now; I can’t afford to be messing around.” I was thinking of the near miss with the police last night.

            “Fine. We’ll set rules. And the first can be that we do nothing illegal.” I suppose I still looked uncertain. “Okay, and the second is that we do nothing that loses you your job.”

            This didn’t sound much like Ed. But it did reassure me a bit. Suddenly the full impact of the idea hit me and I’ll admit I found it appealing. I could give myself up to the Pixies of Fate while remaining in a safety zone created by The Rules. Maybe it would be fun. Maybe it would distract me.

            “Okay. How do we decide what to do?”

            “I think we’ll just know, when we hear the song.”

            “Fine.” I said. “We’ll start with the next song.”

          We sat in perfect silence listening to the end of Rehab by Amy Winehouse. I felt somehow relieved that it wasn’t our starting point. It was playing on a local London radio and adverts followed the song. The tension began to grow as we imagined all the kinds of adventures that might ensue. The DJ finally stopped talking and announced the next song. It started immediately and Ed and I stared at each other on the edge of uncontrolled hysterics. The song was Hit me Baby, One More Time, by Britney Spears!

            “Come on.” Said Ed, jumping to his feet and throwing down the money for our food. He went out into the street and waited as I came out to join him. “Right. We have to stand about on the road here and ask each girl we see to hit us. If we can find one to do it then we have to look back at them, deadpan, and say ‘hit me baby, one more time.’ Okay?”

            I smiled slightly, nervous but game for the challenge.

            We hit the streets.

            Two minutes passed with some considerable embarrassment. People began to see us from afar and speed up or move across the road, avoiding us as though we were chuggers.

            Eventually a girl of about 15 came striding right for me. She was somewhat overweight and had a short ginger bob. She had a sort of cheeky charm to her face and I knew she’d be the girl for this adventure.

            “Excuse me. Hi. I’m terribly sorry to bother you but would you hit me please?”

            I noticed that Ed had stopped to watch, sensing the moment.

            “Sure. Where d’you want it?”

            “Er… Wherever you like.”

            “Just before I do, I want this guy over here to be my witness that you asked me. I’ve been in trouble for this kind of thing before.”

            “No problem,” said Ed, “I heard him.” He smiled and folded his arms, adopting the spectator’s stance.

            She pulled back her arm and twatted me one, full in the face, with a closed fist. I hadn’t expected such a strike and the power caught me off guard. I’m ashamed to say I slipped and fell over backwards. Ed began laughing uncontrollably. He offered her a high-five and she took it with delight, grinning.

            “Hit me,” I started, groaning slightly as I got back to my feet, “baby,” I looked at her, “one… more… time.” I flinched.

            She span and buried her fist into my stomach. I doubled up. A few people had stopped from surprise. One onlooker asked if I was okay. I reassured him.

            “You want some more, baby?” She asked me.

            “Er… No thanks. That’s quite enough.”

            She laughed and began to walk off, but Ed stopped her.

            “Just before you go, what’s your favourite song?”

            She looked insolently at me, with a smirk. “Big girls don’t cry, by Fergie.”

           

* Envious = green, tonic = gin, German = ger. Green Ginger Wine.